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Once a decade, a series comes which opens up our vulnerability...our pain It's a haunting show, that teaches us, teaching how devastating is fagility. A show so poignant, a monologue evokes powerful agony, and dialogue, brings us piercing devastation. The carebear is once the "untouched human" and at the same time, haunting reminders of "thing inside the thing", a metaphore which is all too obvious, especially for young children. One cries when watching the carebears. Tears of joy? Tears of devastation? We are so absurd...they are not is sweat leaking from one's eye balls. Eye ball perspiration, evoked by torn beauty, and delicately stuffed bears with high intensity lazers integrated into their bellies.

All roads lead us, to romance. Not love, romance...romanticism. Knowing an ideal will arrive, with time, time. To feel the smile stiched on your face, to touch people with your aching love. To find rainbow gold, caring gold, loving gold, shattered gold, devastating gold. When was it we last touched our own heart, ourselves? Why do we no longer touch ourselves? Our aching selves, our haunted selves? Would we, if our eyes were glass and beady? Could we, if our ears were round and fluffy? We always speculate. Touching our heart is violation. Self-touching, self-human, self-gang-bang violation.


Their soft arms, look at the different colours. Their skin defines then much more than our skin does. An American negro is president. A Detroit rapper is famous. Coffee skinned hands caress a powerful oval oak desk. A nuclear white face adorns haunting record covers. They could switch places tomorrow. But, a blue carebear cannot be like yellow carebears. Blue ones cannot shine a heavily focused love beam in a concentrated blast in order to freeze everything it touches. No amount of wishing will make that possible. Only yellow carebears can shoot their energy forward turning even the warmest soul into frigid lifelesness. Blue carebears must accept this limitation with stoic devastation. Their world is life without icebeams bursting out of their bellies ... it is blue-carebear-dissapointment. Lingering failure. Aching loss.

Their eyes gaze over their poignant desparation and their desparate poignancy. To gaze ahead is to remember the singed fur created when lazers were incorrectly used. To gaze about is to remember when Birthday bear forgot to celebrate your special day of the year, because your Brithday is the same day as Christmas.

The shattering pain that freezes their glands and liquifies their beedy eyes is fueled by the irony around them. Bedtime bear has become a compulsive insomniac, funshine bear studies algebra in the shadows, grumpy bear makes everyone play musical chairs, daydream bear is a state senator in New Jersey.


The power behind their sparkling eyes and furry beauty has been debated for decades. Is there a special crystal inside their hearts which resonates with the particles around the bear allowing the bear to not only care, but care outwards, in an outwardlike way? Do they have hearts? Could they really care if they didn't have a heart? Could they really care if they had no choice? Few people have anesthetised and opened up a carebear to find out, and their discoveries were not openly shared with the rest of the curious comminuty. However, it is unlikely that any crystal was found, as those crystals would likely be valuable, and based on that value, we probably wouldn't have any carebears around anymore. The loving value of their caring is another question. A question we won't ask today. Perhaps when we are ready.


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