All Empires Fall Eventually. It Is The

I Find I Think Of Myself Not As A Writer So Much As Someone Who Provides A Gateway, A Tangential Route For Readers To Reach The Circus. To Visit The Circus Again, If Only In Their Minds, When They Are Unable To Attend It Physically. I Relay It Through Printed Words On Crumpled Newsprint, Words That They Can Read Again And Again, Returning To The Circus Whenever They Wish, Regardless Of Time Of Day Or Physical Location. Transporting Them At Will. When Put That Way, It Sounds Rather Like Magic, Doesn't It? P.369

You're In The Right Place At The Right Time, And You Care Enough To Do What Needs To Be Done. Sometimes That's Enough.

Something About The Circus Stirs Their Souls, And They Ache For It When It Is Absent.

Memories Begin To Creep Forward From Hidden Corners Of Your Mind. Passing Disappointments. Lost Chances And Lost Causes. Heartbreaks And Pain And Desolate, Horrible Loneliness. Sorrows You Thought Long Forgotten Mingle With Still-fresh Wounds.

They Are Enthusiasts, Devotees. Addicts. Something About The Circus Stirs Their Souls, And They Ache For It When It Is Absent. They Seek Each Other Out, These People Of Such Specific Like Mind. They Tell Of How They Found The Circus, How Those First Few Steps Were Like Magic. Like Stepping Into A Fairy Tale Under A Curtain Of Stars… When They Depart, They Shake Hands And Embrace Like Old Friends, Even If They Have Only Just Met, And As They Go Their Separate Ways They Feel Less Alone Than They Had Before.