Skip to main content

A Soap Bubble Nothing

I built a table, out of wood.  I made a thing that wasn't there before.  I cut and sanded the wood, I drilled in screws, and now we have a table where we didn't have one before. It is real and solid and you can touch it, you can feel where I cut poorly, see the rough edges where I didn't join the wood correctly, you can lift it, feel its weight.  It is a real thing that I made.  I made a table.

This is not a table, this is a nothing, a series of random thoughts that I had in the shower, which is where thoughts come from.

What if our souls are soap bubbles, what if we spread ourselves too thin, stretched out and flattened? What happens when it pops, would you even notice, would you even care?

What if we are meant for something more?

I am already behind schedule this year I've got work to do, I have things to accomplish, friends ask me questions ask for favors and all I say is yes yes yes and-

What is this?  What am I hoping to do here writhing

I meant to write "writing" but I accidentally wrote writhing and I think I'm just going to leave it that way.  It fits, somehow.

What am I hoping to do here, writing these things for a mysterious audience? You are there; I can see my counter going up, I know you are reading, but who are you? Why do you come here?

I imagine this place to be a library, ancient wood and warm soft light, leather bound tomes that nobody will ever read, I imagine myself sitting, speaking to ghosts.  What does it look like to you?

This is a nothing, I know it, but I have written nothing for so long, what was I hoping for?

We are spread so thin, our souls are a thin sheen stretched and pulled so far, distended, breached and ruptured.  Our souls are a soap bubble.

My friend said he tried to sell his soul, but nobody wanted it, it was too worn out, too soiled for anyone to want.  I said souls aren't ours to begin with.  You cant sell something that doesn't belong to you.  He said he sold a stereo that belonged to his older brother to a neighbor once for seven dollars.  Fair point.

Sometimes, when it is very cold, and your battery is weak, when you go to start your car, it turns over slowly at first, then it loosens up a little.  Then it turns faster and faster and then the spark takes or something, I don't know, but the car starts, it runs and then you can go on your way.  If it's very, very cold, and your battery is weak, when you go to start the car it goes rrrrrrrrrr RRR_RRR-RRR-RRRRRRRR-RR-R-rrrrr click click click click and you know that you're not going anywhere without a jumpstart.  You are going to need another car, another battery, to get you rolling along.

I don't know what this is, and I hope it's the first thing, but I fear it's the second thing, and I don't have the means for a jump; I don't have cables, I don't have any friends.  But I know that I won't go anywhere if I stay in the house, if I don't even turn the key.  If I never try, I'm not going to go anywhere.  I will never go anywhere if I don't try, at least.

What if I spread my bubble soul too thin and it popped and I was too distracted to even notice?

What am I hoping to do here?  Why are you here reading this?

What are we doing here?  This is what is whispered on wet parted lips before plunging into dangerous forbidden destructive desire.  What are we even doing here?

This is a nothing thing, I know, it's not a table, it's not a real thing; this is a click-scan-what-the-hell-was-that-forget immediately kind of thing.   I know this, but I have to try, I have to go out into the cold and see if the spark takes, because I'm not going anywhere here all warm in the house.

I tried to sell my soul, I had a buyer, username Devil6969 from Craigslist, but I looked and I couldn't find it.  It is probably lost in the garage maybe, or under all these dirty clothes, or sunk in the sink under the dishes.  It's probably mashed under the couch cushions with the cookie crumbs and the spare change.  That's fine anyway because I wanted fortune and fame, but if he offered me a small plot of land in the forest instead, I probably would have taken it.

What if we are spread too thin, what if all these words are a soap bubble, what if nothing means anything, what if all I know is a lie?

And this is stupid, a thousand nothing words, none of them mean anything, but maybe one of you mysterious folk needs a jumble of nonsense to get you over the hump, to get you to the weekend and to your Super Bowl snacks.  Ghosts still eat snacks, right?

So get out there and pick up your pen, your brush, boot up the computer.  Start your Yoga video, put down the donuts and pick up the celery, grab that old dusty guitar.  You might not go anywhere, maybe you might need a jump.  You might make a nothing like I did here, but maybe it's the first thing, maybe the spark takes and you are able to get on your way.  Maybe you make something real, maybe you build a table.  The only way to find out is to go out and turn the key.  Because you aren't going anywhere all warm in the house, that's for sure.

This is a nothing, a soap bubble, a whisper, a stolen breath.  This is a nothing, but hell, even this is something, I guess.

Still (kinda) Writing,

RP

1-30-18

So you mysterious folk, hit me up here if you like, or email me at dissent . within at gmail.com.  I'm still on a social media hiatus, because you people are all crazy, so I'm not seeing your messages there if you're sending them to me.  I hope all is well in your corners of the world.  All is well in mine.  Peace.

Comments

  1. I know why I am here reading this... I have to keep an eye on your soul...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Our souls are only soap bubbles if we let them become such and we have free will , do we not??
    Humanity is both corrupt and beautiful , each individual in different ways.
    Our souls are ours to manage for the short time we have them.
    For most wisdom comes a little too late and the soap bubble begins to rupture and then you return to the universe .
    But what do I know? A 39 year old knuckle dragger .......

    ReplyDelete
  3. Our souls are only soap bubbles if we let them become such and we have free will , do we not??
    Humanity is both corrupt and beautiful , each individual in different ways.
    Our souls are ours to manage for the short time we have them.
    For most wisdom comes a little too late and the soap bubble begins to rupture and then you return to the universe .
    But what do I know? A 39 year old knuckle dragger .......

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thanks for reading this silliness, Ben. You're a good soul.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Somebody has to, I suppose.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Dance of the Sand Hill Crane

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetings with th

One of the Best of Us

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There

Fighting for Clarity

There's this to be said about fighting: while you're doing it, you don't have room in your head for anything else, not your busted ass car or your worries about your family, not the leak under your bathroom sink, or how you're going to pay your bills.  There's only breathe one two, step out of range, shift off the center line, move breathe one three two slip the jab level change three to the body check the low kick counter one two...  it is a better escape than most, and I've tried most of them, believe me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I get humbled and beat up at every session, I don't understand why I even go. I'm feeling defeated; everything is so fucking hard for me, and I don't know why I'm doing it. I should just quit, right? Fuck you.  I'll show you motherfuckers what I am capable of. I'll show you-  And then I go and I try and my knees give and I get pummeled and twisted and what the fuck man how humble do I