We arrived on the moon last Friday.
“I know the world is meant to be round, but I ain’t sure about this place.”
There’s a swimming pool I haven’t yet swam in. There’s a pool of inspiration and I haven’t yet come up for air.
There are these people, different people, articulate and crazy and clever and full of colour and spit and I’m swimming around in it. It’s a joy and it’s a story and it’s a lesson and it’s unforgettable (though that might be tested in X amount of years).
For now though the conversation is open, discoverable, possibly impossible but impossible to curb.
I is they and you are we and we are together and we are alone.
And the work is of the highest standard. And the work is aiming higher and aiming laterally and climbing the mountain to our broken hotel and navigating the city and remembering the jungle and swimming the sea and landing on the island and loving fucking and vulnerability and burying our father while holding our queerness and helping the priest while staving back hunger and forgiving tyrants. And forgiving tyrants. And remembering the loved dead and so much more through poetry, where phones claim souls and mongrels reclaim their identity and we all howl at the moon.
So of course we are not really on the moon.
That would be silly.
But we are cosmonauts and this is our journey.