Extravaganza of Life
There is no one sadder than clowns. People laugh at their absurd appearance, point fingers at them, make fun of their manners.
People laugh, but the universe does not.
There is no one happier than a dead jester. His soul is taken by merciful outer space. Billions of kilometers from Earth, there is a planet on which there is never an audience. Only there former mimes, jesters, comic actors and dead clowns find their true happiness. Only there they really and loudly laugh. Happiness is there forever. The inhabitants of this world smile at each other with the understanding smile of the Joker or the Cheshire Cat, put on caps with horns and ridiculous gigantic boots. Nobody makes fun of it there. Laughter evokes something else. Loving money is ridiculous! Working around the clock is a fun hobby! To be sick and to suffer is a joke!
So the formless souls of the clowns float in the atmosphere of the planet, smiling at each other: red, blue, green souls of clowns. A light breeze carries them over the surface. Gentle blue seas hum lullabies to them, green forests give them coolness, multicolored stars illuminate the path.
The clowns are smiling. Clowns sincerely laugh at all thirty-two snow-white strong teeth. They feel good.