There were a thousand haikus sent to Mars. It was a contest. And humans sent in their thoughts, their pens to papers, to see it off to circle the Red Planet.
I have never been a master or the haiku. I think somewhere I have the one I did in fourth grade. In my corduroy pants and polyester stripped shirt, I tried so hard. There were piles of crumpled papers everywhere before it was settled. I transferred each word ever so carefully with my tiny hands on to cardstock. I cut the cardstock in half, after bending it to make sure the ends met exactly. Then, I cut a piece of bright green construction paper the same way. I used just enough Elmer's clue to put my haiku on the green, half sheet. I carefully put a huge book on it overnight to dry, so the ends wouldn't curl up. I hadn't even truly mastered handwriting, but somehow, I was supposed to come up with a fucking haiku. A decorative, fucking haiku, at that. I remember doing the project begrudgingly, but I really gave it my duty-all. I turned it in, got and didn't get an A. I was mad, and I argued, with no relief - No one listens to you in the fourth grade. And I DID NOT get an A, because the structure was incorrect. NOT because it didn't make sense. I got marks off for making up a word, a name for something that didn't exist. I got marks off for using my imagination. And I never did it again. That was the end of my haikuing career.
But, to have your words put into space - just circling and circling a dry, desert, red, planet. The papers encased in metal and cold silence, held into place by forces we know of, but can't feel to the touch. I should like that. I should admire that. But, I'm not sure if I like the idea or not. I've been disinterested with Mars ever since we found out the Face of Mars was just a rock formation. I think I liked it better when it was a face. I just don't think a bunch of haikus are going to make me feel better about that loss.
But, did I do anything better today? I did my laundry. I did hang out my red underwear on the clothes line to dry. At the time, I did feel like I had done something brilliant, getting all the house chores done. But, none of it will go into the history books. Of that, I am completely sure of.
It's been quite a few long months. And there will be a few months more, before things are settled. I've been very quiet lately. I think some people think it's depression. It's not. I'm just enjoying the quiet. Preparing my reserves. Enjoying the quiet. It's a little like cleaning out a dirty garage, filled with dust and clutter, and used and broken things. Old Christmas decorations, the too small and rusted bike, the cans and bottles for recycling, the tools, and smeared oil stains. Hard work to get all that done. But, when it's finished, I want to repaint the walls of my empty mind garage, redo the floor and the ceiling. That's what I've been doing. I just want to sit in there, and enjoy the work done, and clean and quiet. I know like any garage, there will be stuff, new stuff, piling up in it soon enough. It is our nature to continue to collect.
I have been listening to music. My favorite song of all is Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - all three parts. It may be, for me, the most touchingly brilliant piece of music ever. I can listen to it over and over again, and never get tired of it. Some day, I think that I will even have sex with someone to it. And I would probably cry through the whole damn thing. How could I not? But, that would be a very special person indeed. I would never put my blessed Beethoven in harms way by attaching him to some ordinary sod. And if I die before that happens, then so be it. I do suspect I will die before it happens. Hasn't happened in the first forty years, and not be super crass, but that's really going to have to be one hell of a guy and one hell of a penis. The purity of the song must remain above all.
I had it turned way up in my headphones, so loud that my ears almost hurt. I laid next to the bed with my legs up on the edge my back on the cold floor. The floor was so nice. My eyes closed and the dog's breath on my face. And when it was done, I just played it again, two more times. Beethoven is history, that will never be undone, or defeated. All we have is his music. No one left who knew him. But these notes, from a brain, a human brain. He heard them in his mind - his brain. Completely incomprehensible. We barely have any humans that reach this level of miraculous. We barely know anything about the brain. I hope in our studies we don't undo Beethoven like we did Mars.
After that, I went out to hang my underwear...but, not a haiku.
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