Prague Groteque

The fun house's up the hill but not nearly as creepy as one would hope. There are smiling children and ice cream cones where rictus devil's dung should grace their young tongues. Only the labyrinth of mirrors manages not to disappoint. Base desires decorate the wall here and series of homunculi parade around, their heads distended and genitals exposed. One cannot but suppose that it is fitting that the stomach be so belled and gaseous and that the arms are shrunken in proportion of to our thoughts. The glasses are old and wavery, like flutes spilling over with too much champagne, that is if the champagne was laced with paragoric, sidling into your bowls and turning them into glaciated flows. Under the light there a blond child gazes at her aqueous hair flaring into an areola. She looks like carillions should look, if carillions had a youth and the youth wore patent leather.