Monday, August 25, 2008

Dark Ride (f-cynyr)

I found the promise
that branded your skin
as you shoved through the mist,
and rain.
Those were the days of walking
endless time,
when even whispers
lingered on the air and lips
body parts.

When the madness that I
carried in my pocket,
was freely shared,
when the blood racing was
and the chest hammering
was a
Friday occurrence and
the edge water crept
closer and closer.

I lost my sight that drooling night
when we spoke
names and spells,
hoping to capture
the elusive
and snare the faith that
would free our flesh.

But even lips tremble
on this dark ride and
the passing of days,
unbeknownst to hands
and caldron eyes, spool
away, with no regard of

With the sea surging
in my vision,
the ocean selkie was you,
the tides ebbed
and with the tide
we traveled from
water to memory.

Surviving the name choosing
and changing
that captured us,
froze us until
there were the entrails of prophecies
that we shared,
devouring it piece by piece.

Just before dawn,
bits of abandoned
night dissolve on tongue and
lips as the dark whispers into
our flesh,
and we
tumbled and shook
on this dark ride, till
we awoke.

When I was young, I quite liked roller coasters. The entire stomach churning experience from slipping into the remarkably flimsy car, the click as the carny guy checked to ensure the bar (inadequate protection at best!) was secured, the slow, methodical click click click of the wheels as the cable pulled the cars up towards the precipice then that moment when you sat, suspended, your eyes widening as you looked out over a distant horizon and tried to avoid the gut-wrenching sweep of spindly track which suddenly dropped below you … and then the RUSH … as the cars swept down, down, down and then careening wildly, swinging hard to the left, then the right and up and around and for that second, you’re upside down, then right side up and swoosh as you sweep around a corner, feeling as if in a cartoon, teetering on two wheels and the wind rushing in your open mouth and the screams of adolescent girls, and the triumphant, terrified yell of boys and the harsh bruising feel of your fellow passenger pushing against you, velocity and speed and simply sweet wild adrenalin …

I relished the entire experience from the butterfly fluttering in my stomach as the snaking line crept forward to the slight nausea as, legs shaky, I exited, breathing hard and giggling together with all the other shaking patrons of fear.

But as I matured, I grew, well, less fond of the damn things. Not scared, because fear was never a huge factor for me, it was the RUSH I craved, enjoyed, desired. But somehow, that RUSH became less of a RUSH and more of a …why am I doing this again? The banging, pressing hardness of the ride became an irritant rather than simply part of the experience and I began to think the big swooping RUSH was no longer really worth it … but I kept on going.

I never really thought about who was leading – you don’t when you’re young and just into the experience, the high, the excitement … you sorta tend to go with the flow, moving with the rhythm and the RUSH … but, but … I realized after a while, that I was getting more and more episodes of cranky stomach, that as I stood in line, my stomach was churning not with anticipation but an intrinsic dread …

I realized some time ago, I just don’t LIKE roller coasters any more.

Oh, I still went on them, pulled reluctantly yet with a surface appreciation of their qualities – a thin veneer of agreeableness, a fa├žade of indifference.

But I’m done now.

I’m not going on any more damn roller coasters.

I’m sick of them. I haven’t lost my nerve; actually, for the first time, I think I’ve finally FOUND it. I’m not going to get into that damn little car and experience that stomach-churning, vomit-inducing ride again.

I’m watching now; from the ground. The sticky sweet smell of the carnival swirls around me, lights flash and bells ding and a cacophony of shouts and noise and colour and chaos fade into the background as I watch the cars click click click toward the top … and I wait, even here, with bated breath as I imagine in my mind the sweep of thought before him – the stomach dropping, gut churning KNOWLEDGE that the very earth was dropping out from beneath your feet and only the thin, hammered metal possibility between your legs was keeping you from death and destruction.

I wait right now, at least in this moment and watch the cars sweep around, flashing silver and gold and blue and red in the flashing lights of my nightmare and the heads bobbing and snapping back and forth and the arms waving and the distant yells are muted and distant and I feel remove and isolated, an island in the midst of a churning, angry sea ….

I wait. For now.

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