Run Away and Join the Circus

I seriously hope there's kids out there who still want to run away and join the circus. I bet there are. What a fantastic life that'd be! I think it'd be great. For a lot of us, though, we don't really see that many circuses anymore. So the temptation isn't quite as strong, plus I'm getting very old. But in the small towns I just know there's still have to be little circuses coming through. Allowing kids the opportunity. A little fly-by-night operation would be perfect for a kid to run away to; start small and work your way up. I'd do it in a heartbeat, given another chance.

Of course it's something I always wanted to do, but, dammit, never did. I should've gone for it. I was always so concerned about the feelings of my parents and grandparents -- who loved me so much and were so good to me, just my bad luck. Had they been like other kids' families -- scoundrels, turds, and cranks -- I would've been gone in a heartbeat. Whether the circus would've wanted me, that'd be their problem. They would've thought of something for me to do, keep the clowns happy or something.

It could be that circuses back then, when I was a kid, had so many runaway kids, they just farmed them out to all the countries circus performers seemed to come from -- Mexico, South American countries, and Romania -- where they were trained. That actually wouldn't have been so bad. You're in South America, you learn from the masters, then you're part of bigger circuses. 10 years later your parents are in the audience and there you go trotting by, standing and jumping rope on the back of a plumed horse.

One of my favorite books -- and I can't seem to find it -- was always "Toby Tyler," which, unfortunately for him, when he runs away and joins the circus, it's a terrible experience. They treat him like crap. On the other hand, that wouldn't be so bad. You prove yourself, you work your way up, you dispose of your enemies. I can't remember all the details, except, Toby, Why limit yourself to that circus? Run away again and again till you find a more kid-friendly one.

I was thinking, maybe someone could come up with a program -- put together by parents and circuses, to allow their kids to "run away" -- or just to be driven in the car -- to a circus, serving an apprenticeship, etc., to see if they like it and would excel. I get the feeling that circuses are in some danger of slipping away. So what better to revive struggling circuses with but cheap labor, with kids not even really in it for the money? Then, assuming that a bunch of them would never want to go back to their families -- it'd be tough to go back to parents who abandoned you to a circus -- they'd have all kinds of experience, and would be able to make that circus flourish and found others.

The program I have in mind I'm tentatively calling "Toby's Big Secret," because it at least recalls the secrecy of running away to join the circus. A bunch of "Tobies," then, have that experience. They're with the circus for X number of days, months, or years. It's good for everyone, a win-win for the circus, as well as the parents. If the child never comes back, at least they're earning their keep and learning life lessons. I think it would've been fun if "Toby's Big Secret" was a program when I was a kid. Instead, I got to go to camp for one stinking weekend, that's it.

"Toby's Big Secret" could also be used in conjunction with children's "Last Wish" organizations. Let's say I'm a dying child -- and let's be realistic, that's what we're talking about -- I would be the best clown in the world! Seriously. The best clowns are those that evoke pathos, the crying clown, the big sagging sad eyes and bowed head. Even to the point of carrying a dead flower in a pot. If you're a child in the death throes, no one would make a better clown. With the diminutive size, you'd have the place in tears. I'm honestly choking up, thinking of myself like that. With the audience reaching out to me, crying like babies, and somehow curing me. Now I'm cured, let's say, I milk the act forever, since they're also throwing money.

The biggest danger in joining it with "Last Wish" activities is that they might give you more dangerous things to do, knowing your time is already short. Which, I guess -- and I say this reluctantly -- if I can't be a clown and have the audience loving me, would still be a great way to go. Helping steady the elephant's feet so it doesn't step on the beauty queen. That doesn't mean it won't step on you. But what a way to go! How would you rather die? In a hospital, going bald, down to skin and bone, your healthier siblings standing there crying, the parson hat-in-hand droning trite prayers, and your parents stuck organizing pancake benefits? Or with five tons of raging elephant coming down on you, then hoisting you suddenly on its trunk and flinging you through the air, impaling you on one of those giant tent poles? Give me the circus!

Enhancing Your Dreams

My life of lucid dreams began when I started wearing glasses to bed to catch more detail. From there, it progressed. Still today, REM activity actually continues through most of the morning. If you see a guy fluttering his eyes at you, that's me!

The glasses were enough for a while, but I wanted more. I started sleeping with a chair, thinking that if I could sit during dreams I'd be able to take in more. Indeed, things were less hectic. I was suddenly less a participant than a spectator. That was fine, but dreams are meant to be participatory and not so tame. So I went "full gator," sleeping with a stuffed alligator, which made things very wild very fast. I was chased and cornered more times than I can remember. I almost ended up with my own show on Animal Planet, in my dreams, but thankfully woke up in time.

Other times, I wanted things to be more pastoral, with dark blue skies and bright stars, and fairies and satyrs roaming the countryside. I got some books at a book sale, Van Gogh, Yeats, and Greek mythology. I tore out the specific pages to create the scene and had one of the best nights of my life. All except for the satyrs. They're very randy rascals, so if anyone tries this, make sure you make provision for them to have a good partner.

A lot of my favorite enhanced dreams involved going back to my childhood and camping with my family like we used to do. Grandma and Grandpa, Mom and Dad, brothers, cousins, everyone. Naturally, this involved going to bed with a photo album, a lantern, and a chunk of tent canvas. And throw in some fishing equipment. The biggest problem wasn't the fact that I woke up with my pillows at the end of a stringer, but that I associate camping with downpours. Touch the canvas and it leaks right through. I not going to tell much about it, except to say I changed the sheets and put down plastic.

Anyway, in my dreams I've done a little of everything over the years, including running away and working for the circus, like Toby Tyler. Even though Toby's adventures were mostly misadventures, I had more success. But it's true what they say about clowns; I'd rather be chased by satyrs any night of the week!

The weirdest, most elaborate dream I ever had was the entire Apocalypse -- 360 degrees, 3D depth, the entire judgment, God, devils, and white throne. Thankfully, it had a happy ending: I awoke five years later to a blessed morning, having seen a lot of angelic nudity and lots of other cool stuff, the works!

To prepare for this, it took workmen a whole week to construct what looked like a swing set over my bed, with pulleys, chains, and various berths for figures carved by craftsmen. These were prophets, angels, devils, etc. All this apparatus was connected by a team of technicians to several bicycles, the whole works carefully choreographed by a panel of respected ministers, according to their reasonable theological consensus. Lastly, the bikes were powered by members of a trusted Boy Scout troop. I once bought popcorn from them, so I knew they were good.

Despite the noise, I dozed off. Around midnight, I heard the cranks and pulleys churning and the breathing of the Scouts at their bikes. I drifted off again, and ascended through super consciousness into the heavenly spheres, passing through the seam that separates mundane existence from the higher realms. It was fantastic! Not a satyr or clown in sight!

But as the Apocalypse involves tumult, destruction, judgment, and the eventual reconciliation and restoration of the cosmos -- and a lot of close calls with devils -- I had more on my mind than I knew what to do with. It's harder to get back than you'd think. This is where I probably went too far, and, like I said, I ended up sleeping for five years. I was out of it! I don't know if anyone paid the Scouts and the craftsmen. Everything of my normal life was gone. All I knew during that time was the inner world I inhabited.

My family, who otherwise would've been out camping, took care of me, bedridden as I was. And if I hadn't covered the bed in plastic, I can only  imagine the bedsores I might've had. Thank goodness for my wise planning.

The Harder You Applaud

It could've happened to anyone. The horse just dropped dead.

He knew all the tricks and liked to keep the audience happy. But being a horse, he probably didn't know they'd be happy if he just showed up and gave an average performance. No one's expecting a Las Vegas revue out in the sticks.

Looking at the audience, personally I wouldn't try very hard at all. If there was ever a gathering before apparently missing that many chromosomes, I've never seen it. And those were just the ones paying attention. Mom and Dad were over there slapping little Sally for wanting cotton candy. And a few of them had lost their helium balloons within minutes of buying them, it was ridiculous.

I myself would've gone to the bathroom before the horse came on, but I didn't want to miss the clowns scooping up after him. They're always trying misdirection tricks with the audience, but I'm careful to follow the shovel. Keep your eyes on the shovel...

A guy named Toby was the announcer, and he knew how to get the audience revved up, telling us about 10 times, "The harder you applaud, the harder he'll work!" The cowboy took his horse through a series of steps, then jumps, then was racing him around the circle.

We applauded politely for the steps he took, being mostly one foot in front of the other, then crossing his legs, then a cute bow to each of the three sections. I liked the bows and applauded louder for those. Other joined me, with not just clapping but whistles.

Toby came out, his hands over his head, and called to the crowd, "The harder you applaud, the harder he'll work."

Off then he went, with many jumps over gates, getting always higher. We applauded like you might expect for the smaller gates, then louder for the medium-sized ones, then quite a bit louder yet for the higher ones. He jumped with all his might and cleared them, although he hit one of them with his hooves. We applauded even harder to make him feel better.

Toby stepped up and cranked us up some more, "The harder you applaud, the harder he'll work!" The rider seemed to sense something was wrong and acted like he wanted Toby to knock it off, but he didn't catch his drift.

It was time for the circles. The horse went running around the circles, running fast, cantoring, leaping, going ballistic in all the ways that only a horse with nothing but his legs and mad skills can. The applause was deafening, with the horse responding as trained, working harder and harder and ever harder yet.

Finally, it was time for the coup de gras, The Spectacular Deliverance of Beauty, with the horse meant to convey a threatened woman out of the hands of Black Bart, an evil cowboy. She staggers out of the upper room of a saloon set, her hands tied, and jumps to the horse's back, which runs with all his might around the circle. The applause is wild.

Somehow she stays standing. And she's trying to untie her hands while keeping her balance. An assistant runs in with a stick and the woman additionally has to leap over it each time around the ring. The applause is crazy, with the horse running even faster, the woman leaping up, and the stick going ever higher.

Toby steps out of the shadows, and seems to sense a disaster is at hand. But by pure habit, he calls for the audience to give their most rousing ovation. "The harder you applaud, the harder he'll work!" Leading to -- what? -- a sudden heart attack, something! It was like an airshow but with a horse. The horse is going 40 miles an hour when suddenly his legs crumple under him. The audience is aghast.

The woman is thrown into the stands, her fall cushioned by Sally's cotton candy ... and Sally, who turns out to be the only human fatality.

The Circus Is Coming To Town - Part 2

OK, I actually did go to the circus!

I know, I said I wasn't going. But then as the minutes ticked by, virtually to the point of being almost too late, I picked up and dashed out to make it on time. And I did.

All along the way, of course I'm behind slow moving vehicles, people turning off to parks, taking forever to get turned. Then there's something of a minor traffic jam as we get closer and closer. Then the parking hassles, and there I am finally running across a field to get to the line of people at the ticket booth. Through all that, huff huff. Then to the next ticket booth, to get preferred seating for an extra fee. Slowpokes are ditzing along in this line, too, hemhawing over what precisely they need or could possibly want. I'm trying not to sigh or look impatient. Then after they get this otherwise-easy task finished, I zip right through. Then I find my place, a great seat virtually center stage. A fantastic seat for getting there near the last minute ... or as it turned out maybe 10 minutes before it actually started.

I was trying to soak in all the sights and sounds. I didn't have a proper camera, so I didn't have to take my time messing with that. This way I could feast my eyes on the various ones, such as all the fabulous circus women, which goes without saying. And a lot of South American men -- hotblooded and very talented, almost magical in their abilities to swing, climb, fly, and contort. Everything you'd want was there, clowns, elephants, and, as I said, all the fabulous circus women, looking quite fabulous, and probably all already spoken for by the hotblooded men...

I struck up a conversation with a guy next to me, which was a very lucky break, because he himself was an old circus performer, from 50 years ago. Now he is retired (84 years old) from everything, but still goes to circuses and seems to know quite a bit about them, about history and museums and trivia. His circus job was to be shot from a cannon over 200 feet into a net, which he got $160 a week for plus his keep. That was in the south, in the winter, and the circus was called Cole Brothers. The rest of the year he was a farmer. This circus was once a mighty show but slowly went downhill and is long since gone. I told him I'd heard of it, and asked if it was a circus around about 1904, too, but he didn't know. Here's an article from 1909 about the Cole Bros. circus. (Guess whose blog that article is from. That's where I heard of it!)

Sometimes I think about the interesting coincidences in life, almost like there really is some sort of force guiding these things. If I hadn't waited till the last minute, I never would've met this guy, which was a great highlight certainly worth remembering.

It was fun to clap for all the performers and to enjoy all their skills. Then I had to get in the car and drive home instead of running away to join the circus. I don't actually have any skills they would need, unless maybe the Sno Cone guy somehow just happened to mysteriously disappear. (Maniacal laugh, rubbing my hands...)

The Circus Is Coming To Town

The circus has come to town, and I'm not going to it. I wasted the days leading up to it, not buying advance tickets. Plus, I'd rather save a little money -- I've been wasting too much. Plus, I haven't got the energy, exactly, even though I'd love to see the circus.

I love all the South American acrobats, the ladies standing on horses, the various daredevil stuff, death defying tricks performed twice a day.