a mummery is a ridiculous ceremonial. i know this because i once wrote the word in a book and much later i ran into it again and even though i wasn't sure that's what it meant i believed it anyway. i can say it 10 times and nothing will happen besides the fact of having said it, it will maybe seem i am saying something else, the 5th or 6th time i say it, i could confuse myself, but most likely even that would pass without serious consequences.
i find most social interactions to be forms of mummery and i laugh at them once everyone has gone home or once i have returned home or if the lights go off. sometimes i laugh at them on the way home. or on the way to somewhere else. but i laugh, i really laugh. once we said goodbye i look left and i look right and i cross laugh. i laugh at them by myself because most other people take them very seriously. except f. we can draw the curtain and laugh together.
we've got a lot to laugh about together, so i'll be doing that for a while. my stomach is full of laughter. it has contaminated my head, my hair is full of grins, my eyes are full of tears, salty watery smiles digging into my cheeks like that one drip spoiling the exterior of a glass forever (or less), rendering it unusable until further washing, my neck and shoulders, dancing together to some forest rhymes, foyer rhythms, everything comes together like neighbours from all floors in the elevator, what a thrill in the stomach laughter is, and so are elevator rides, sometimes, and then there's my ears, awake, hearing me out more then ever, taking laughter in stereo, they are good sports, they pay so much attention, and my breath, gushes of laughter from my stomach, it's all there is, i think it's all love.
i keep my cheeks dirty and my eyes where i can't see them and my laughter in my stomach, expanding, expanding, like the porridge in the story, taking over the village, et caetera. it took so long to realise there's no fear in laughter.