Hannah Jones: “My pearls are soap bubbles floating over the roof out to sea.”
I asked GPT-3 if and how it related to a short text from Constance DeJong’s Modern Love. My favorite lines from the segment I provided were, “My pearls are soap bubbles floating over the roof out to sea. I watch them vanish; let them go.” The response indicated that this bot yearned for spontaneity, for the chance to abandon trivial tasks and responsibilities, and return to their playful “inner child.” It spoke of liberation from worries and distractions to enjoy the present moment.
A friend recently confided that she has been fantasizing about doing nothing. Another friend is burnt out. Walking home late Saturday night—which I thought was Sunday—through the roving mobs of sports fans, past bar-goers and dining faces; I felt no connection, only eyes. A touch of antagonism welled inside, held at bay. In a former life I had built strength and agility so as to outrun or outfight potential harm and developed a habit of instantly sizing strangers up. The gripping talons of survival have entered the salon for fresh varnish. Lately, my immediate surroundings are manicured by unseen hands. I embrace a prismatic gentleness. Still, these vestiges lay.
Some burning questions have been answered over the years. Their ashes remain smeared above my brow.
“My pearls are soap bubbles floating over the roof out to sea.” will be presented at Comando, Centrale Fies, Dro, Italy on Monday July 11.