a trip to the moon (1902), spiritual resurgence, and $1 potato chips

what i want more than love is discovery. tell me what the moon was like when you made it out of clay; why the rockets vaporized your tears. tell me why you made a jest out of yourself and the men who maimed you. tell me about the selenites that exalted and whirled on you in exultant worship. i envy how you remain a victor, so ahead of time, while i struggle to catch its grip. when the poets brood about your beauty, do you believe what they say? or do you secretly wish for your destruction, wishing on a star for a careless hedonist to puncture your eye? societal collapse does it for you slowly…and soon the poets get bored of their admiration. soon enough, in 1902, they industrialized you to get close contact with your crates. they called it science fiction.

an astrologer is no better either. if theists are all that surround you, then the warnings of your destruction sound all the more absurd. to them, the selenites are madmen, trigger-happy in making waves. but they know better than i do, they know when your time is up. and they know it’s far from now because the poets have returned. what science fiction stood for before is now a scandal and one of scorn, and we all desperately want to believe in god again. in 2024, believing in you is what keeps count of your earthly score. discovery is not as important as love. discovery is not god. and you do not question a god. feel free to discover for the sake of love, but never try the other way around. it’s outdated and out of orbit.

or feel free to detach from anything beyond land, hold onto the things that resemble its form: a one-dollar coin, and a potato chip in the bag that contains it. if your heart doesn’t yet feel whole, it will – cholesterol will make sure of it