Fuck Nasa, Part 16
I was at a party a couple of months ago (not bragging) at the home of a well-known New York new media mogul who has built a reputation for himself as a bit of a jerk. Very cool of me. Very cool of US. Anyway, I hadn’t seen this guy in awhile, and when we said our hellos he told me that he thought that I had moved out of town. Now, personally, perhaps paranoiacally, I took this as a not-so-subtle dig, because I obviously hadn’t moved out of town, I was very much in town still, and no one would have suggested to him that I had moved out of town because I hadn’t so what was he even talking about. What he was really saying, at least as I interpreted it, was “I don’t read your work, and therefore you have become irrelevant to me, and I have transformed your editorial irrelevance into physical irrelevance, as if you literally stopped existing in the same space as me completely.” Or maybe he just thought I had moved out of town. But ultimately isn’t this what we are all dealing with on a daily basis? The fear that we will be forgotten or go unheard? The desperate belief that what we spend our time doing is actually far less important than we tell ourselves in order to keep going? And yet, there are no other options! We must continue to shout into the void. We must hold onto the belief that we do matter and that this world is as much ours as anyone else’s. No one can escape this struggle. And, so, sure, we made light of Fuck You NASA guy’s plight back in June and then quickly forgot about him, but Fuck You NASA guy didn’t forget about Fuck You NASA guy. Fuck You NASA guy can’t just give up. None of us can. When there was only one set of footprints in the sand, it was Fuck You NASA guy recording parts 3-15. You keep going, Fuck You NASA guy.
Let’s all keep going. (Thanks for the tip, Chris.)