Beauty of Bubbles
I’m feeling as though I need to be brutally honest. Not with the intent to be brutal... and I don’t want to over-rotate, but... to be honest to the point of risk... and then into risk. Because without the risk, there is no - ... no highs, just minor swells of in-between. Like there are still lows - No risk and still Lows - but the highs...? I mean, maybe occasionally... short-lived. When we do and don't know how.. its like when two distinct complex patterns momentarily synchronize - or seemingly so. Empty bliss... enjoyably empty gestures... the beauty of bubbles. We float - mystifyingly so - reflecting the world as it is not. Empty and fragile... to burst with no pieces to collect and build again, ... just gone. Because our film was so thin, lacked substance, weight... lacked the consistency of that which comes with risk. The beauty of bubbles... the effortlessness, the carefree, the whim... the ability to disappear... due to a consistency made to wash clean. Because what you risk... sticks and gums and clings and spills and soils and stains, has substance and mixture and composition, leaves residue - evidence it was there, of it’s presence... of attempt... to be something... more than - ? ... beauty of bubbles.
-Pati3ntWo1f (11012019)






