all_of_us_are_on_the_stage fyn gula and so he allowed the children on his back. he threw them in the air. it was his performance. for all of us are on the stage. he felt the eyes upon him, even as he felt the weight. they were happiness, if happiness could be embraced. he knew not what they were thinking, where imagination bid them to travel. he was the vehicle. the mode of transportation. and the audience shifted in their seats, the heads turned, the throats cleared, the coughing polite. the lips whispered speculative words, adjectives to describe pleasant vision. thoughts formed like fingers pressing clay and they knew when they looked in the mirror something would be different. what is it now in us that we have of his? of yours? a world entered. a fog cleared, sun appearing from behind a cloud. what was once in shadow now manifested. and when the hands fall from the face, tears glisten in the light of a dying sun, but there is a smile. and all the teeth are seen. 010211 what's it to you? who go blather from