[ That kick, her childlike curiosity, suffuses him with such a sense of bittersweet excitement. He doesn't want to shift an iota, lest it dissipate or be withdrawn. But she's asking him about space, a little girl expecting to hear a marvelous story, and he has no idea what to tell her. His travels resist the translation into speech; mostly they're tactile. ]
[ He's been places where the thin little tissue of his psyche, of a human consciousness, had no meaning. Would be smashed like an egg yolk, spilling goo and insanity everywhere. The universe was such a weird place -- like a dark wasteland that had been abandoned forever, but there were still lights glittering inside, and so much gorgeous overspilling garbage, discarded fragments of impossible dreams, cogs and gaskets from the innards of infinity. On board the enterprise, constantly surrounded by other people, beset by responsibilities, driven by their mission, he would always crave solitude. But gazing at the soundless belly of space, all that freedom and possibility everywhere, hadn't afforded him a sense of peace. Perversely, he'd wished he was tethered to something solid -- real gravity, real ground, a promise that he was where he should be -- not floating in the ether, his center misaligned. ]
[ He's always stayed on the move, always been a creature of swift momentum and deep restless energy. But space travel isn't for him. Skating along on something that touches him, but that he can't touch. It's no better than Nietzsche's goddamned abyss. ]
[ Finally, in a gentle deflection, ]
You want to give it a shot? You'd look good in a spacesuit.
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Date: 2014-12-06 02:55 am (UTC)[ He's been places where the thin little tissue of his psyche, of a human consciousness, had no meaning. Would be smashed like an egg yolk, spilling goo and insanity everywhere. The universe was such a weird place -- like a dark wasteland that had been abandoned forever, but there were still lights glittering inside, and so much gorgeous overspilling garbage, discarded fragments of impossible dreams, cogs and gaskets from the innards of infinity. On board the enterprise, constantly surrounded by other people, beset by responsibilities, driven by their mission, he would always crave solitude. But gazing at the soundless belly of space, all that freedom and possibility everywhere, hadn't afforded him a sense of peace. Perversely, he'd wished he was tethered to something solid -- real gravity, real ground, a promise that he was where he should be -- not floating in the ether, his center misaligned. ]
[ He's always stayed on the move, always been a creature of swift momentum and deep restless energy. But space travel isn't for him. Skating along on something that touches him, but that he can't touch. It's no better than Nietzsche's goddamned abyss. ]
[ Finally, in a gentle deflection, ]
You want to give it a shot? You'd look good in a spacesuit.