Memoirs of a Confused Spaceman #3

Memoirs of a Confused Spaceman #3

Strapped to boosters the backpack hums

I leave the airlock to be enveloped by stars

a cosmic cloak

they are close enough to touch

yet thousands of light years away

time doesn’t exist distance is meaningless

we live in slices of the same time

we think we move forward but we do not

we are essentially


just in a Now

there is no debate no conflict no movement

no interchange

and distance as such becomes a childishly human


a thing of nurseries

and I propel myself forward

disappointed that the retros

don’t have flames coming out of them

I feel cheated that there are no flames

just pulses always and only the pulses

then I close it all down and float


only my guideline connecting me to the ship

my childish cord clamping me

to a big tin can

and I finger the clasp on the front of my suit

and wonder

almost flip it open

let myself just drift cut


finally free at one with the universe

finally completely part of the universe

no longer a child but

fully integrated

part of the solid state universe

just me and the stars and God

and I can hear Him whispering in my ear

‘Just do it My Son, do it, be free, join me,’

life in flight no more

a time of celestial spring eternal

planets to cup in my hand

to caress

gas clouds to cloak my strong shoulders in

now at liberty and proud

and I have never understood why people

default to kneeling before God why

they have the urge to be pious and meek no


that is not for me I Will Be Proud Before God

and then a lazy voice on the comm


and I laugh my helmet rings with the peeling

mirth of the righteous the demi-god soon

to be master

trainee Great Omniversal Destructor

basking in the glory of creative destruction and I say:

‘I was talking to God,’

and Trixie says twirling her hair [I can see

this; I know she is twirling her hair]

‘get back here I am bored; I crave you

and you are currently my drug’

words that spin through the miniscule void

echoes from the rim of the tin can

commands and ultimatums and burdens

rotating before my visor

a visor I wonder


if I really need any more

out here

with God

as God

in God

stars to put in my pocket

galaxies to hang as baubles around my lovers


the jester inside of my gut

and Khaos has dragged her weary arse

away from Gaia and she looks at me

eyes full of reproach but what the hell

she is an empty goddess

I despise her she is an empty bitch

I am now more complete I am centred on


the cosmic confluences are under my control and

I can never go back to the tin can

not ever

for it is time to be