Gather round, ye Icari,
suns-that-are-and-were, fools of future-come!
“Nature knowst
extinction not, merely – sheerly! transformation. The notion of
spiritual death is a paradigm that has no bearing, little scientific
mirth at all.”
So sayeth Von Braun –
Von Braun the Overbearing – as he turns away from his leftover
lunch, his ink and ruler, the geometric destruction on his drawing
board. He goes to face the light of day.
The
crowd grows silent. This gathering of both the curious and the
prejudiced is suddenly solemn. Somnambulant. They look on as Von
Braun heads across the asphalt road, the infrastructural blackboard,
and onto the launch pad. He latches himself onto the looming
dread-naught awaiting him there, binds his sleeves to a protruding
handhold, then clears his throat with a sincere hrmmm-hm. He eyes the
V-2 missile with shameful pride, magnetic waves and electricity
sprouting from the bond in all directions at once, fracturing the sky
mosaically as they travel onward. Swiftly, his gaze turns towards
these fractures, and with a mental gesture makes them whole again.
The
crowd looks on. Some in amazement, others out of spite. He turns to
face them to speak his mind, as ever, perhaps for the final time.
“Manifestation
of the self is all too easily mistaken for masturbation.”
His
eyes dart back towards the heavenly vessel, his angel of death, and
nods in disapproval. Von Braun was no artist, but he shared their
fate all the same. Nothing is ever finished.
A
button is pushed. A big red shiny one. Off he goes, blazing
through the afternoon sky.
The crowd would later on
insist that they had heard him screaming in binary. Others would
state it had simply resembled a mathematician's equivalent of
whiiiiee.
For thirty days he
soared, burning, freezing, comparing the stars in his mind-map to the
perhapsual ones up above. He disconnected these dots to pass the
time, drew his astral charts anew, and entered another realm.
For
the sake of convenience, we'll call that realm inner outer space. Von
Braun shifted the entirety of his being, the weight of all his mass
combined, to this place in between thoughts – the hyphens – the
Empty that fills the space between particles of matter. It is a
sacred place, a holy mountain, the enlightened void wherein god hides
perchance. Androgynous. Sexual. Moon-faced and beardy and
infinitesimally contradictory.
“From here on, the only
god I worship is Paradox,” Von Braun announced loudly to his
selves.
Connect the dots.
Disconnect the dots. Rewire. Undo.
And when you blink at the
right time, these blips form Morse code.
Black, blue, black, blue.
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
.... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
....
The dots that cloud his
mind, his vision, scatter as the V-2 reaches its peak, tilts over,
and begins its brief trajectory downward.
Black, blue, black, blue.
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
.... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
....
London approaches quickly, that great
grey pit below.
Buildings turn to
rubble kingdoms topple caterpillars leave their silken palaces
infants
age beyond mortality psychological time consumes us wholesomely
I
hear there's a place called Nice
down
south.
I'm sure that's where
I'd ought to have gone.
Wernher Von Braun
explodes with the luminescent heat of a million distant suns, and
what bits of him and London don't evaporate are sent off into
nothingness.
He transforms, Von Braun
no more. Simply mattering, simply matter scattering. Matter with no
Empty in between.
The blips, the dots
collide, and spell out otherworldly phrases too profound to write.
Some simple
truth,
perhaps.
Black, blue,
black, blue.
Hail falls from above. Hail stirs from
below.
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
.... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
....
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
.... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
....
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
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....
.... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. -
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- .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- ..
- .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .-
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.. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-.
.- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . /
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/ ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- .
/ ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- .
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. / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...-
. / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... ....
.- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. - .... ....
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.
.... .- ...- .
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. .-. .- .. -
....
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- ....
