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A Spoodle in Space - The Space Tourist Chronicles

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  Blast off on a wild space adventure! We're crammed into our battered little Subi spacecraft, heading to the dusty outpost of Outpost Aurum. Our mission: to reach the ocean planet of Oceanus Station. Join us as we station-hop through space, in a calamity of errors, as intrepid space tourists.  Script Our battered Subi spacecraft, a relic of pre-Collapse Jump engineering, groaned under the weight. Myself, BK, and Katcha, the genetically modified spoodle with its enhanced olfactory sensors, along with enough protein paste to outlast a minor vacuum breach, were crammed inside.  A brand-new Brass Monkey cryo-unit hummed in the boot, our lifeline for the long haul. Our mission: a jump from Beagal's orbital dock to the dusty outpost of Outpost Aurum, a waypoint on the long haul to Oceanus Station, a planet known for vast oceans. Outpost Aurum, a rumoured oasis of functional grav plating, was our first target. Beagal's orbital dock was a pressure cooker of recycled air and stal...
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Ubud It happens in this time.

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It happens in this time.

Within all of this hassell and bustle, there is peace to be found.
It matters that our approach of founding is addressed.
If we don't walk so fast,  if our minds are rested.
We will have found this, where and whenever we intend understanding.
Time were ritual is small,  place where space is eternal.
There is a pattern to making sense.
Personalised and collective.


Forget the calling of the influential and competitive.
Forget the combatants.
Attempt to day dream.
Fall over the drawn line.
Re-position and let each door open wide.
So much to see in so many small spaces.
A universe in each unearthed cavity.



There are many gods who nonsensically watch us.
All whispering whilst we restrictively rant.
They have privileged loss.
They have fallen from superiority to obscurity.
Their stories are silent whilst we are glorious in distraction.
Fall with them, dream with them,  be at mind with them.



Within each fall, they linger and mutate on.
Through each season, timeless and enduring.
Cyclic they remain unnoticed.
They want to be noticed,  and we can learn from their shimmer.
Their stains against time.
It is possible to see them dance and weave through our space.
Ever-slowly, ever-changing and ever-in-ness.
It happens in this time.
Never in or when convenient.
Busy being,  erodes our capability to make sense.




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