I live in a bubble.
A bubble is not like a box, in the sense that it is round. Spherical. But. A bubble is like a box, in the sense that it is closed in. After all, it is just a sphere of air, a little atmosphere I call mine. You can see right through it, and on the surface, you can see many colours of the rainbow swirling madly.
Undoubtably, it is a bubble.
It is easy to feel claustrophobic in such a bubble. After all, there is only so much air inside it, and no way to add more. A bubble's life is short lived. Either something from the outside pops it, or the air inside leaks out and it slowly fades away, as bubbles tend to do.
Sometimes due to its incredible lightness, the bubble can drift high into the sky. But a bubble can only take so much pressure. When it gets too high internal pressure exceeds external pressure. The air is thin up there, and the bubble cannot exist under such circumstances.
And then.
I fall.
I have seen such things occur.
It is very high up, mind you, so inevitably...well, that ending is obvious.
It is a lonely life inside a bubble. There is the common misconception that we are flighty in our thoughts. No, but everyone knows that the bubble people are never truly happy. We go with the wind, and if it doesn't suit us, well, too bad then.
You can get used to living inside a bubble.
But then it depends. How long can you live inside a bubble, until the time comes for it to expire? I think, that by the time you have gotten used to bubble life such as I, that well, all you have to do is
Reach out your finger,
Like so...
And touch...
the..
bubble
.
And as I fall all I can think about are the swirly colours, dancing madly on the surface of the bubble.
They know best of all what it is like to live in a bubble.
For who knows best, than a bubble itself?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The Box
I live in a box.
It is easy to tell that it is a box because it has a cuboid shape, six faces, and lines perpendicular to each other.
It is a box.
A box with doors, windows, a floor, four walls, and a ceiling, all various colours and patterns to suit what doors, windows, floors, walls and ceilings ought to look like. You may call it a room, but I call it a glorified box. It is a box, all the same.
It is easy to feel closed in in such a box. Even with the windows and doors. You feel like you are literally boxed in, like each six faces of the cuboid are suspended in the middle of nowhere, and closed tight so there is no way out. The doors and windows are only paint, everyone can fake anything with paint nowadays. And even if you could find a way out of the box you would fall into the black nothing that surrounds it.
It is better to feel closed in everyday than to fall into black nothing. In that way, I begin to like my box. It is a solid geometrical shape of security and seclusion.
I know I am alone in my box.
Because after all, a box is still hollow inside.
And no matter what you do to it, fill it with objects, add artificial light to make it look like day, play the sounds of the outdoors, the smell of existence...it is still a box. And I am still alone.
People talk of living in bubbles. I talk of living in boxes. After all, bubbles burst eventually, or if you're underwater they rise to the surface and the little sphere of air inside is free. But in a box, you are trapped. Bubbles are aerodynamic and light, they are for the ones who still dream about a better world. But a box is not aerodynamic. It is nowhere near aerodynamic. According to one of Newton's Laws and those funny physic's diagrams, there is always friction between the box and the ground, and there is always the force keeping the box on the ground, and another that keeps the box from moving. If it moves at all, it will stop eventually.
At most, my box can rock from side to side.
It doesn't get very far.
That is because, in case you haven't realised, it is a box. And boxes cannot move by themselves. Even me, stuck here inside, cannot get this box moving.
Everyone lives in boxes, unless you're lucky enough to live in a bubble. The bubble people are not entirely happy, and that's why they dream of something better. The box people are completely content with living in an immobile box. And so they are happy. Or so they think.
Happy people are hiding something.
But not everyone knows that.
When the bubbles pop and you fall, at worst you end up with a few broken bones, and at best you get a couple of bruises. But when the box burns,
I die.
It is easy to tell that it is a box because it has a cuboid shape, six faces, and lines perpendicular to each other.
It is a box.
A box with doors, windows, a floor, four walls, and a ceiling, all various colours and patterns to suit what doors, windows, floors, walls and ceilings ought to look like. You may call it a room, but I call it a glorified box. It is a box, all the same.
It is easy to feel closed in in such a box. Even with the windows and doors. You feel like you are literally boxed in, like each six faces of the cuboid are suspended in the middle of nowhere, and closed tight so there is no way out. The doors and windows are only paint, everyone can fake anything with paint nowadays. And even if you could find a way out of the box you would fall into the black nothing that surrounds it.
It is better to feel closed in everyday than to fall into black nothing. In that way, I begin to like my box. It is a solid geometrical shape of security and seclusion.
I know I am alone in my box.
Because after all, a box is still hollow inside.
And no matter what you do to it, fill it with objects, add artificial light to make it look like day, play the sounds of the outdoors, the smell of existence...it is still a box. And I am still alone.
People talk of living in bubbles. I talk of living in boxes. After all, bubbles burst eventually, or if you're underwater they rise to the surface and the little sphere of air inside is free. But in a box, you are trapped. Bubbles are aerodynamic and light, they are for the ones who still dream about a better world. But a box is not aerodynamic. It is nowhere near aerodynamic. According to one of Newton's Laws and those funny physic's diagrams, there is always friction between the box and the ground, and there is always the force keeping the box on the ground, and another that keeps the box from moving. If it moves at all, it will stop eventually.
At most, my box can rock from side to side.
It doesn't get very far.
That is because, in case you haven't realised, it is a box. And boxes cannot move by themselves. Even me, stuck here inside, cannot get this box moving.
Everyone lives in boxes, unless you're lucky enough to live in a bubble. The bubble people are not entirely happy, and that's why they dream of something better. The box people are completely content with living in an immobile box. And so they are happy. Or so they think.
Happy people are hiding something.
But not everyone knows that.
When the bubbles pop and you fall, at worst you end up with a few broken bones, and at best you get a couple of bruises. But when the box burns,
I die.
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