Today, I sat and pondered under the powerlines. Watching the blue birds fly, below an overcast sky. Listening to them sing as the sunshine forced its way through the gray. I did not think of the seeds in my testis drowning. I thought of the Sun, now free of the caging clouds. The age of Pisces, and Jesus fish magnetically affixed to drivers’ license plates. And the impending age of Aquarius. And how the distant light of nuclear meltdowns will never reach our eyes, or the eyes of our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so on.

We, as combustible beings made of disintegrating biological matter, will never fathom what truly lies above and truly beyond us. Our ancestors gave them names. The Big Dipper (and its inadequate brother). Orion’s Belt (not made from dead animals’ leather). But in the grandest scheme of all things, they have no names.

They are as spontaneously explosive as we are. Do you know how many nations on this minuscule rock possess nuclear weapons or nuclear reactors on the verge of the pin pushing towards the red of the dial? (There are 8 as of today, can you name them all?) Maybe we should be less concerned with the megalomaniacs with their finger hovering over the big red button, but what lies in the silent, endless. nameless darkness above us. Stars always burn out. We, as humans, will simply fade away into the darkest of ages.

Typed by Chris Butler