• The Jester is painting pictures on moon cavern ceilings. Though only six feet tall, he’s aware of being able to extend past the sky; with dreams so far away, no echo or cry for help can reach them. I believe that one day the Jester will know he’s caught them, because always was he the type of man who remembered the feeling of grasping the moon. He could govern his imagination to reach leaps and bounds, and colour the most important secrets in the fashion of his mindset- turning action and thought into gold.
    In breaths of near spiritless life, he mutters about not being able to ‘show the world up-close’ of his beautiful creation; all while wondering why they can’t see. To be that blind would be to loosen a part of the puzzle complete enough for you to begin feeling whole. Troubled on curiosity, he wonders which shackles they’re freed of- but more importantly, what are their ties holding them to the ground. It was only then did he comprehend the lonely imbalance that clouds the moon, and the dead silence that scratches your bones. But it’s that odd sense of comfort on nights such as these that draws you back into the Jester’s haven past the cold evenings.

    Though foggy with what he recognizes to be ‘doubt’, he always had a knack for managing to find his way to paint more secrets, each of which are individually gathering together for his masterpiece that will soon hopefully bridge the earth and his art in the sky.
    One day, perhaps the world outside the moon will stop to glance, if only for an instant.
    If only to learn and understand the reason light usually trickles onto the celestial body every evening.
    The reason you may sometimes recognize the nights where a glow is missing from the dead end streets.
    The reason you may sometimes note the Jester’s exit on stage left.
    Though the audience will always turn their heads away to the right, at least he can face his back to knowing he made somebody smile; all before retreating to share his secrets with himself all over again.