It was supposed to be an age of leisure. "A great big beautiful tomorrow" said the moustachioed animatronic robot at the Carousel of Progress. He was such a figure of hope. That's right. And the wonderful music as we slowly rotated as an audience, together, moving rhythmically clapping our hands to the transcendent future of technology and evolution. Then, as the carousel came to it's last stop, you disembarked and rode up an escalator to the city of tomorrow. The gigantic miniature marvel encased in glass with the street lights and the motor cars. We were the behemoth's that looked at the city below, terrifying it's inhabitants no doubt that had been abducted from another space/time portal and shrunk to the size of a peanut. I'm sure there were shrieks of absolute diarreahic horror at seeing the gigantic retarded boy peering through the glass dome, leering down on a shrunken populace.
then we left the building. I don't know about you, but that big giant Carousel of Progress eventually changed forever. I think it became "America Sings" with birds and other aviary creatures, not to be confused with "the Tiki room". Unfortunately, America Sings was a pale imitation of it's previous tenant. But things were not so beautiful for that carousel. No siree. If you remember, as I surely do, the appalling tragedy that befell a young disney employee as she pressed the button to turn the giant swiveling room. Her dress was caught in the space between the wall and the turnstyle. Hopelessly trapped, she was crushed alive as the canned music played at ear splitting volumes. The sounds of banjoo and washboard mixed with blood curdling shrieks. Matted hair and brain tissue splattering venomously on the elderly guests from Ohio or Toledo (Ohio). This future, the future that looked so bright, was colored with the brightness of blood. Our future covered in blood and embryonic fluids, seeping mashed and degraded eye socket, emptied of viscous mucous fluid and lens. She was young, I would think. The whole thing was amplified over the state of the art electro-alcephenous disney microphonology. You recall, I think I do. The microphones were the kind that looked like a walkie talkie with the button on the side, black. You depressed the button and the sound came through other means. Ocassionally it was an oldstyle silver mike, you recall. I do.
This particular strain of slaughter left quite an empty, lasting impression on me. I wonder, about the girl, was she jewish? I think she might have been. I don't really know why. Was she from Florida, originally and came out to California to live at the multitudinous array of motels with pools and slides across the street. Did she ride the Matterwheel and the peoplehorn around the park, happy, gleeful with child perhaps, something her family knew nothing about, hence her trip to California. She could have been a contender, instead of a corpse, which is what she was, and is. Our future, so robotic and perfect, rife with blood and embalming fluid.