marox_pass_the_show_continues fyn gula copello sat for a long time, by himself, (which was never a bad thing, maybe a tad lonely) inside the confines of the theatre that smelled of cedar, wet oak, and honeysuckle. (was she there? did she walk by?) he could hear the revelry outside, the brownies deft fingers playing ragtime now on the tinkling toy pianos. and something else, what was it? he didn't know. but he was frustrated because he thought that after "pop goes the weasel" his show would begin. but when the dwarf, who was having difficulty steering the antique pick-up, his cigar long burned out and now just a chewed tobacco stick in his foul-breathed mouth, came stumbling in, (what was he drinking? campari and san pellogrino? no. three negrinos.no wonder he was um, stumbling) and told him, "nylem is a dancing fool!" through his rotten teeth, copello rolled his eyes, and waited. two puppets on two hands. he knew he was blind to the beauty of his own life, he peeked out of the theatre anyway through a hole a mouse once made, thinking to himself, "nothing but threads hold us to this earth. we are balloons held by french children who love colour. hold fast fair wind." he realized that his show had not only begun, but had always been going on. if our life is not for the entertainment of others, then what is it for? remember what shakespeare once said? he saw nylem in the center of a human circle, all of its members clapping away to the sprightly music, pianos joined by the accordions that still worked. a few of the old men were banging on the lids of tinker toy cans and lincoln log boxes they had found earlier in the cupboard of someone's house (is it mine?) out of a childhood memory. (the bugs bunny puzzle of he floating on a boat in the middle of the sea never did have all of its pieces) nylem loved to dance. don't you? it was the freedom he said that intoxicated him, the unity of limbs and soul and surging blood, where the whole body somehow got along and led by the spirit of wonder simply turned itself inside out. and he fed on the attention, a baby at the soft breast looking out at the adoring crowd, arms out and raised, head back, purple dreds nearly touching the dusty, swirling ground, feet moving faster and faster. heart beating in his chest like the rhythm of ancient tribal ceremony. nabiscus, as always, was the first to notice maylay. he had seen him prior, when the bubbles came forth and the confetti stuck in his long, sun-bleached hair. happiness was never easy for him because anxiety had this intrinsic way of masking it, quick clouds covering a clear sky, sun kidnapped without warning. but here he was taking turns with nylem. he'd take off his rectangular guess sunglasses, put them on the top of his head and then jump with abandon into the circle, the bright smile he was known for was a permanent fixture, cheeks as full of joy as a squirrel with walnuts fallen in the beautiful grass of robin hill. 010701 ... log burning fire turned inside out 060312 what's it to you? who go blather from