Oooompah. Ooooompah.
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A Few Facts
Circularity is health.
Simplicity is simple.
It's not all in your head.
If you can't see it, it doesn't exist.

Only so big as you can see it, is extant the closed circular arc.  If you must suppose that your path circulates, your circle is broken to peices by time and hope, not to mention what manufactured boredom arrises from a badly conceived sense of self.  Time, hope, whose intervention is implacable under such circumstance, destroys the unseen.  Frailty, rather, thy name is gestalt.  Otherwise, is: circumspect, circumscribed, circumlocuted by the very sphere of perception from which you peek, dig?  More Roundly, an hypothetical circle is always broken.  The same goes for spheres.

Elixir got bubbles.

Bubbles are negative space,
vis-a-vis the usual concoction of fizzy drinks.

In a regular carbonated beverage:


  . . . or,     X-O=X

Where X is bubbles more than substance.

Rap whacksodical bout round or.
A crux is a joint -- an if, then.
Or aphrasic is spherical.  What have you.
Half way between the activity
and the stasis of bubbles is an attitude.
Bubbles, I have observed, maniac upwards in soda,
uffish downwards in stout beer.
With this in mind, and of
course the shape on the other,
I suggest to you
that bubble is an attitude.  A vigorous attitude.
The witches in Macbeth begin, "Bubble, Bubble."
There you have it.

Sunshine is the kind of
stuff that distills poorly
excepting alcohol.
Soap, what behind the ears,
distills poorly
wants bright packaging reminiscent of sunshine
excepting bubbles.

Roundly folks, if a bubble
had something to say,
I would have said it by now.
Mathematics are crystal,
experience is stone on this,
volatile, motive, malleable, effervescent
what, pray tell, would efferevescent be
without bubbles?
Or, bubbles are inert.  That's a fact.

Inert.  Inert until
when, from the perspective of the bubble,
the universe explodes,
whose tensile strength is zero.
Stoic for the span of a hiccup
and that's all there is --
I wear my existentialism hat on
backwards like everybody else.
I tell you what.  A bubble is shiny.
Bang.  What's the use?

I am no more inspired from an aberration
of surface tension than you are.
It's a natural law that
bubbles are ho-hum.  Or,
excepting alcohol, excepting bubbles,
distillery hopes.

Aristotle chopped the universe into 4 pieces.  These, what he called Causes, correspond roughly to the 4 dimensions of the universe.  They allow us, relatively curvilinear apropos, to understand the Nature of Bubble.

The MATERIAL CAUSE is the face of reality, or more appropriately the wide lens of your experience.  If you are punched in the face, or lose your luggage, for instance, you are building your character, which means the WIDTH of your experience.

The Explicit material of a bubble is usually soap: Sometimes purpose-designed Bubble Soap, other times just spit.  The more implicit material is any substance that can be split in Two.  Irreducible things, like atomic particles barring nuclear explosion, don't make for good bubbles.  A bubble is made from that stuff, plus spit or soap or packaging materials, or aberrations in stock prices that produce prices that are unexplained by means other than a membraneous disjunct.

The FORMAL CAUSE is reason to suspect. Suspicion starts, initially with the realization that a smack in the face Packs a Whallop.  This is not just a visual stimulation, surprise, surprise, but the World Worlding, including snow, humidity, and wind.  Weather, in general, can do more than just beat you up, at which time you realize a certain DEPTH to your experience.  DEPTH is the suspicion that something existsbesides your self.  Solipsism, contrariwise, is the art of keeping everything at a distance of one pixel, and is unadvised.

Bubbles tend, statistically, towards the Oblate Spheroid in shape.  This is due to the tug of Gravity, or what is sometimes called the Divine Union of All Things.  A thing, like the atmosphere, divided into discrete round objects, wants to return to molten identity, wants to suck everything down to the core of the planet.  Infant humans, at some point in the first year of their life, will reach a moment of epiphany, wherein they realize, "I am not the center of the universe."  The collapse of the Ego Boundless Universe is the first Bubble.  The Form: Round, like a chubby baby's cheek or buttocks.  The baby realizes that Other Things exist, specifically Mom, who comes round occasionally to offer the big, round boob of happiness.  Milk, incidentally, is also good for bubbles.  The sense of Vision, which has been for the baby a constant onslaught of truculent reverberation, now coalesces into an awareness - - the exact shape of the eyeball, to wit, spherical, the bubble.  It is no wonder that the eyeballs of a baby human are Full Grown when the baby is born.  We spend the rest of our lives catching up to these bizarre, disastrously awake creatures.

The EFFICIENT CAUSE is the puppet strings, reaching off usually to a point in the sky we call "infinity" though with cloud cover and ozone diffraction, our perceptual limits are closer to two or three miles than infinity, assuming a couple of obvious things, no doubt.  The HEIGHT of the puppet is questionable, since we know about the puppet strings.  There is always Further Up, and this is the discovery of the Efficiency, to pull Strings rather than Stuff.  Assuming we ourselves are likewise Strung Up, ought to take care not to step off too great a precipice.  Gravity notwithstanding (perhaps you are on the moon?), it will leave us hung by the neck, floating, disenfranchised from the solid ground.  If the precipice is too deep (which is to say, HIGH) then you can't go there.  This is the rule of puppetry, or what is sometimes known in physics as String Theory.

The universe creates bubbles, or vice-versa.  The ones that float through the air are the most likely culprits.  Bubbles aloft float in a smug way, that suggests the atmosphere carries them For A Reason.  Dandelion spores share the same slipstream airwaves, and represent an antithetical force.  Any collision of the two results in explosion, reunion of divorced matter, and soap-sticky dandelion spores that won't, dendrites notwitstanding, grow too well.  The obvious lesson to glean is that genesis of the universe might well have engendered itself in manners quite other than the insidious, gregarious way that biological life self-perpetuates.

The FINAL CAUSE is the illusion of forward motion.  This is the notion of CHANGE, for which we have voluminous masses of evidence.  Scars, Memory, Sleepiness, intense G-forces that you get from riding a roller-coaster, laughter, hiccups, broken appliances, rust, all sorts of indications that, at base, something appears to be happening.

There are an infinite number of uses for the Bubble.  They are handy for reflection.  All of consciousness is a metaphor for the bubble.