I think I Hear Your Wretched Clapping

"I feel tears drop from eye because of well-placed popcorn!"

He applauded as he fell from the cliff. He applauded as he accelerated towards the depths of the black ocean.

"At the very very very bottom of that ocean, there's a cake, and when I get there I shall eat it!"

Applauded as he was flung in to the air, rushing pulling hair.

"I go to a helicopter, where a large man has a jacuzzi!"

Is there any happiness in the world greater than the happiness of this victim turned skydiver?

Today his applause inspires a man to nail a bottle to a peice of wood. He takes a box, then bangs his elbow against the bottle. It's a soda bottle. This man cuts off his finger and screams in to a microphone.

...There's another man who wrote a book that's devastatingly sad...only with well-placed fingers. This man bows to the applause. The book was written by someone else.

The clapping isn't what's wretched, what's wretched is the flinging in to the air. The catapult.

Every time you open your soda a man is thrown in to the air again, and he'll clap for you and for himself and he'll enjoy the view. Helpless human trajectory.

What's wretched is the one who pushed him off the cliff and ignored him as he fell...opened a book of cake recipes and started talking about carbonation, as the claps grew fainter, and then splash.