It must be such a life, albeit a brief one. To hang there, delectable and symbolic, the object of desire for a room full of celebrants. Waiting to fall, to be caught, beaten and shredded, all in the name of the passage of time – all to mark a new chance, after such abject failures.
To be flushed with color and anticipation, in a fishnet cage:
And then to fall, straightly and bravely, into a cluster of outstretched hands and cameras waiting to catch the moment of liberation, and the path to happy destruction:
And when that life is done, the tattered house will be mended. And the failures and chances will be mocked and celebrated all over again: