Por trás do picadeiro, uma máscara, por trás da máscara, um palhaço.

Abstract

I apologize for my claim, as part of this work, to think that this autobiographical narrative can be a beacon for someone seeking the path that will lead him to any safe harbor. I do not pretend to conclude or affirm a truth, without going into the merit of being proven or not, I just want to give myself the right to share what goes on in the soul of the clown and I as a clown I feel authoritative to deal with fear the clown inside, your insides, your soul, your life when you're not wearing the clown mask. Do not follow me, I am lost, but always in a walk that on the stage of life represents the ring of a circus. Between falls, stumbling, laughter and crying, my life is confused with that of the clown. It is this story that I will try to tell and reproduce, the life story of the clown Cheiroso, that same clown Cheiroso with capital "c" and with "h" in the middle, is not Cheiroso with "x", is not xero is smell! The difference? Is that the smell is more loving, poetic, cozy. I confess the difficulty of knowing who the narrator is, if I or Cheiroso, then I will try to make this narrative a chat between John and Cheiroso, so that readers will know who is narrating at that moment. I believe what we will have at the end will be John being analyzed by Cheiroso and Cheiroso being analyzed by John in an intimate, honest, loyal way (one will know when the other is lying). I simply search the sadness of the clown, the loser. Is there sadness in the clown figure? Can the clown be happy when he is sad? Does the clown never cry with sadness? What truths can we get from the words of a clown? It is this side that I try to understand, my conflicts and denials, that I went through today and always accompanied by this clown.