Conflict.

And so it goes with machines. Astronomical sums are nice, but blood is best. Flesh is easier. Mind and will are excellent. The captain is all these. The computer doesn't know I live. The captain does. He looks, he sees, he interprets, he decides. He tells me where to go. And as he is my captain, as I go.

Straight to hell.

Then hell it is.


Ray Bradbury's Leviathan '99.

Feel of the leave.

For even the thundering rocket, which rips the soul on Earth, walks silently some few miles high, treads the stars without footfall, as if in awe of the great cathedral of space.


Ray Bradbury's Leviathan '99.

So little to say, but so much time.

Two days short of two months, stemming from a friendship of two years. Propelled too fast to be peculiar, only feeling simply natural. Our hearts enveloped within each other, to be warmed and held above the cold. Despite the surrounding noise, there is us. Among the specs, the bed, the table; we drifted about this plane. Only now, have we finally met.