Splicetoday

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Jan 16, 2025, 06:28AM

Rockets to Nowhere

The old forms are dead. There’s only this moment; you realize you’ve already been there.

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The red glare fizzles out across a barren debris field of bad intentions. That's called progress around here. Space exploration is a source of national pride. Manifest Destiny mingles with genocide. From countdown to blastoff, not going anywhere fast. Attempting to leave the same place you were already at before you arrived. The total and complete annihilation of all species in our galaxy goes extinct on our watch. Thousands of tons of useless space junk circle around a decaying orbit. There’s nothing up here but us chickens pecking around the barnyard of infinite time space spiraling to the scrapyard. Gawk at the darkness and peer down into the sky, seeing stars. It’s the fuzzy mathematical science of indecipherable astronomical proportions. Cutting it up with the alien life on distant planets down the alley, right next door to the vast vacuum of the eternal cosmic joke.

The old forms are dead. There’s only this moment; you realize you’ve already been there. Outer space is déjà vu comical in that way. Inner space is equivalent to the outer universe, but you move in reverse, as opposites attract together. Becoming one with the cosmic microwaves in a wormhole liquor store holdup at the corner of the Big Dipper near the Pleiades laundromat. There’s no way to explain the whereabouts of our place in the vicinity of your neighborhood's galaxy of the stars. The stars of our made-for TV reality show. In a multiverse of madness on a microchip, snack dip. The sour cream and onion mix of infinity.

The way it tastes is so delicious that you cab;t stop eating gravity and sucking up the air in your atmospheric space suit. The second skin, high fashion of the future. I don’t think the modern world is ready for forever. It’s only 40 light years to the nearest earth-like ecosystem. You can’t go where you already are. Try as hard as you can to float above it all, but you can’t break the sound barrier of your soul. Gravity’s a bitch. That’s the way space cookies crumble and float around in antigravity. Like the fountain pen that writes under whipped cream suspended in embryonic fluid, surrounded by sugar, salt, and tallow.

It’s the genetic material equivalent to a fast-food happy meal on the go. Eat and run from your own cannibalistic ritual to survive another day without consuming your entire body mass. The double cheeseburger communion wafer of snack food revelation. This shooting star is a former exoplanet of memories deferred. All boarding passes on express flights to the outer reaches were rejected and permanently cancelled due to unstable conditions and bad signal reception frequencies on board the permanent space station. No refunds in space, sorry.

Moving at the speed of sound traveling through your brain. What’s so special about Mars? It’s the poor man’s moon. By the time you reach your destination, everyone you know, including their lineage, will be long dead and gone. What’s a few light years between strangers now and unknowns much later? That’s how outer space works in interstellar travel. Though you’re moving faster than the speed of light, you can never reach the destination. In all futile attempts to reach other planets in our vain pursuit of suitable life on an oxygen-based water source environment, there must be another earth somewhere out there. The odds are slim that we’re not the only ones who have a chance at survival in some doomsday scenario to reach the stars.

It’s not entirely possible for an intelligent civilization to discover a new earth that could sustain life. The space race is on track for future disappointment in the next few decades when it comes time to launch the escape craft to leave our dying earth. We trashed it beyond repair. Stripped bare of natural resources and the ability to sustain life. We must expand and exploit new worlds to deplete. We need to build more rockets to transport the population that can buy a ticket to Mars or another forsaken planet to keep the species alive.

We destroyed our home here and must rebuild a new one to devour and destroy in our lifetime. Starting from nothing with an itch in our crawl back to the beginning. Fate at play with destiny in a space race for the next generation of idiots who want to destroy humanity by killing the world we knew. The only place where air and water are abundant and plentiful from galaxy to shining galaxy. A home where we can plant our rag of a flag and declare it our brand-new country. A shiny world is waiting for those who can afford it. The universe doesn’t exist for us. It is us. We are the aliens.

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