Register Thursday | February 9 | 2023
Carousel Illustrations by Constante Lim/Unsplash; Michael/Unsplash  


Translated by Katia Grubisic

The years fly as the slides shuffle by. The wheel spins, dangerously excited. The child in me wishes she could step off the carousel of time, though she claps as the slightly sordid, merry mechanism laps the years one over the other, slippery and sliding into each other endlessly. There is something disturbing about the noise of the projector that automatically rotates through each stilled instant of life. Click, clack. The past appears, click, clack, disappears, click, clack, appears, disappears, strange discontinuity.

Click clack, click clack, I try not to get dizzy. The clatter of photos in the machine blurs into the crash of falls and car accidents along the highways of memory. Yet as the images come to life on the makeshift screen of my dull apartment wall, time stands still. The slides are silent; only their hectic succession whines along. On the carousel, photos repeat like an echo ...

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