They enter the stage in their clasy costums and bright capes, all going to the center to begin with it all. There are five that are shiny as the ambar, and are the main characters of this humble show. The psychic arrives with her gypsy cloths and soothing masks, followed by the silent dragon, the lying tiger and the deaf penguin.
Lights go off, just one dim blue light to make focus into our little group of accomplished actors, and she takes of her mask and starts yelling, the others just stay there and the gypsy keeps yelling and yelling. The silent dragon listens, because she's speaking a lot, but saying nothing, just yelling, and so he just listens. The lying tiger waits for the right moment and sits still, while the deaf penguin is clueless about what is happening, for he can't hear the screams.
The act goes on and the tiger finds the right spot and begins to speak, the words don't silence the gypsy and her yellings, they just make it more aggresive and fierce. But that's precisely what the tiger wants, for she knows once they've reached the highest point, they can't get worse.
And the dragon keeps listening, does not say a single word, he just listens, he doesn't observe, for he has seen this too many times and felt the same show over and over again, the excitement has gone along with the joy. So he just stands there, knowing what's about to happen every second, but never knowing exactly why.
And the penguin is there, not knowing what's happening, he can't try to escape, he can't try to silent the gypsy, because he can't listen. So he just observes, he looks at the other actors, their purposes, their motives and their actions, he observes their every breath, and he keeps observing, which is not only seeing, but feeling as well. And feels lonely.
The gypsy has now yelled a lot and continues, the others get used to it, the dragon keeps listening, and just nods every few screams of desperation, the tiger keeps lying to make all the ghosts go away, perhaps her mask is the most elaborated one. All but the penguin. He keeps observing, observing and worrying, worrying and feeling. And he tries to understand, and he tries to listen, but he can't he tries to sympathize, but they all know it will take him years to try. So the show goes on as in the previous act, but it begins to change.
The gypsy wants to yell no more, she wants to cry instead, her anger is not real, is just condensed sorrow through a papaer cup. And so she keeps yellingyet wanting to cry, because she knows they just won't get it, they never do. So once she is tired the puts the shiny mask again and the show goes on. There are bearded women, flying christs and a real water! And it all is merry.
The penguin is lost, first there was a loud silence of disrruption, and now it was a silent of happinness. And it all was fine, except for the fact that this show must go on, and repeat itself, for it's not a once in a lifetime rehersal, it's a lifetime show.
And after a few scenes of obscure poetry recitals, cognizant dialogues, and french babbling; the whole cast made a parade for the living and the dead, for the beautiful and bizarre, for teh balance and the chaos. It was a whole and an empty.
Newcomers appear on stage and so the gypsy shows an ultramarine velvet mask, the dragon displays his best scales and the tiger lies in a way that is not belivable yet is charming. The penguin is just the peguin, observing.
But because of his experience the penguin avoids just to listen, avoids lying so synically and above all, hates yelling. But he can't help himself, for they are his crew, the cast of tonight's show, so he lives.
And so our climax-less story sets still here, but it will repeat itself as much times as necesary. And you could think it is a play, that it is in fact a theater, but it's not. It is a circus, for playwriting never include dogs riding monocycles
by I'm the penguin