Post by Eternity on Oct 21, 2015 20:26:03 GMT
How well do you really know a person?
How well do you really know your mother, your father, your son, your daughter, your sister, your brother or your lover?
How well do you really know those that you claim to care for or even those that claim to care for you? Do you really know them any better than anybody else, or is that just something you tell yourself in order to continue on and in order to continue to feel a sense of comfort and familiarity about who you really are and where you really belong in this world?
Or is it simply because the truth terrifies you?
The truth that you do not know them at all and perhaps never did.
How long does it take to really get to know a person anyway?
Weeks? Months? Years? Decades?
It's all a matter of time, isn't it my love?
What's a matter with time?
It simply isn't ever long enough.
No matter how intimately you know somebody, somehow in the end you're always left on the outside. Even if you find a life inside their heart, you'll never truly live in their head, because that is where they are truly themselves, that is truly where they are free.
That is where they are the most intimate, not with you, but with whatever else is in there with them.
I knew my mother for eleven years and yet as well as I ever came to know her in all that time, I will never remember all of her. Even now, she all comes to me in flashes, in fragments and in dreams. Sometimes her face, sometimes her voice, sometimes her scent or the way she used to laugh, but never all at once, never whole.
And that terrifies me, the way she lives in my head, in pieces I can never fix...
Music begins to play. A spotlight shines from above bringing light to the darkness as red, purple, orange and yellow circular strobe lights dance across the back doors of an avocado coloured van branded with a diamond back snake eating its own tail.
The doors are flung open and thick clouds of orange smoke obscure your vision for a few moments before it all starts to dissipate and all the faces you've seen before but none of which you know start to emerge, each waving at you in greeting.
The contortionist, the sword swallower and the fire eater are the first to emerge, followed by six - no seven - clowns.
The whole thing was very odd.
Two of the clowns start to juggle tennis balls, another two start to spin coloured paper plates and the third pair start to shape balloon animals. The seventh clown, the odd one with the bright red hair starts blowing bubbles in to the air with a careless disregard as he twists his head at an almost unnatural angle, grinning at you the whole time.
The contortionist sits down and starts to twist her left leg around her head as the sword swallower makes a show of his glistening blade and the fire eater starts to juggle her flaming sticks in the background.
The bubble blowing clown then reaches beyond your field of vision for a moment before producing a copper coin with a quick slight of hand as the music is abruptly cut off before another word can be sung...
The clown speaks.
Clown: Oooh-hoohoohoo penny for your thoughts? Oooh-hoohoohoo but how much more for your fears? Oooh-hoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoo are you more afraid of Lizzie? All of us or one of us? Six of us or none of us, either way it's all six of one and half a dozen of the other at this point, isn't it? Ah, but what of the seventh? Now there's the key, the seventh day, the sweetest day, the day when you hope and pray for all of this to be over, one way or another. Oh Sunday, what a fun day!
You see the clown then removes his nose and unties his hair letting it flow freely once more ove the shoulders and confirming the face behind the fear was indeed the face of Eternity.
A day of rest. A day to lie down and really let yourself go, just close your eyes Eliza and drift away. I know you're tired of this already, tired of carrying the weight upon your shoulders, the weight of expectation. Do you see now how much trouble names can really be now, Miss Valentine?
Do you get it now? Do you finally understand why it is that I've never bothered with names? Too much responsibility. Remembering who you were, then remembering who you are and then trying to reconcile the whole thing with who you've always been, frankly the whole thing gives me a splitting headache.
Names are so definitive, so stuffy, so rigid. I prefer ideas. Ideas are fun, they can be wild, they can be crazy, they can be fun, they can be flexible...
You see me then skip back over to the contortionist, bending down to pat her on the head as she sits, all twisted up in herself.
Much like Margaret over here, you remember her, don't you? Or perhaps you've been too wrapped up in yourself to notice the little things that have gone on around you, too wrapped up in forbidden kisses and lost loves to recall dear old Maggie.
You see me then address the sword swallower.
What are you waiting for? Get on with it. SNIP SNIP!
The sword swallower then carefully and slowly starts to insert the blade in to his mouth and guide it with a practiced patience down his throat.
Ooooohhhhh, careful not to cut yourself or things could get really hairy, and to think, mother used to warn me about how dangerous it was to run around with scissors, if only she could see me now, I bet she'd find it all a bit much to swallow...
Having completed the freakish act, the sword swallower throws out his arms in triumph.
Okay, Okay, nobody likes a show-off! Still, it's a damn good act, isn't it Eliza? Isn't that what you said, that one day it was raining, I think. Yes, I remember now! You stood there, in all your youthful arrogance, thinking you were ready to conquer the world and that it owed you something.
The world may never repay its debts to you, it may never tell you who you really are, underneath...but I, I know...and I, I can show you...
See dear, you can't play in my doll house and then expect me not to come and find yours.
You see me shake my head.
This, all of this, is on you. This isn't my circus and these aren't my monkeys, they're yours my dear, they just perform for me for as long as I need them to, as all fears do...
A fear realised is life.
A fear remembered again is death.
And so we go on being afraid. Living once and dying a thousand times. Walking a tightrope as the world looks up at us wondering when and if we will fall, secretly hoping for it in the darkest corners of their so called civilised minds. Some of us walk the line with a net safely beneath us and some of us walk the line without a net at all.
That is the difference between you and I, Eliza.
You look down, barely at the start of your journey, hoping to find that net whilst I look ahead, to the end of my journey knowing that that net has already been torn out from under me. For that, they call you brave and they call me crazy, none of it matters, of course.
Not to me.
But then I'm not the one who has anything to fear, am I?
You see me then walk over to the fire eater, who displays her talent in spectacular fashion.
I'm not the one trying to dazzle them with passion and fire, trying my best to live up to some borrowed ideal, am I?
You want to be treated like a Valentine, little one, so I will treat you like one. Admittedly it's been quite a while, but I think I still remember how. I'm sure it'll all come back to me on Sunday. Only time will tell.
And oh what a glorious tale it will be, filled with screams and blood and laughter!
It's always such fun whenever the circus comes to town, isn't it Mary?
The fire eater nods in response.
Yes, yes, its always so good seeing you and your sister again. Such a wonderful act, such a wonderful pair of sideshow circus freaks. Still, as great as you all are, I can't wait to see Eliza's act. It is promising to be quite the illusion, as all courage is, especially in the truest face of fear.
Fight me! Fight me! FIGHT ME!
Fear always loves a good fight!
Ah the mysteries of what really goes on inside the big top, it's not every day we're reminded of the days when we were just little girls with no house to call home, is it, Eliza?
Bouncing around whilst people watched, never quite understanding what we were really afraid of or why. Trying to convince ourselves that none of this was really happening to us. Dreaming of the day when we'd finally be able to wake up and realise it was all in our heads. Imagining that somewhere out there, somebody really cared about us...
Those were the days, weren't they Liz?
Whatever happened to those days, I sometimes wonder?
Then I remember waking up and realising those dreams were gone, and when all your dreams are gone, Lizzie...
All that's ever left are your nightmares...
You then see two of the clowns stop juggling and grab me by the arms and drag me away, kicking and screaming and violently convulsing as if suddenly seized by a virulent sense of somebody else's fear and dread.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The clowns place me in the back of the van, slamming the doors shut, and the scene fades very slowly to black.
How well do you really know your mother, your father, your son, your daughter, your sister, your brother or your lover?
How well do you really know those that you claim to care for or even those that claim to care for you? Do you really know them any better than anybody else, or is that just something you tell yourself in order to continue on and in order to continue to feel a sense of comfort and familiarity about who you really are and where you really belong in this world?
Or is it simply because the truth terrifies you?
The truth that you do not know them at all and perhaps never did.
How long does it take to really get to know a person anyway?
Weeks? Months? Years? Decades?
It's all a matter of time, isn't it my love?
What's a matter with time?
It simply isn't ever long enough.
No matter how intimately you know somebody, somehow in the end you're always left on the outside. Even if you find a life inside their heart, you'll never truly live in their head, because that is where they are truly themselves, that is truly where they are free.
That is where they are the most intimate, not with you, but with whatever else is in there with them.
I knew my mother for eleven years and yet as well as I ever came to know her in all that time, I will never remember all of her. Even now, she all comes to me in flashes, in fragments and in dreams. Sometimes her face, sometimes her voice, sometimes her scent or the way she used to laugh, but never all at once, never whole.
And that terrifies me, the way she lives in my head, in pieces I can never fix...
~~~~
A young girl stands in her garden as mother ties a makeshift blindfold around her eyes.
Mother then takes her by the hand and spins her around in circles five times, once for each of the years she was celebrating today.
At first the darkness was as disorientating as all the spinning. She stumbled a few steps across the freshly cut grass. She giggled as her other senses sparked to life, her fingers felt the donkey's paper tail in her right hand, she took a breath and heard her mother tell her to be careful.
A few more steps with her arms held out as if she were walking a tightrope and her friends began to cheer. That must mean she was near. She smiled as she reached out, looking to find the end of the donkey and make it whole again.
She almost dropped the tail as her fingers found the push pin end, and she stuck her tongue out in utter concentration as she pinned the tail into place on the drawing board.
The cheers turned to laughter, and at first she couldn't tell if that was good or bad. She quickly pulled the blindfold off and saw that the chalk outline of the poor donkey was being fed its own tail, thanks to her.
She heard the laughter louder now.
She looked down and saw a small drop of blood colour her thumb, she must have pricked it on the pin. Funny, she hadn't felt anything and it didn't hurt.
Now she laughed.
The birthday girl skipped back to her mother, a smile across her face as the games continued.
Later in the afternoon, it was time for the clown, a fairly entertaining act even if she squeezed her mother's hand a little tighter when he stared into her eyes with a toothy yellow grin, dark eyes and rainbow hair. He ruffled her hair and chuckled before he revealed a silver coin from behind her ear.
She reached out and tweaked his nose. It honked and everybody laughed.
His red bow tie began to spin as he backed off and then began to blow up a red sausage balloon. He twisted it and contorted it until it became something else entirely and it was then that his theatrics really caught her imagination...and never let go.
~~~~
Music begins to play. A spotlight shines from above bringing light to the darkness as red, purple, orange and yellow circular strobe lights dance across the back doors of an avocado coloured van branded with a diamond back snake eating its own tail.
The doors are flung open and thick clouds of orange smoke obscure your vision for a few moments before it all starts to dissipate and all the faces you've seen before but none of which you know start to emerge, each waving at you in greeting.
OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH
Someone's turned the key and opened up the Other Side
You better run, you better flee, you better go and hide
The whole thing was very odd.
Ghostly creatures fill the air, their spirits passed away
Watch out now, they're coming back to liven up your day
Two of the clowns start to juggle tennis balls, another two start to spin coloured paper plates and the third pair start to shape balloon animals. The seventh clown, the odd one with the bright red hair starts blowing bubbles in to the air with a careless disregard as he twists his head at an almost unnatural angle, grinning at you the whole time.
Oooohhhhh here they come to chase you out of town
Oooohhhhh graveyard's up and getting down
The contortionist sits down and starts to twist her left leg around her head as the sword swallower makes a show of his glistening blade and the fire eater starts to juggle her flaming sticks in the background.
The bubble blowing clown then reaches beyond your field of vision for a moment before producing a copper coin with a quick slight of hand as the music is abruptly cut off before another word can be sung...
The clown speaks.
Clown: Oooh-hoohoohoo penny for your thoughts? Oooh-hoohoohoo but how much more for your fears? Oooh-hoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoohoo are you more afraid of Lizzie? All of us or one of us? Six of us or none of us, either way it's all six of one and half a dozen of the other at this point, isn't it? Ah, but what of the seventh? Now there's the key, the seventh day, the sweetest day, the day when you hope and pray for all of this to be over, one way or another. Oh Sunday, what a fun day!
You see the clown then removes his nose and unties his hair letting it flow freely once more ove the shoulders and confirming the face behind the fear was indeed the face of Eternity.
A day of rest. A day to lie down and really let yourself go, just close your eyes Eliza and drift away. I know you're tired of this already, tired of carrying the weight upon your shoulders, the weight of expectation. Do you see now how much trouble names can really be now, Miss Valentine?
Do you get it now? Do you finally understand why it is that I've never bothered with names? Too much responsibility. Remembering who you were, then remembering who you are and then trying to reconcile the whole thing with who you've always been, frankly the whole thing gives me a splitting headache.
Names are so definitive, so stuffy, so rigid. I prefer ideas. Ideas are fun, they can be wild, they can be crazy, they can be fun, they can be flexible...
You see me then skip back over to the contortionist, bending down to pat her on the head as she sits, all twisted up in herself.
Much like Margaret over here, you remember her, don't you? Or perhaps you've been too wrapped up in yourself to notice the little things that have gone on around you, too wrapped up in forbidden kisses and lost loves to recall dear old Maggie.
You see me then address the sword swallower.
What are you waiting for? Get on with it. SNIP SNIP!
The sword swallower then carefully and slowly starts to insert the blade in to his mouth and guide it with a practiced patience down his throat.
Ooooohhhhh, careful not to cut yourself or things could get really hairy, and to think, mother used to warn me about how dangerous it was to run around with scissors, if only she could see me now, I bet she'd find it all a bit much to swallow...
Having completed the freakish act, the sword swallower throws out his arms in triumph.
Okay, Okay, nobody likes a show-off! Still, it's a damn good act, isn't it Eliza? Isn't that what you said, that one day it was raining, I think. Yes, I remember now! You stood there, in all your youthful arrogance, thinking you were ready to conquer the world and that it owed you something.
The world may never repay its debts to you, it may never tell you who you really are, underneath...but I, I know...and I, I can show you...
See dear, you can't play in my doll house and then expect me not to come and find yours.
You see me shake my head.
This, all of this, is on you. This isn't my circus and these aren't my monkeys, they're yours my dear, they just perform for me for as long as I need them to, as all fears do...
A fear realised is life.
A fear remembered again is death.
And so we go on being afraid. Living once and dying a thousand times. Walking a tightrope as the world looks up at us wondering when and if we will fall, secretly hoping for it in the darkest corners of their so called civilised minds. Some of us walk the line with a net safely beneath us and some of us walk the line without a net at all.
That is the difference between you and I, Eliza.
You look down, barely at the start of your journey, hoping to find that net whilst I look ahead, to the end of my journey knowing that that net has already been torn out from under me. For that, they call you brave and they call me crazy, none of it matters, of course.
Not to me.
But then I'm not the one who has anything to fear, am I?
You see me then walk over to the fire eater, who displays her talent in spectacular fashion.
I'm not the one trying to dazzle them with passion and fire, trying my best to live up to some borrowed ideal, am I?
You want to be treated like a Valentine, little one, so I will treat you like one. Admittedly it's been quite a while, but I think I still remember how. I'm sure it'll all come back to me on Sunday. Only time will tell.
And oh what a glorious tale it will be, filled with screams and blood and laughter!
It's always such fun whenever the circus comes to town, isn't it Mary?
The fire eater nods in response.
Yes, yes, its always so good seeing you and your sister again. Such a wonderful act, such a wonderful pair of sideshow circus freaks. Still, as great as you all are, I can't wait to see Eliza's act. It is promising to be quite the illusion, as all courage is, especially in the truest face of fear.
Fight me! Fight me! FIGHT ME!
Fear always loves a good fight!
Ah the mysteries of what really goes on inside the big top, it's not every day we're reminded of the days when we were just little girls with no house to call home, is it, Eliza?
Bouncing around whilst people watched, never quite understanding what we were really afraid of or why. Trying to convince ourselves that none of this was really happening to us. Dreaming of the day when we'd finally be able to wake up and realise it was all in our heads. Imagining that somewhere out there, somebody really cared about us...
Those were the days, weren't they Liz?
Whatever happened to those days, I sometimes wonder?
Then I remember waking up and realising those dreams were gone, and when all your dreams are gone, Lizzie...
All that's ever left are your nightmares...
You then see two of the clowns stop juggling and grab me by the arms and drag me away, kicking and screaming and violently convulsing as if suddenly seized by a virulent sense of somebody else's fear and dread.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The clowns place me in the back of the van, slamming the doors shut, and the scene fades very slowly to black.
Well howdy there pardner.