Another day, another billionaire strokes the tail of space, slips away from belted gravity, and floats like the embryo of a new species that has no reason to exist. Flight without feathers, flight without wings, flight without responsibility, running a rippling tail across new mountains. A glance of zig-zag light. White horizon. Harp seals roll in twenty-four hour sun, and a silver sliver slides on shrinking ice. Money talks of twisting in zero-G but, just as the song says, it can’t buy love. It can’t buy more than six or seven minutes of evolution. It can’t buy exemption from burning up on landing.
Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor