What goes into the babbling of the audience and the ancient procedure of manicured play? What believes in the self, that the self will enjoy a reproduction of life, and not life itself. We seek adventure in the eyes of the performers and we desire reflection in the gates of apptitution. There really isn’t a limit to the mental capacities of time, and only when we get to the root of it all, do we really see that time spent in a theatre is similar to time spent in real life.
What belittles our experience is the demeaning nature of the diminutive, and the ability for it to shock and awe its participants. In other birds, where does the inside of the out lie, when the darkness of the curtains creates extreme mystery and suspense.
Welcome to you, as you have now opened up your mind’s eyes to the realization that life is jazz music performed in the limits of the universe in the form of a play. A play that highlights the nuances of the lover, the hater, and the retribution.
For in the end, the director, the playwright, and the actors all take a bow and rejoice in their creation. Sometimes, its the only thing that gives any meaning to the life of the actors, and especially the play director. God.