The Phantasmagoria Funfair

The Funfair, by Duncan Eagleson

No amusement park is truly a normal place.

Raucous with the sounds of rickety machinery and breathless screams, awash in the smells of popcorn and fried dough, and beglittered with colorful lights endlessly flashing, even the most tumbledown carnival transports one into a liminal space.

At the Phantasmagoria Funfair, the space is a bit more liminal than most. Your gracious host, ringmaster and impresario Konrad Stahl, will take charge of your introduction to the Midway and all of its dizzying sights. Pay no mind to the strange mask he wears.

The House of Mirrors awaits you, but beware: not all of us are ready to see ourselves. The Oracle won’t tell your future, but you might be surprised at how much she knows.

The Ferris Wheel is not rideable at present. At least, not by you. Our sincerest apologies. It does have beautiful lights, though, no? Mind you don’t stare too long. A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

One is advised to hold rather tightly to one’s heart and body, as well. The Funfair is famous for its pickpockets, I’m afraid. So hold on, my lovely children, hold on tightly and keep your hands and feet and night terrors inside the bars. We wouldn’t want you to lose anything too valuable.

For what is a carnival, after all, but a celebration of the flesh? It’s right there in the name, in that delicious, meaty Latin root. You’re here; enjoy your embodiment, your body, while you can. The company you’ve only recently taken up with, well. Who’s to say exactly how long that might be?

So come in, come in. Enjoy the lights, enjoy the rides, enjoy the mystery. You might even learn something. Not that we advocate that sort of thing, ordinarily. But liminal spaces are far from ordinary, aren’t they.

Join us. Join us. We’re waiting, just for you. 


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