July 23, 2018.
Opposition.
The big bright static star in the center of your screen is Mars. The closest it’s ever been since 2003 and the closest it will be until the year 2035. Five times brighter than its usual appearance in our skies, shining brightly with its charcteristic redish hue.
The fact that we see and differentiate these interseller objects from our living room windows is a phenomena in it’s own; the ability to recongnize the sheer vastness of the worlds around us, and ponder the insignificant roles our lives play is a gift in it itself. A way to take stock, regroup.
But yet it becomes insignificant.
An afterthought.
A madmans melancholy.
Who sits and thinks of the stars? Why would you? We’ve got bills to pay, people to meet, places to go. No one has time for “the stars”. There’s better, more importanter, more significant things to think about. The moon, the stars will always be here. You won’t. Gotta go fast. Go speed right though. Get get to the finish line.
Yet everyone is waiting. “Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting, to continue racing.
A cruel cosmic jive.
Excerpt above is from a poem called “Oh the places you’ll go”. Go read it.
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