by Bruno Sabrie
Do not, young man, forget about soap. The unctuous film that separates you from, and connects you to, the dust of this world. The inherent joy of the sensuous slippage, queer glidings—soap is skin’s technicolour dreamcoat, its bubbled, bedazzled, variegated, unctuous truth. An additive substance that increases with friction, thrives on the rub, goes rabid with touch. Don’t use it too often & kill off all the bacteria, spores and traces, buttress the boundaries between us, or unravel all your world entanglements. But just enough to, now and again, expose your skin holes anew, to the world, to the other. By washing away the world’s particles, don’t you see, we come to perversely disrupt the self, by welcoming more grime, and staying with the trouble. Soap is the greasy connective layer between you, me, and the world.