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This tent holding the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture has been shaking and flapping since the first of November, due to the prairie wind; with the shaking comes the pleasure of fear, the type that gives a quickening; knowing potential disaster looms. Maybe some audience will be bringing down the house for some, late-remembered, past folly. The great “They” are out there worrying all in the fear of finding faults.
Audience needy … fools and un-convicted felons … their incessant demand…ah, but having lacked a social back-up beeper as the guffaw laughter and whoopee applause and tainted honor start, the end is a typical folly.
Anachronistic artistics recognize pedigree, often a prestige allowing one to stand for all. And so the ringmaster grandly displays his endowments. If there are some chagrinned observers, they lack the eminence, the honor of recognition … of bronze statuary or other, more useful … remembrances.