200words.

Dear Dr. Shifini,

We sorrowfully inform you of the death of your brother Guiseppe. We knew him has The Great Flying Shifini during his many years with with the Plotz & Carmichael Family Circus. We understand you were his only relative. News of his brave last moments were covered by local quad-city media, but you may not have learned of his brave demise.

His end was quick, precipitated by unforeseeable incidents. The performing howler monkey, Mr. Pinky, was a longtime friend to Guiseppe. He uncharacteristically bit Guiseppe’s hand during their regular game of checkers. The wound did not appear serious, and Guiseppe, the consummate performer, went on with his trapeze routine that evening. In the finale, the Great Shifini would hurl through the air to catch a flaming swing. The one-handed grab was hindered by the festering monkey bite (Mr. Pinky has been destroyed) and Guiseppe fell 50 feet to instant death. Be comforted
that he died doing what he loved.

Enclosed, please find his checkerboard and the picture of Errol Flynn from his trailer. Please direct further inquires to our general counsel, Sid Moncrief.

With sympathy,

Carl Carmichael, CEO, P&C Circus

we snuck in through an open gate back by the 4-H building and there
were no flashing lights on the midway or horses on the track or even
cars in the lot. it was mostly dark and you held my hand tight. we
smoked cigarettes filched from your brother and i was wearing a skirt too short for october.

you brought that silver flask with someone else’s initials and we made up that story about the after-hours circus that didn’t come to town until midnight and left before the sun came up. instead of fanfare, there were only footsteps shuffling into town. there weren’t any trapeze artists because it was too dark to hand off but there was the soft breath of beasts, puffs of warm in the chill air.

running from the headlights of a security patrol, we found the spot
we’d been looking for and you held up the heavy vinyl of the tent. it
was so easy to get in and even if i was scared to get caught, it
didn’t matter. anything to stay out too late with you.

i remember my stomach warm with whiskey and i remember your breath on my neck and how your hands filled up the spaces where i thought I’d come apart.

i remember asking you how you knew which places were open and unguarded.

i remember you thought i meant buildings.

We’re such exhibitionists,
Parading in circles,

Undaunted by our baggy, gray skin
And the terrible forest of hair on our backs.

We have the confidence of ignorant oafs,
Proudly keeping step with each other.

We have dreams (nuts), and fears (smaller creatures),
That make us long and loathe the spotlight.

Systematically, we climb upon each other to delight
The crowd and draw attention from the clowns

Whom we do not fancy ourselves to be
As we trumpet in a language no one understands.

How long can we go in circles like this, in this circus,
Putting on a show that passes as amusement

Before we realize the triteness of our performance
And recognize the freaks as ringmasters?

The kinda circus I like is an anal circus, one that would involve, probably me, certainly Stephin Merritt, Holly Johnson if he were still with us, all sorts of animal-human hybrids, a trapeze, a trampoline, albolene, perfect circles, arcs of circles, black circles, photocopies of circles, red tattoo circles and plenty of redundancy. Plenty of redundancy. Plenty of simultaneity.

Sinead O’Connor on the loudspeaker and Carroll O’Connor on the piano.

Butthole surfers surfing perfect circles.
Butthole surfers surfing perfect circle jerks.

Stephin Merritt yodeling 69 love songs up my asshole.

Stephen Hawking arguing the theory of an oscillating universe versus the theory of an ever expanding universe. Stephen Morrisey arguing the theory of an oscillating anus versus the theory of en ever expanding anus.

Some nascar driver with greasy hands riding circles around the inside of my rectum on a motorcycle. You can’t tell they’re greasy though because they are gloved. Perhaps several nascar drivers. And their mechanics, changing tires, peeling out.

That shit might have to go down in Narnia, through the swallow of that fancy closet. Fur in the dark. The Snow Queen is a featured guest. As for Aslan…he’s been sentenced to 30 days in the hole.

i was probably 4 when i first saw the movie Dumbo, and that pretty much convinced me that circuses are just horrible. really awful, cruel places where animals are treated brutally and hideous, pie-faced, gap-toothed, criminally neglected children are free to torture them. oh, yeah, and where people have really bad grammar.

then some years later i saw Something Wicked This Way Comes, which is such an excellent movie, but caused me to add terrifying and demonic to the list of reasons to hate all things circus. (though i will admit to some stirrings in my prepubescent loins while watching the beautiful jonathan pryce.)

next came Freaks, which continued the scarring, followed by Geek Love which, while making it on to my all time favorite list of books, did not do much to improve my circus perspective.

i have never been to the circus, and have no desire to go. maybe, maybe if david sedaris invited me to go with him one day, then maybe.