Thinking about John Barth and a funhouse

I was not the smarter one. I remained trapped in the funhouse for a long time. Took me a while to find the exit.

Now I'm free. Behind are the colors and the whistles and the mirrors and the noisy fakes. 

And the funny part is that everybody thought that I had a cool job. They only looked to the posters of Hollywood. They didn't know about life inside the funhouse. The world of apparencies. 

Thank you, Mr. Barth, for your short story "Lost in the Funhouse". 

He wishes he had never entered the funhouse. But he has. Then he wishes he were dead. But he’s not. Therefore he will construct funhouses for others and be their secret operator — though he would rather be among the lovers for whom funhouses are designed. 

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