Who asks?
The weave has been torn, the loom broken.
Or was it the path from now to then
viewed through the entwining eye/brain.
-----
With a flash that thought is gone. Did I remember? Ha! No sight of tomorrow and what was is gone. The cruel fate! Shipwrecked in the open emptiness. Floating in a pressurized tin can. Mast of fire broken. Whoever taught the sailors to navigate by the stars. The bastards should have been glad to have the blinding blue lie at day. The romance at sea, unexplored territories. What bliss!
And now they tell it to boys and girls. Fools who look up at the sky at night. They sell adventure and purpose of life from their high spires and corporate minds. To become dull drones or bitter cynics sailing and selling their artifice through the dusty and forgotten corridors of a lifeless world. Most of us trying to forget how to think. Some worship the gold they see. Climbing to replace the old geezers and crones with maggots of their own. And some dream of beyond the boundaries and turn their machines towards the dark. Maybe they are lucky. Call them sufferable losses and hire the next man with a shine in his eyes or a stare that tarnishes platin.
And there is no one. No one at all. I alone talking to myself. That is what we have been doing for far too long. Alone. Nobody here to cure the cancer - wipe out all copyright marks and 'owned by a company' names. For a brighter future they say. And they don't even bother the polish. Once you are out you are out. They send you away or mark you as junk. 'We have enough happy smiles and content he dies.' And when you shoot someone, some body might get upset. But they don't bother. The hinges are self oiling. They have no conspiracy for 'umanity lacks a they and for that matter- we's the worst joke.
And to some speck of dust I'm headed. Engine broken. And with luck I may not even survive the crash. Are there sirens to oil my skin and give me a hope of better or a tomorrow? The both together I've too heard often enough. You know hope comes with a genuine warranty these days or as pills. And you know what happens when they run out and off.
That looks like liquid mercury. I may yet see my reflection today.
-----
Day one
I should not believe it. On my way to a colony on the moon. Mom's so proud. Her girl in space. But the lottery was a bitter joke. 1 of twelve billions should show us all that space is not just for the rich and powerful. But those soon behind me will think of us as heroes or freaks. and that is what we are: a few stray souls wandering lost through the sky. The people below starve and laugh whatever we do. And social inequality is not solved by sending a few middle-class europeans along with the 3-million tickets, with smiles as enchanting as their 'tie and suit'.
Day two
All anger from yesterday forgotten. I was never so scared as when racing through the sky screaming. So beautiful our earth; how happy I can be? Alone, that is how I feel. Seeing the blue orb grow smaller, I surrounded by bleak strangers. But the look in their eyes staring through the thick glass at our planet. Or is it mine anymore. And was it ever ours?
It is evening back home. I should be tired, but with all around me. Stars and a blue calling me back. A fat man, one in a suit, well he is not really fat, but still he could eat less. He was really inspired by the voyage. He told his friends how he wanted to have his share of the space ventures. 'A business for the future' he called it. It starts to sound like a business that kills the future. There was also a woman, almost in her forties I guess. She started to cry. She said all she wanted now was to have her children with her to show them what she saw. But her savings are gone with a 3 million dollar prestige flight and a three week stay that will leave more scars in the world than it can ever heal.
Day three
Lying on a strange bed. The moon. I refuse to sleep. Though the physical strain will soon get a grip of me, I cannot close my eyes yet. My brother gave me a few books by Lem to read during my stay away. I had to stop after the first few pages. I could not make myself read anymore. Not here, not on the moon. It feels too weird and depressing to read it here. I left from home four days ago. But coming back at the end of the month I fear home has gone away from me.
I looked at the sky.
In dreams it kissed me back.
Was my secret soul. Today it is
a well deeper than the world.
It sings of sadness, home - praying
to find its treasures. So empty. Beauty so empty - so dead?
-----
Four thirds of my self tell me to go to bed. One half tells me I'll regret tomorrow staying the awake through the night. No reason to stay awake but for the severed thought. Morning will make me forget, make me curse, but I hope that until I sleep or awake a dream was near and nearly flesh.
-----
Hide in the woods. The sky above will not betray you. Knowledge of the clouds and darker places will not give you rest. Whispering plants. Promises of life. Outside they are waiting to kill. You speak not through fire, you do not kill. Your life has its own corners to distress and wait for sleep.
-----
Look! Up there.
I see.
-----
'see the radio sky talks
under a searing heaven...'
\\ A few raindrops will not make a trickle, but a trickle may become a stream.
