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The Dark Side of Chasing Your Dreams
Reentry can be dangerous
“Just like Neil Armstrong, I went to space, and now I’m back and nobody gives a shit.” — Kenny Powers, Eastbound and Down
Some perfect Roman night
In my memories, it’s almost always summer. The sky as clear as a toddler’s conscience, and the starlings settling noisily into the trees along the river like flocks of tumbling stars. The old ruins glowing like broken teeth, lit up by the bright halogens paid for by the citizens of Stuttgart and Skänninge to make the imperial past shine. The towers and temples and palaces that burst like seedpods from the life they contain.
Who wouldn’t want to rule a world like this? Who wouldn’t want to live forever, until their blood became wine and their eyes turned to stars? Why can’t we stay forever along the banks of the river, watching the gravy-colored water embrace the supports of ancient bridges on its way to the distant sea? And under every bridge, a weather-stained tent or a shattered palace of cardboard and tarpaulin. We are all homeless, and none of us are. Like the birds and the bees and the brilliant stars, we make our homes wherever we are.
