I get it. The rubber soul. There is a slew of people who hit the bottom and just roll there. Something about the resiliency, about the composition of a man allows him to bounce back up. There's an inertia from gravity that literally crushes him at an atomic level, but in his smallest fiber he instantly realigns and changes direction. He's up, again. When before he was above you, so maybe this time he's now at eye-level.
These are the types of people who more than thrive on the gravity of situations, they need the force of a collision to climb higher. Each arc is weaker, unless external agents intervene. So then I guess the way into the bottom of Heaven is one strong force that cracks all those atoms to the core, and something rockets back up. I don't know this trajectory very well, but I am enamored by this rubber bullet. I always thought it had something to do with being hard-skinned; had to do with being unaffected or disassociated with the suffering of the world. Escaping the rolling seems to be more about shedding some humanity- it's the hard shell that is lost, not the conversation of mind-body, but the loss of it. The small man, secretly unhinging the locked hatch in the basement.
There are no rubber souls parading through the gates of Saint Peter with trumpets blaring from Earth's highest mountaintops. Rather, it's the thief in the night, the sneak who creeps through the darkness and finds his way where the world isn't looking. He's an opportunist, he's on a mission- with a bullet-like intensity his trajectory is to win or lose at all cost. I love his trajectory; I love his pedigree. I love that he will be caught by the gate keeper who explains the secrets of inertia, how his subterfuge changed the game. The keeper shines that small rubber soul and has him enter the gates a champion, no longer a sneak.
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