Fly me to the moon
said the song
and they did
Watching the documentary
I understand conspiracy theory
it is too much to be believed
How did they know where to aim?
And how did they know how far they had to go?
And who steered?
And that picture of the earth, a perfect, jewel like sphere?
That can’t be real
that can’t be where we live
They said they were driven by worry but not fear
that a tiny thing might go wrong
these were not men haunted by demons of existential terror
although one said he was scared, more scared than an astronaut should be
Astronaut – how did that even become a real job, or anything more than fantasy?
They walked where there is no ground and they breathed where there is no air and when asked were you lonely he said I knew I was alone (the most alone a human being has ever been as far as we know, the one orbiting around with the others down below) but I was not lonely, no.
They reached ‘magnificent desolation’
and more than one came back with divine belief
Sometimes the happiest times are when you are alone with purpose, out of the orbit of the every day, traveling light, the bare necessities and only room for essentials inside and out, a task, a singularity, people and habit and demands and routine a remote reality.
I did not know that they left so much there.
a strange colonisation of debris and machines and
cameras and LEMs and Rover and flags
Did they ask anyone?
Who cleans up the moon?
How do we even know it’s called the moon?
Was there a sign?
Re-entry cause more trauma than the effort of the trip. There is only so much you can leave desolate. The rest comes back with you, every time.
Inside and outside.
Back to the rising muck, the littered, rubbished, heaving, groaning, decaying, screaming, bombarding, growing, not at all peaceful, loud and lewd, real life.
Back on earth.
What precious part you may have left behind.
And if it might have been the bit
all the difference.