Spherical objects

Revolutions. The idea that life tumbles around like a bowling ball. The finger-holes, two beady eyes across a cherry mouth agape, are apparent for no more than a second before they roll away from sight. Then here they are again starting again from the crest of a rotation. And then gone again. And here again. And back again. Top sinking to Bottom. Repeat. Here turning into There. Repeat. High turning into Low. (The funny thing is, the Bottom-Top, There-Here, Low-High transition is always so abrupt, so sudden. A moment of blurred consciousness, then we are happy once more.)

And so it is. I wake up to find that what had been done unto me I had done upon someone else and done unto me again. We can be such shapeless creatures, dependent on only our relationships with another. One moment, the power is in our hands, and we dictate the terms of what's going on. We make the rules. We control the pace. We have possession of the ball. (Soccer, you fool, you can't kick around a bowling ball. It hurts.) The other can only watch, trying to anticipate, but ultimately falling flat on the arse.

Then with another, we don't even realise we've been backpedalling for the last ten steps. We pander to the other. We read entire generations worth of meaning into the most insignificant of gestures. How pathetic. But yet. Happy. Was this how it was for the one we don't pause to consider (yes the one with the ass on the ground)?