Carnival

The devil is standing in the ashes of a carnival

Humming a gentle rhapsody in C minor

As he strides through the cinders and twisted frames of steel cages

A charred banner proclaims in hyperbole the enormity of the spectacle promised

He casts it aside

Spitting on promises of grandeur as he stands in their ashes

From beyond a distant caravan, a silhouette emerges, elegant and slender

She walks towards the devil cautiously

Emphasis behind each tentative step

The smooth contours of her shadowy figure complement the jagged implements

He wields with a crown woven from deceit and shards of glass

They meet

He bows courteously and she responds in kind

They clasp each other's hands, and wordlessly understand their mutual intentions

A passing gust groans as ghosts whisper from their ignominious pedestals

Atop the tattered rags of technicolour tents

And skeletons

Brittle and burnt by the flames that licked the circus with unreciprocated passion

And the whispering of ghosts begin to echo in distinct harmonies

The wind rattling the remnants of elephant bones and steel cages in deliberate rhythm

And with that, the devil and the shadow begin to dance

Feet moving in direct response to the ghoulish choir that commands their motion

Twirling in graceful spirals as they leap from a dancefloor of desolate memories

And suddenly the music ceases

The devil smiles as he kisses death, and then both disappear

Leaving only the tatters and ashes of a dream that burnt down

Leaving Stanley (Sold)

There was urgency in her frantic tone as she led him into the night, abandoning the congregation of the devoted to the secluded asphalt of the sensible. They walked briskly upon the cement path as imaginary clocks chimed midnight, reflections glistening as moonlight cast itself upon the harbour water. They heard the signature refrain emanate behind them, a symphony of apparitions echoing through the shadows of the forest. A choir of ghosts whispering hushed melodies into the emerald canopy. They drew closer to each other, linking briefly in mutual shelter from the chill of the night air and indulgence in the other's affection. her lips shimmered in the pale grasp of moonlight and his heart leapt as they inclined to meet his. This brief respite from time's insistent progression was shattered by the intrusion of necessity, and they were once more compelled towards the mouth of the harbour, beckoned by beacons of blazing light that winked mischievously from their perches atop skyscrapers and high-rises. The orange glow of a thousand streetlights whispered their enticing invitations, but they didn't listen, opting instead for the maritime path that would grant them the privacy they deserved. As he engaged in trespasses upon their fledgling romance, he was informed that his luck was not of the calibre insinuated by his euphoria. He shrugged, resigned to the happiness their passion afforded him. They pushed forward, watching a steady exodus of ghosts from across the distance they had just braved. They made it to the halogen bulbs of the underground, the sterile glow paling appropriately in comparison to the stars that burned with the fury of Blake's Tyger. With his hand in hers and her hand in his, he felt his eyelids descend across his glazed pupils, smile spreading across his drowsy face. He remained awake at her gentle insistence, and boarded a train headed quickly to nowhere in particular, warm in the security that he and she were homeward bound and happy in each other's embrace.  

Junk Drawer pt. 2: Spring Cleaning

Headphones: No fewer than three pairs, all experiencing varying degrees of dilapidation. One was the unfortunate victim of a surprise chokehold, another subject to the inclemencies of poor manufacturing and the last ruined by the left ear's mysterious refusal to play music.

Phone: The cell phone that carried me through grades eight to ten, resplendent in the many scrapes it was awarded in careless accident or incensed frustration. For its final year of use it retaliated by refusing to charge without an arduous struggle, leading to its subsequent replacement and current tenure in my junk drawer.

Sumo Dice: Another one of the curious Japanese phenomenon that wound its way into my junk drawer, this souvenir consists of a miniaturized sumo ring and four accompanying dice. By rolling the dice in the ring, they "do battle" in a way that I was assured was culturally symbolic but now realize is simply whoever rolls the highest wins. Which is pretty universal.

Box: Crafted from mahogany and adorned with native carvings, the majesty of the box is tempered somewhat by its contents: A flashlight shaped like an alien, a flashlight not shaped like an alien, assorted foreign currency a swiss army knife, what I think is a trilobite and a monocular. And the infamous blue lighter.

How to Play The Accordion: A book bestowed upon me posthumously by my late maternal grandfather, in all likelihood the final material possession given to me by him. I keep it as a token of the non-material things he gave me as well. Not to mention in the hope that i can eventually manage the acquisition of an accordion and with the help of the dog-eared and yellowed manual master it. I've been told chicks dig the accordion.

There are other things, other random objects of charming uselessness, collectively forming a delegation of junk. Every one of these things has a story. That's why they're still in my junk drawer.