The carousel. Man's childish and fantastical manifestation of war, tremendously decadent in appearance and elegantly complex in detail. The
carousel is Reality's magic trick; a spinning, musical mockery of man's inhumanity. Beautiful, and relatively blood-free--disguising imperfection with gold-leafed paint and muscled stallions--perfectly tamed to ride in peaceful and consistent motion.
The whole world on a carousel, and me, at the fair too. I went to the fair. Went to the fair; was silent. Silent because I could not hear myself think and could not form my thoughts. I could not hear myself think because They would not shut up. They're thoughts, They're silence--deafening. Mute conversation, no, screams--bouncing into the universe like . Words, precious words, falling out of Their mouths like tiny, rubber
bouncing balls. Bouncing off the ground, off the walls, into the atmosphere, clouding the sky in primary colors; bright, rubber words bouncing everywhere.
Loudly. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Rapid. Vulgar.
I look to the carousel. It spins and there is a shield. No bouncing, rubber ball thoughts. An accordion. And silence. And the sound of motion, slowing. The unwinding of time, weighted in tradition and fantasy and fiction. Realities fictional experience. Spinning, and the people on the carousel are trapped in this bubble--this fake, protected illusion. Spin, spin, on. Never stop, fear of losing. Keep with the clock, keep with the illusion--fight time with beauty and chase away yellowed memory with blurring reality. Drown the sounds of pounding words, Thump. Thud. Thump. Drowned Them out with haunting notes and perfectly circled melodies. Trance like motion, subtle and consistent. Spin and sway away. The whole world, a carousel.
The world, it spins...and the bounce of the words, the bounce of Their words, a perfectly circled melody. Loud and robust--tiny but tuned. Humming and buzzing in constant harmony. Repetitive motion. Slow the day, new the morning, slow the night. Repeat.
And the crowd is so loud I cannot hear my own thoughts. I look to Them. I cannot say what I mean. Rubber balls, bounce, Thud, from my lips and, Thump, to the ground. My smile, a temporary container. "I cannot explain what I mean. It will come to me." It doesn't. Because my mind is on the carousel.
And the rest of the day, my mind is on that carousel. And what does that look like? What thoughts are with me then...my mind looks like this:
Dance with me, in step with the Universe. Look how lovely, look at the people--how beautiful and alive. Look at the people, alone in Their spheres, missing each other, bouncing their words like a child's game. Ah! What is the reality in which people See each other. In which living is living together and words do not bounce off every showing surface but saturate into every piece of matter--satiating all things of Existance with meaning and connection and texturized understanding. Look at me and understand so I can believe this. Look at me look at the carousel.
No?--how about I smile instead.