Wednesday, 15 July 2009

Walking on the moon. For somebody for whom navigating the High St can induce psychological trauma, can I empathize with those guys forty years ago who stood on the fucking moon? For US ALL it would seem to invite total mental collapse- 'You mean I have to JUMP off the ladder!- on to the moon!!- which is made of what exactly? and I'm here ostensibly with a bit of tinfoil made by OTHER PEOPLE and controlled by a bunch of college kids and 'SHIT THIS IS NOT GOOD' (which of course should have been the first words uttered by reasonable human beings if they just happened to find themselves ON THE FUCKING MOON! I'd want a fucking large scotch for sure and many more just to get me looking out the window. I'd have to have scotch PUMPED in to my space suit (Archigram should have thought of this, but maybe Warren Chalk did). After all they have put me on top of a HUGE ROCKET and I have no idea how it works and the percentages show it will probably BLOW UP with me on top and now I'm in this tin foil thing which is going too fast and I'll probably put my foot through it! Can you imagine that??? Then when you are on the moon and you realize you are a form of guinea pig or maybe hamster and what do you do?- I guess try not to fall over, because falling over could be REALLY BAD or maybe some twenty year old has got the calculations wrong and I'll just float off in to space FOREVER. Fucking GREAT! THANKS!! It's a shame Space Oddity is such an unimaginative song.
So what do they do in the end- they play golf and drive 4x4's about just like we do at home. How re-assuring that is, and they collect rocks. They should have sent Jeremy Clarkson, but he was probably only seven (like me) at the time and holidaying in Pembroke. 
Worse was thinking - and I do this over long periods in The Misty Mountain these days- what have we done since? Well we have met, as far as I can see, many more Estonians. That's about it. We have developed John Smith's Extra Smooth, and we have mobile phones. These are depressing thoughts. So, salute the heroes of forty years ago, I certainly shall and whilst thinking about being stuck with a bit of tin foil with half an engine on the moon, howl at ZAHA's phoney lumps of concrete down here.

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