(no subject)
I went to the funfair in Wicklow yesterday evening. It seems so strange that I should visit it. It's almost like a symbol of the past summers spent down there, the waves crashing against the rocks just metres away... And just a short walk down the pebbles of the beach and across the pier is where we fished.
I remember one year I caught a fish, and wanted to keep it alive, so I rushed down the steps to fill a bucket of seawater to put it in... But my little arms couldn't reach the sea without falling in, and I tried and I tried, and by the time I finally managed to get some water in and got the bucket back and threw the little fish in... It was already dead.
I always hated fishing.
But then the summers couldn't have all been bad. The cold air was whipping around my neck, and against the early evening dark, the enormous ferris wheel flashed brilliantly. It was quite a sight to behold, dazzling in its artificiality. Somehow the funfair was different, smaller. Wandering around, there was so little that brought forth wonder or excitement. Just a dull feeling that I had grown up, and left something behind.
I never wanted to know the people who lived on our caravan site. I was sure they were all good people, and in no way did I feel superior... I was sure I was more intelligent than some of them, but they were compassionate, thoughtful, interesting people... And I felt nothing for them.
I rode on the ferris wheel. It climbed steadily higher. I could see out into the sea for miles, across the city of Wicklow spread out like the night sky, dotted with orange-yellow streetlamp-stars. And I felt so completely disconnected with the world, so exhilaratingly seperate. I was a god, astride the neon and steel monster I had created, I was a Prometheus, dancing upon the flames of hell... And I desperately wanted someone with whom to share the isolation, with whom to be there, atop that ferris wheel, alone together...
I went home after that, watching the spinning, glowing circle disappear behind the trees and the buildings, as the stars came out to take its place.
I remember one year I caught a fish, and wanted to keep it alive, so I rushed down the steps to fill a bucket of seawater to put it in... But my little arms couldn't reach the sea without falling in, and I tried and I tried, and by the time I finally managed to get some water in and got the bucket back and threw the little fish in... It was already dead.
I always hated fishing.
But then the summers couldn't have all been bad. The cold air was whipping around my neck, and against the early evening dark, the enormous ferris wheel flashed brilliantly. It was quite a sight to behold, dazzling in its artificiality. Somehow the funfair was different, smaller. Wandering around, there was so little that brought forth wonder or excitement. Just a dull feeling that I had grown up, and left something behind.
I never wanted to know the people who lived on our caravan site. I was sure they were all good people, and in no way did I feel superior... I was sure I was more intelligent than some of them, but they were compassionate, thoughtful, interesting people... And I felt nothing for them.
I rode on the ferris wheel. It climbed steadily higher. I could see out into the sea for miles, across the city of Wicklow spread out like the night sky, dotted with orange-yellow streetlamp-stars. And I felt so completely disconnected with the world, so exhilaratingly seperate. I was a god, astride the neon and steel monster I had created, I was a Prometheus, dancing upon the flames of hell... And I desperately wanted someone with whom to share the isolation, with whom to be there, atop that ferris wheel, alone together...
I went home after that, watching the spinning, glowing circle disappear behind the trees and the buildings, as the stars came out to take its place.