Will there be boffer weapons? Will there be a black box? Will there be formalized rules? Will there be an attempt to create a 360 degree illusion, or could a pen symbolize a rose? Maybe, maybe not.
The Circus travels far and wide. Tanzania, Palestine, Russia, Czech Republic, North America, Brazil, even the Nordic countries are frequently visited by this colorful, ever-changing spectacle. Everywhere; learning, changing, adapting, playing, challenging, creating, getting to know, partying, laughing (sometimes crying too).
It learns from local traditions, shares its own traditions freely: acts, tools and tricks.
You can never know for sure who belongs to the Circus. Maybe that businesswoman who just passed you on the street is a member. Maybe your shrink? You’d be inclined to think that dreadlocked neo-hippie juggling on the square would know, but he turns out to be clueless.
If you want to be a member, you are. You don’t even have to travel. You’ll be there, if you want to. Close your eyes, or open your laptop. You can stay on this road for as long as you please, take a break and come back when you’re ready.
The Travelling Circus didn’t start when the first story was told in a paleolithic cave, not with the pageantry of sixteenth-century Europe, not with the theatre of spontaneity in 1910, not at the Loose Moose Theatre Company in Canada in 1977, and certainly not in Gary Gygax’ basement. Yet all of those are spiritual ancestors.
There is no such thing as The Circus.
Just draw that magic circle, and you can summon the show.
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