The House of Laughter
The House of Laughter is guarded by a dwarf the left side of whose face cries, and whose right side laughs. In the House of Laughter there are no comedians with stale jokes written by monocellular Sybarites. Whoever enters the house first needs to learn the joy of tears, and pluck them raw from the trees circling the house. Every Sunday the tear trees put out a red fruit in the shape of a heart--no one’s heart. Under the tree of no one’s heart the dwarf plays the harmonica, so round with contentment, so pink with bliss that when he laughs the house’s walls collapse, and laughter spills into the world, and you and I and he and she can laugh. When laughter is, the house is not.