Laughing American comics, I am becoming more and more like a clown

Chapter 159 Pain

The resistance is battling the Order, and arguments and disputes are raging regarding the Angel of Death and Batman.

But it still had nothing to do with Lucien, and no one came to bother him. The Joker completely replaced him, and even did better - using cunning words to gain trust, and using cheap tears to gain sympathy. Perhaps it was because of his 28 years of disappearance that people had somewhat forgotten the viciousness of this super villain, and people began to call him:

——Joker.

To be honest, Lucien couldn't hold back when he heard this nickname.

He even wrote a letter to mock it: "It's better to make people laugh to death."

But there was no response.

Lucien seemed to have been forgotten. They tacitly gave him the so-called "ordinary person's life" that he had always hoped for, without disturbing him or responding.

But is this what he wanted?

Lucien paced around the house, not having the patience to sit down and watch anything, and even felt a little anxious - after his hopes of the Joker or Batman breaking in late at night were dashed many times.

He wasn't used to it.

……

People are like this. They can’t be said to be hypocritical, but they just can’t get used to it.

Perhaps it lacks the grand ending it deserves?

It's like the investor of a hit drama suddenly came out and replaced the protagonist.

……

There was no ending or purpose, so Lucien didn't know what to do.

After much deliberation, I finally went to Ms. Taylor, who had been stood up for a long time.

The psychiatrist's mental state became increasingly depressed, and Lucien felt that she might need someone to talk to more than himself.

Without saying anything more, he took the medicine and left the hospital.

……

Fluoxetine hydrochloride, trazodone hydrochloride, citalopram, amitriptyline.

Lucien looked up some medical books and found that some of these drugs artificially promoted hormone secretion, while others blocked the transmission of neurotransmitters.

Some are addictive, and some have side effects.

But Lucien still took it, following the doctor's instructions in terms of frequency and quantity.

"In addition, the fundamental way to treat depression is to have the companionship and understanding of those around you. You should try to communicate with others and vent your emotions."

The people around him died, and the crowd consisted of either the rebels, the cult, or the neighbors who were trembling with fear and vigilance against abnormalities.

As for venting…Lucian thought about it carefully and had to admit that the time he vented the most was when he fought the Joker in his dream (he hadn't fought him yet).

So he only relied on medicine.

……

Like a ghost echoing in this "home", Lucian could only see or hear the fire and explosions from afar that had nothing to do with him. He pieced and polished his gun again and again, aimed outside through the window, and finally put it down because there was no definite enemy.

He relied solely on mental health medication, alcohol, and nicotine.

……

One day, he stood on the balcony and looked down. Cigarette butts piled up around him and wine bottles were lined up. He suddenly forgot when was the last time he cooked.

He began to question the effectiveness of the drugs, wondering if it was because of the Joker that Tyler was torturing himself with fake or even opposite-effect drugs.

So Lucien stopped taking the medication.

But this inexplicable emotion continued to extend and intensify, and a strong feeling that could not be called emptiness or fatigue swept over him.

This makes no sense.

Jenny didn't hurt him, and the fixed day was not forced upon him. There was no one around to oppress or criticize him, and no events were urging him on.

Lucien felt that he shouldn't be like this.

But when he slept until dusk again, his whole body was exhausted and he stared blankly at a dot in the void.

It suddenly started raining outside.

There were underwear hanging on the balcony, and he should have taken them back, but just lying there, watching the underwear being soaked by water bit by bit, Lucian began to force himself to think.

He wondered why.

The feminist movement, male chauvinism, anxiety, depression... my thoughts are drifting further and further away.

He remembered a dream from long ago.

……

"Batman represents your fear, the Joker represents your desire. Now, you have killed both fear and desire. You are more saintly than a saint." -22 Joker said.

But if there were no fear and no desire, then why is this emptiness manifesting itself now?

Lucian sat up from the bed, picked up the cigarette next to him, and took out a beer from under the bed.

Don't worry about your empty stomach or your sloppy appearance.

Just drinking and smoking.

Wine bottles and cigarette butts piled up under the bed.

……

Exposure to a substance in large quantities for a short period of time will not bring any good results. Even if it is addictive and a means of escaping reality, it should not be exposed to in large quantities for a short period of time.

The same principle applies whether it's alcohol, nicotine, drugs, or sex.

Beyond the threshold lies pain.

So, up to now, Lucien no longer felt any numbness from cigarettes or dreaminess from alcohol.

It was just pain, a subtle, endless pain that enveloped him.

The bony bones supported the flesh, and faint breaths were gasping from the broken body.

At least at this moment, Lucian is not addicted to nicotine or alcohol, he is addicted to pain.

It made him feel alive.

……

Tobacco and alcohol were not inexhaustible. Due to Lucian's excessive spending, they were soon gone. When he took out the cigarette box and bent down to search, there was nothing left that could bring him continuous pain.

So he sat quietly, covered with a thin blanket, with his upper body completely exposed to the air.

He is still thinking.

But perhaps it was the brain fog caused by the drugs, or perhaps it was the fatigue caused by his mental state, which made his thinking efficiency extremely low.

Until the sky outside turned from dusk to dark, and late at night, he fell asleep to the white noise and didn't know when he woke up.

The rain outside has stopped, and the Gotham sky is clear in the daytime, which is rare.

Lucien finally figured it out.

Why did the desires and fears he killed take the shapes of Batman and the Joker, and why could the Joker conclude that he would eventually become the Joker.

He sat up, but the thin blanket still covered his legs, like tape sticking him to Gotham.

Because those desires and fears are unexpected when facing the Joker and Batman.

Lucian has never been away from these two things, so the negative effects have not been shown much.

And now that he's gone, the emptiness comes.

"...if I don't want to die of loneliness and depression, I'm going to have to hang around the Joker and Batman."

Desire and fear are collars around the neck, and they are also anchors that keep people grounded.

Lucien blinked slowly, chuckled, put on his clothes, and left the messy room.

"Joker, you built one for you and Batman with your own hands..."

"slave?"

Chapter 160 Dog

"Dogs aren't very cunning. Even if you hit or scold them, as long as you give them food, they will always come over and lie down on the ground carefully and docilely."

The clown lifted his legs and let his body slowly fall backwards along the semicircular arc of the recliner:

"But that's all a dog's usefulness is: loyalty, ability, and, well, one more use—its appearance."

"You're pretty enough, dear."

Lucian stood aside, showing no anger at the insulting words.

"Now." The clown stretched out his hand, his thumb, index finger, and middle finger slightly open, the purple veins attached to the phalanges like wandering mountains: "Light my cigarette."

So Lucien took a cigarette from the box on the table, lit it with a lighter, watched the faint scarlet spark rise, and then walked over.

He respectfully placed the cigarette butt in the clown's palm.

……

How do you describe the feeling of being burned by a cigarette butt? The sting, the burn, the instinctive urge to throw it away.

But the clown remained in the same position, only letting out a faint laugh when the wrinkles on his cigarette formed from the strain. "...Do you think I'll throw you off because of the pain? Or do you think I'll be afraid of a dog with fangs?"

He put the twisted cigarette into his mouth, and the palm of his hand was permanently scarred: "Love and pain are the same thing, baby, you hurt me, which proves that you love me."

"And the dog bit me, proving it was afraid of me."

A crow flew up from the window. It was noon and there were no bats during the day.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble." Lucian saw smoke rising from his yellowed and broken teeth. "With your ability, you would have destroyed me long ago."

"Third time." The clown said, "This is the third time you've asked this question—but I still stick to my original answer. I never hoped to be resurrected in this world. What I seek is the birth of another me."

As Lucian forty years later, he is using metaphors, but in his ears forty years ago, the "I" is replaced by the Joker.

The Joker never wishes for his own resurrection, but for the birth of another Joker.