Quiet Person Goes Quietly into the Quiet Night

Maybe you have heard from the news sources that the quietest man who ever lived has quietly passed away from a quiet ailment of some kind. He was none other than Lord Farthingworth Gagnon, but his name of performing which by you might know him was Marcel Marceau. Now, some of you will read this and trumpet, "NO, you stupid foreign man Jorge Carlito, I do not accept from the likes of YOU that Marcel Marceau has quietly extinguished his noiseless candle." I know, I know, my beautiful fellow humanity, it is difficult to accept that one with such a painted white scary mime face but so big a gushing heart of love for the ladies and such a compassionate soul of the French persuasion could be gone from this earth like a balloon full of mustard sinking into the Marianas Trench. But he's gone.

Listen to me, dear ones, he is gone. Why him and not the ostrich egg man named Danny Devito? I do know not. It defies the logic that a tiny rotund sphere of an egg man who landed me in prison for the harassment could not be heavenward but Marcel of the white paint face and creepy eyes could be, but that is the way of it. I do not resent Danny his continuing life, however. In my deepest heart, I still want to smear butter all over the face of him and duct tape little bits of zebra hide to his shiny orb head.

But this not the post for talking about the ostrich egg of Danny. No, this is about creepy heart gush french kind person Marcel Marceau, and here is the poem I write in his honor and memory. Rest in peace, Oh Quietest Man of All.


Marcel and the Quietest Moment in History
by Jorge Carlito Viejo

He have the face like a plastic paint can, with no hope in its marble eyes,
A colorless face of cloud hue where dwell quietest hissing skull birds.
Why did Marcel shun verbal communication?
Why did he make children scream when he leers from the shadows with no words?
How could anyone not be terrified of the painted white horror mime mask?
I pee a little bit to look at him, because mime faces make good people sick.
Nevertheless, I love you, Marcel, the way a grandpa loves a pimento cheese sandwich,
And I want to miss you more than I do, but the white paint face in the corner,
It finally vanished, leaving my dreams in noise not bone cracking utter silence.
Oh quiet man, so quiet before, even the most quiet now, paint can white face,
Marble eyes, we salute you.