Folded Thought of the Day:


They have begun of late to find folly in the smallest of details. 
A conceited self-loathing seems to be going around.  Making the 
rounds.  Among the concentric circles.  Spinning and gaining 
momentum.  A centrifugal force, meeting its match down at 
bowling night.  Rolling down the alley, falling into the gutter, 
reeling into the machine, into oblivion.  Leaving the proud 
pillars standing...in unison...just waiting for some hotshot 
to come around and pick them off.  One by one.

Like tin cans in a shooting gallery.  Sitting ducks, frozen 
in that flash of light, signaling your turn...your dance.  
Never expecting "The Kid" to roll into town, with his ability 
to illuminate all the targets at once.  Yeah, it's the stuff 
of legend.  Bringing the storm with him.  Setting the whole 
joint off.  Quite the spectacle.

You didn't think you could just sit around in your static 
tranquility while the entire carnival was falling down around 
you?  Now, did you?  Sooner or later someone was going to seek 
outside help.  The freak show was just starting to look a little 
too familiar to the onlookers.  No surprises there.  Nothing 
they couldn't witness in the average boardwalk bystander.

And the roller coaster has rusted over, standing in the 
overgrown field like a relic...a skeleton, its cars long 
stilled, its caretakers long retired, all its joyous screams 
gone long silent.  

And that spook house doesn't have one honest moment of terror 
to offer anymore.  It's just all so tired.  We've seen those 
5 o'clock gags too many times...as witnessed in the disappointed 
faces as the audience walks away, shaking their heads and kicking 
the dirt -- yeah, they really wanted something new, something 
to make their heart leap into their throats.

Well, it just so happens that they're in luck.  Cause here comes 
that outside help -- a hired gunslinger walking in slow motion 
along the boardwalk, heading right into the heart of the matter.  
And everybody recognizes him immediately, all starting to run 
for cover.  Even the carnival barker, the guy who's never silent 
longer than 5 seconds -- going on and on with his endless 
drone of sound-bitten attempts at gathering attention -- seems 
to be a little speechless.  Maybe The Kid just cut his power.

Not that this arrival should be a big surprise.  At least not 
to anyone who's spent any time reading the words scripted 
on the walls...anybody who's witnessed the daily casting 
away of the deadwood -- all those discarded pieces of our 
pilgrim's progress, tossed off the pier to make room and 
ease our minds, in blatant disregard for the turning tide.  
Heading back to shore on a crimson wave.  

The neon lights are beginning to short out.  And the dead 
bulbs are displaying the real message, hidden beneath the 
glow all these years.  The true meaning behind this circus 
gathering.  Get a closer look.  Go on.  Step right up.


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