Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.

19/09/06

Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.

It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps, because space is so empty, and sparse, our lives always inevitably reflect the cosmos which dictate us.

But if you ask an optimist he'd tell you that space is full, full of stars shining bright, spinning planets, other random floating chunks of rock, and Spice Girls CDs budding rocket scientists decided to get rid off. Well it does all depend on which way you look at the glass (or if you're peering into space, looking into the glass.

Alternately we all know that space contains a myriad black holes which have swallowed up a thousand hopes and dreams, bright stars, and a pet dog called Laika. Which is pretty much what earth is like. Read Anton Chekhov, listen to Kurt Cobain, and visit your local S.P.C.A to confirm the above.

You'd be surprised.

And sorry to burst any bubbles, but all those stars you ponderously look up to every night are actually dead. Ask the scientists. They burnt out a long, long time ago.

Sound familiar?

Now's the time when all of you still listening to Elvis, 2Pac, Bob Marley or John Lennon nod your heads in startled assent.

Space is the literal translation of disconsolate freedom and loneliness enmeshed into one.

I suspect chunks of it fall down to earth when no-one's looking, not even Chicken Little. Last night, on a late night drive, I saw two teenagers riding their bikes on the sidewalk, they seemed happy. Not twenty minutes later I drove past them again, sans their bikes, perched upon the pavement looking dejected. One seemed to be crying, but the streetlight shone too dim for me to tell for certain. It was not only their bikes the thieves had taken though, it was their dreams as well.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life.
It doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out, though.

[D]