Word for January
I think the word of the month has been: Boobies!
2003-02-01
not-quite-last Will & Testament
If I am to untimely die before its publication, would whoever is doing stuff for me please post the entireity of my novel-in-progress Ectogenesis (formerly the fanfic "Much Ado About Star Trek", and bearing about as much resemblance to that original as Bujold's works do to the Star Trek fanfic about the Klingon and Federation officers who have a son together) to the web?
Thanks.
I, and everyone who wants to read this sucker, would appreciate it.
I plan, of course, on publishing. Prehumously.
Thanks.
I, and everyone who wants to read this sucker, would appreciate it.
I plan, of course, on publishing. Prehumously.
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We lost the Columbia. It broke up on re-entry.
...I still want to go out there.
...I still want to go out there.
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metaphorge and I reached the same conclusion independantly.
Anyone who attempts to halt the space program on account of this is going to get their ass kicked.
(no subject)
They flew knowing that life is ephemeral. They flew in memory of the Challenger. They died in defense of the dream that humans belong in space as well as on Earth. Let us by all means continue to defy gravity and let their spirits soar.
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Words are all I have to sing the dream of being weightless. This body was not meant for flight, for space, for liftoff's thrust and burn and crushing weight. Not meant for stomach falling into throat in orbit, where tears can fly in spinning crystal spheres. I shelter safely under ozone's blanket, not soaring high and scorching skin with bitter rays.
Would that I were there where words are weightless. Would that I were there where action and reaction dance close upon each other's heels. Would that I could see with my own eyes the way the world is round, a living marble wrapped with cloudy air.
Those that dare to fly have lived the dream of being weightless. Their bodies faced the thrust and burn and crushing weight. They danced with feet on stars, tiptoe among the spinning crystal spheres. They shall still soar, high above our scorched and bitter tears.
Would that I were there where words are weightless. Would that I were there where action and reaction dance close upon each other's heels. Would that I could see with my own eyes the way the world is round, a living marble wrapped with cloudy air.
Those that dare to fly have lived the dream of being weightless. Their bodies faced the thrust and burn and crushing weight. They danced with feet on stars, tiptoe among the spinning crystal spheres. They shall still soar, high above our scorched and bitter tears.
