the festival of fools and graphic novels

The festival of fools and graphic novels is just starting as you arrive at our next chapter. We enter in to our mad house with a grin and stilettos, ribbon twist up thighs and linger close to the skirt that she wears when she goes out. Lucifer and his vikings (before the fall) lead the pathway to the holy ghost who is burning himself alive again as he watches this particular circus go through the towns and cities of our beloved past and present again to be the future soon.

The jokers kept the place tidy while you were away and their black coats and white gloves leave us remembering their faces that light up the mirrors on the other side once and awhile. We stare in and through them and don’t know how this trick is done.

The carpet lays out a red assembly line through the curves and passageways of this old slump of a building found on the corner of vanish and wicked. We make ends meet inside of us and collect you for the awakening. These disembodied hands dancing through the air like birds as we look up to the cathedral like foyer.

Rooms of labyrinth mirror lands we walk through and see with awake eyes all of our various characters and the fornicators and the suicide makers and the hanged man swings through the mirrors we are running from unless you can stand there and stay still.

Angels call us to elemental forecasts and we are swept up and carried through the quick sands that waterfall through this room of only keyholes. Where green and purple look like different colors entirely and the entities snicker at the duller of the masses that have an understanding that one gets out alive, one wakes up from this dream.

Once we do wake up from this sensory overload, our voices soften and we huddle together for fear of falling. The tower of this crafty illumination carried us away from angry stock marketers with their hung faces and slips of shots of whiskey for whom those bells toll their deafening secrets of the traitors and traders. I lost my way among the throng and end up falling asleep ever so stealthily in the ivy-covered moors just inside our fun house to wake in the morning and wonder if it was all an encouraged nightmare.