I Couldn't Buy a Mask

I couldn't buy a mask--silver, gold, glitter, black lace, beaded fringe, feathers, headdresses, ceramic, glass, moulded leather, carved wood, painted with glitter, with historic scenery, full masks, masks with plague noses, with long noses, with cat ears, with bat wings, masks with butterflies, as white as snow, as smooth as glass, as delicate as porcelaine, as sturdy as oak--manufactured masks, handpainted, patterened and asymmetrical--a million faces ased me to be theirs--to take on their identity, to fill them with my full-of-lifeness--to flaunt and prace and strut, to smile and scowl and let their glorious face melt into mine--to give me winds and them a pluse, to concede to that glorious one-ness between a costume and the costumee--slowly letting the character in the mask takeover--feeding into you the wonderful otherness, the strengeness, the me-but-not-me-ness masks bring. If i had one, i would have to have them all feeding their personalities like a drug--them feeing on my life--making them alive--no, these masks could not be relegated to table tops or wall hooks, wooden panels or even hung from ceilings--swaying on invisible breezes scanning the room. These masks wanted a life--they preyed on me from the shop windows. I knoew I had to say no, turning defiantly from their eyeless gaze. masks would only lead to harder things, dyed and curled wigs, staffs, satin capes in black and pink and red, wands wrapped in glittery raffia, earrings the size of saucers. The spirit of carnavale lives deeply in these masks and those who try them on donàt know what they ask until it is too late.