Wordsworth Is Dead

Sep 2 17:57 UTC 1994

Wordsworth is dead, and I am stuck in this damn spaceship.  Going to
some damn planet and who knows which one or why?  Nobody tells us.  All
I know is, this whole trip is going to soak up more years of my life
than I want to think about.

It was the metal that got me to sign up.  The silver-shiny walls and
railings, the resounding clank of the doors giving a sense of such
secure certainty, the smooth cold feel of the control panels under my
hands.  Wordsworth is dead, nobody can change that, but I needed
something to compensate.

So here I am stuck in this damn spaceship.  Going to some damn planet
and who knows which one or why?  Nobody tells us.  I work my butt off
all day down in the engine room, watching gauges and pulling levers and
adjusting dials, reporting problems to this bastard of a supervisor with
his slicked-down green hair and painted nails and gold nose ring and
permanent sneer pasted on his face.  How do people get to be like that?
He really gets some of the other guys down with his pompous attitude,
but I just do my job and don't make waves and don't let it get to me.

At least they give you your own cabin, so I've got a bit of privacy
after my shift is over and they've served the last meal of the day.  I
think they do that so the crew members won't talk to each other too much
and reinforce each others' discontendedness.  Keep things calm and
quiet.  Less chance of things building to a mutiny that way.  But I
don't really care why they do it.  I just hole up in my cabin and read
Catullus and Sterne and of course Charles Bukowski, who is my favorite.
Wordsworth is dead, I am stuck, what else can I do?

Here, in the perpetual night of deep space, just before sleep, I lie on
my bed and stare out the porthole at the infinity of stars, my hand
stroking the smooth cold metal wall.  Wordsworth is dead.

response 2 of 13:

Sep 4 17:04 UTC 1994

Shakespeare never lived (Brighn continues to spread his blasphemy.)

response 4 of 13:

Sep 6 23:10 UTC 1994

<Brighn opens an umbrella and tentatively holds out a hand, but doesn't
feel any drops.>

response 6 of 13:

Sep 8 23:47 UTC 1994

****SPLAT!****
Look away, folks, it isn't pretty.

response 8 of 13:

Sep 16 06:22 UTC 1994

Her, mabye you could use this skittle.
.s

response 10 of 13:

Sep 18 16:47 UTC 1994

wordsworth has a nasty habit of doing that...

response 12 of 13:

Sep 25 03:02 UTC 1994

Ooh, crumbs.