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skonen_bladesWhen I was a little boy, I used to think that balloon animals were magical and alive.
Every time I saw one getting made, I could only think that it must be really painful for that balloon to blossom into consciousness as it was being twisted violently in the hands of a clown.
I pictured a world where all the balloon-creatures lived. One giant balloon-planet big enough to have gravity. Gamboling balloon sheep and poodles bounding in giant arcs over the colorful shapes of bristling sausage bushes and snake-race blue balloon-rivers. Giant balloon-birds and clouds hovering up in the air. I picture half-finished abstract balloon-creatures rolling along in slow motion like disfigured tumbleweeds.
I pictured the constant low-level squeaking mixing in the air with the smell of talcum powder and rubber.
The colours would have been at home in a tropical coral reef or a bag of candy.
Sharp edges and fire did not exist.
I guessed that Earth-bound balloon creations must dream of that place like we dream of heaven. I figured that the animals that were filled with helium and rose up into the sky could get back home. The rest were chained here forever with me and other children.
It must have felt horrible to be filled with the dank hung-over breath of a clown and wrestled into life only to be rooted here. I always felt that it was my duty to hoard the animals in my room and keep them entertained until they shriveled away to nothing over the year. Every carnival or fair that we went to, I begged my parents to buy as many as possible.
After a while, they knew to steer me clear of clowns and balloons.
I’ve always seen the act of creating life in balloon form to be an act of cruelty.
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Every time I saw one getting made, I could only think that it must be really painful for that balloon to blossom into consciousness as it was being twisted violently in the hands of a clown.
I pictured a world where all the balloon-creatures lived. One giant balloon-planet big enough to have gravity. Gamboling balloon sheep and poodles bounding in giant arcs over the colorful shapes of bristling sausage bushes and snake-race blue balloon-rivers. Giant balloon-birds and clouds hovering up in the air. I picture half-finished abstract balloon-creatures rolling along in slow motion like disfigured tumbleweeds.
I pictured the constant low-level squeaking mixing in the air with the smell of talcum powder and rubber.
The colours would have been at home in a tropical coral reef or a bag of candy.
Sharp edges and fire did not exist.
I guessed that Earth-bound balloon creations must dream of that place like we dream of heaven. I figured that the animals that were filled with helium and rose up into the sky could get back home. The rest were chained here forever with me and other children.
It must have felt horrible to be filled with the dank hung-over breath of a clown and wrestled into life only to be rooted here. I always felt that it was my duty to hoard the animals in my room and keep them entertained until they shriveled away to nothing over the year. Every carnival or fair that we went to, I begged my parents to buy as many as possible.
After a while, they knew to steer me clear of clowns and balloons.
I’ve always seen the act of creating life in balloon form to be an act of cruelty.
tags