Monday, March 03, 2014

The Moon Is A Boat

     The Moon is a boat tonight, afloat (if ever so slightly askew) on the midnight-blue sky, the bright hull under an oval, blue-gray sail.  It's a wonderful angle, a crazy trip through the last of Winter's fury (there's yet another snowstorm before this week's abed) to come to rest, with  skill and luck, at the first and nearest dock of Spring.

     Or so it looked to me as I trudged across the parking lot, muttering to myself, "...And there's still not a Hilton up there."  If there is any justice, both the folks running the hotel chain and NASA's head honcho are haunted each night by the ghosts of Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke, in alternation, asking Why.


Windy Wilson said...

That would be an interesting "Christmas Carol" sort of play. Instead of Marley's Ghost it could be I-don't-know-whose Ghost complaining of the chains to the earth he had forged for mankind by ensuring that everyone got money for not working and medical marijuana to keep everyone quiet. There could be a chain (sorry) of apparitions by accusatory ghosts, not only the ghosts of Heinlein and Clark, but also Asimov and Goddard and even von Braun, who is alleged to have said of the first V2 to strike London, "The rocket was a success but it hit the wrong planet."

Anonymous said...

NASA is a government agency - look to SpaceX. Can't say about Hilton ... probably need to look to Richard Branson instead.


LCB said...

"The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress"

See her as she flies
Golden sails across the skies
Close enough to touch
But careful if you try
Though she looks as warm as gold
The moon's a harsh mistress
The moon can be so cold

Once the sun did shine
And Lord it felt so fine
The moon a phantom rose
Through the mountains and the pine
And then the darkness fell
And the moon's a harsh mistress
It's hard to love her well

I fell out of her eyes
And I fell out of her heart
I fell down on my face
Yes I did
And I tripped and I missed my star
Then I fell and fell alone
And the moon's a harsh mistress
And the sky's made of stone

The moon's a harsh mistress
She's hard to call your own

Written by Jimmy Webb, with permission from R.H.Heinlein (so the rumor mill says)