200words.

Alcoholic Clown Republicans in Hummers.

I am not a stimulus suppressor. I am alert to the environment. So, the circus was never a priority for me as a child. The circus was for the suppressors; the kids that ate a whole bag of lollipops, threw up and then cried for more. I hated those fucking kids.

I think, if you enjoyed the circus as a child, you are probably an
alcoholic now. One of those people who just keeps pushing. Maybe
you’re into “extreme” sports, or perhaps you own a Hummer. Or maybe you’re a Republican. Or possibly you’re a Republican Alcoholic in a Hummer.

It’s all about YOU isn’t it, asshole? Yeah? Go fuck yourself then, you
Republican, Alcoholic, circus-loving Hummer-driving Asshole. Maybe if you bang your head hard enough against the TV you can enter the magic world. If not, there is always Las Vegas.

Please, please buy yourself that crotch-rocket motorcycle. You deserve it. Don’t let “the man” tell you you can’t drive it on twisting
mountain roads at high speed at night in the rain either… You’re an
individual, and Ayn Rand says, “Do what you want!”

I’ve never been to the circus - call it a deprivation of my childhood, a travesty, or just another humdrum piece of information. Instead, I remember a rich fantasy life of play with my sisters where we would create our own worlds to explore and enjoy.

One of our favorite games was “Alligator” which required not stepping on the carpet for any reason else we be eaten by hungry gators. We would jump from chair to table to couch to bed to avoid the danger. I think this was especially vivid for us as we frequently saw alligators roaming the ponds and parks in our neighborhoods in Florida and once saw an alligator eat a dog.

Another game was called “Make Up” - this was a game where we would take turns applying make up on each other - but we didn’t use real make up. Instead we would shout “Eyeshadow!” and then roughly rub the other one’s eye. We did this for lipstick (squeeze the lips hard), mascara (grab the eyelashes), blush (hard rubbing on the cheek) and when we ran out of cosmetics we would do other things like bracelets (Indian burn on the wrist), earrings (hard squeeze of the earlobe), etc. As the game went on the pain inflicted would escalate until someone finally cried and then the game was over.

I don’t think I needed to go to a circus to have a good time.

Figures on the small black and white television hurled themselves through the air as I held my breath, knowing they wouldn’t fall but wondering what would happen if they missed each other, a missed moment leading to a televised tragedy. I wondered if they closed their eyes as they tumbled through the air, if they had calluses on their hands where the fingers met their palms, if the trapeze was strong enough to hold two, three, then four people at once.

The images on that tiny television stayed with me. For weeks afterward the circus was all I could think about. My parents would catch my five year old self jumping on their bed in what I thought was an amazing and impressive perfomance. They would catch me trying to balance my two year old brother on my feet as I lay on my back, imagining what would have happened if my father had gone to school to be a ringleader instead of a dentist.

Months later I found myself at the circus. My mother on one side, my father on the other-I held their hands and took everything in. Nothing looked as I had remembered it. Everything seemed smaller than how it looked on the television. The colors were not as bright as I thought they would have been, the tent was dirty, and there was something sticky on the ground underneath my seat. It was too hard to concentrate on one act as there were often three or four acts going on at the same time. At one point in the show the clowns came out into the audience to choose volunteers. They were not funny, not cute, not something I wanted to be part of at all. I made eye contact with one of the clowns and immediately shrank back in my seat, grasping my parents’ hands even tighter. They thought I was excited and wanted to be part of the act. I had a moment of panic as they started to push me forward. I was too terrified to say anything and closed my eyes tight, feeling dizzy in my disappointment, holding my breath, hoping not to fall.

The word ‘circus’ seems to be derived from, or at least related to, the word ‘circle.’ Is this because at some point an audience sat in a
circle around performers (‘circle-us’)? Piccadilly Circus in
Westminster is filled with street performers, and crowds do tend to
circle around them. I have been to Piccadily Circus, and it’s pretty
silly. It’s filled with flashing lights and overpriced record shops.
The best part about Piccadilly was the sushi I had in a nearby joint in
Soho–it was fresh, but very expensive. I also drank green tea. There was a peep show next door, but I didn’t go in.

‘Circus’ is the genus of several species of harriers, which are birds of
prey who slowly circle the air looking for rodents to eat. I don’t
think I’ve ever seen one. I did see a “cirkus” once, and while it was
similar to what I understand a circus is supposedly like, there were no performing animals.

There was a masturbating clown, though.

Listed for sale on The Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus Web site:

Elephant Streamers Spinning Light.

Spinning Light Ray Gun.

Elephant Halo Light.

Strobelight Sword.

Elephant Sno-Cone Stein.

Friction Powered Motorcycle.

Glow in the Dark Medieval Sword.

I remember Market Square Arena illuminated only by spinning red and blue shadows and ‘friction guns’ that shot sparks in their cases when you pulled the little metal triggers. The red and blue siren lights were only colored caps screwed to the top of a flashlight.

Tiny .gifs of studio white against circus red rectangularly
surrounding each item, like they had been truly cut and paste.

The clattering siren lights and serene fiber optic ’sprays’ (what else
do you call them? there were none listed on the Web) lasted a couple of weeks. My mom liked these little light up trinkets too. She showed me one my dad had bought her.

I had a boyfriend once. He liked the little red and blue flashing
buttons with the magnet backs. Called them ‘blinkies’. Wore them on
his shirt on the lake. Dropped them in my vodka tonic.