Star gazing
It's not quite time for me to talk about what i'm thankful for this year. Lord only knows there ain't much i give to organized time. Rather like to talk about a trip of sorts I made this evening.
I've been dying under these artificial lights at all hours. Time cycles naturally in a relative cycle, though even that seems heliocentric. I barely see the burning mass of hydogren and helium that provides life to this world, but I haven't seen it's cousins and neighbors much either under the city lights. After a last day of class before break, and my friends no where to be found (even the ones in town), I was let out early to wonder in the unseasonably warm weather.
I drove out to the nearest countryside to go star gazing, though it wasn't ever very far away. The cars suddenly amiss on the busiest driving day of the calender year, I made my way down highway 21 at top speed. If only not to get pulled over by the pigs in full force I wouldn't slow down, or even stop on my trip.
The side of the highway still artificially illuminated by semi-rural settlement, my star gazing met many yet unnatural sights. The red glow of towers spoke of communication in differing wavelengths, only visual in their incandecent glow, or the street lights of sprawl dotting the hills failed to dim my view of light traveled years in order for me to see them. Not just for I, but the locals seem to deny it in the clear-cut hills made smoother in slope still for highways (not unlike the city). I looked out my half opened window to look at the stars before finding a safe place to pull over. At any moment my gaze towards Orion's Belt or Ursa Minor could result in crashing into a crossing deer, but it might have been worth it.
As Tilly and the Wall played their sweet dreams over my automotive audio system, I turned from state's interstate rendition into the highway of old. In the wrong direction. I escorted myself further into the country, itself in human development. The silos seen off the interstate had been supplanted by suburban sprawl, but the stars were periodly more visible. I looked time and again for a suitable church's parking lot to pull into but to no avail. I found myself in Hillsburro by accident, left only to turn about. The boulevards were tapestrated with artificial lights shaped into stars (chirstmas regalia), oblivious the the lights they were obscuring above them. On my way out and a return to the city landscapes, I wished on a star at my friends behest. It wouldn't be something i support in theory, but the gesture towards their happily ever after was given open to the eternal lights burning behest for their dreams and nightmares.
As I made my way back into the city, I finally saw the moon slowly dominate the sky. Not before the Big Dipper reached into the trelice of my memories over melonchly strings of Mozart and the triumphant troubadors song of relazation. My time was relative, as was the open space above me, as the Flaming Lips compelled me to believe "we're floating in space" in their own intonations. The sun may have gone down, but they plead their understanding that it was just as illusion created by a world spun round. And again it continues as I speak.
But staring at me starkly was the cold moon, reflecting our star's life giving light. It hung in the sky, perched in half wane like a clip light's profile attached to my black headboard to my bed. It beckoned my return to a warm bath, where I write from right now.
I had to take that trip, as abbreviated as my relative passage through the county made my relative glimpses into the open void. I found light eminating from the cold stark space surrounding them. It met my fears, but gave me hope, even as I would speak towards it to no avail. It is me and I am it. That (it) is all.
I've been dying under these artificial lights at all hours. Time cycles naturally in a relative cycle, though even that seems heliocentric. I barely see the burning mass of hydogren and helium that provides life to this world, but I haven't seen it's cousins and neighbors much either under the city lights. After a last day of class before break, and my friends no where to be found (even the ones in town), I was let out early to wonder in the unseasonably warm weather.
I drove out to the nearest countryside to go star gazing, though it wasn't ever very far away. The cars suddenly amiss on the busiest driving day of the calender year, I made my way down highway 21 at top speed. If only not to get pulled over by the pigs in full force I wouldn't slow down, or even stop on my trip.
The side of the highway still artificially illuminated by semi-rural settlement, my star gazing met many yet unnatural sights. The red glow of towers spoke of communication in differing wavelengths, only visual in their incandecent glow, or the street lights of sprawl dotting the hills failed to dim my view of light traveled years in order for me to see them. Not just for I, but the locals seem to deny it in the clear-cut hills made smoother in slope still for highways (not unlike the city). I looked out my half opened window to look at the stars before finding a safe place to pull over. At any moment my gaze towards Orion's Belt or Ursa Minor could result in crashing into a crossing deer, but it might have been worth it.
As Tilly and the Wall played their sweet dreams over my automotive audio system, I turned from state's interstate rendition into the highway of old. In the wrong direction. I escorted myself further into the country, itself in human development. The silos seen off the interstate had been supplanted by suburban sprawl, but the stars were periodly more visible. I looked time and again for a suitable church's parking lot to pull into but to no avail. I found myself in Hillsburro by accident, left only to turn about. The boulevards were tapestrated with artificial lights shaped into stars (chirstmas regalia), oblivious the the lights they were obscuring above them. On my way out and a return to the city landscapes, I wished on a star at my friends behest. It wouldn't be something i support in theory, but the gesture towards their happily ever after was given open to the eternal lights burning behest for their dreams and nightmares.
As I made my way back into the city, I finally saw the moon slowly dominate the sky. Not before the Big Dipper reached into the trelice of my memories over melonchly strings of Mozart and the triumphant troubadors song of relazation. My time was relative, as was the open space above me, as the Flaming Lips compelled me to believe "we're floating in space" in their own intonations. The sun may have gone down, but they plead their understanding that it was just as illusion created by a world spun round. And again it continues as I speak.
But staring at me starkly was the cold moon, reflecting our star's life giving light. It hung in the sky, perched in half wane like a clip light's profile attached to my black headboard to my bed. It beckoned my return to a warm bath, where I write from right now.
I had to take that trip, as abbreviated as my relative passage through the county made my relative glimpses into the open void. I found light eminating from the cold stark space surrounding them. It met my fears, but gave me hope, even as I would speak towards it to no avail. It is me and I am it. That (it) is all.