There exists, in the space between worlds known veritably as ‘space’, a venerable derelict, where its ancient interior is succeeded each night by the wondrous crew, the magnificent lights, ornaments and furnishings, and the brand new existence of the very structure itself. What else remains but to talk of the passengers, who travel from each planet, shore to shore on an interplanetary cruise, where every night is a gala and night after night is the night of the gala in the eternal night.
Each moment the passengers dance to the backdrop of the last infinite sea, bordered by frames of exquisite walls and expensive champagne. When they dance they float upon each step, twirling each other around and around in the endless waltz that so obliquely mirrors the unending dance of spheres, in which body after body floats around in their timeless sequences of circles and ellipses.
Yet in this new and ancient ship is a visitor, afloat in the darkness where the gala lights roam. His bulbous helm sits too large and not all that dandy. This person, above and through the gala night, drifts in the direction he boldly put forth. Amongst the hulk he sits and yawns, collecting debris and the treasure he seeks.
Long gone are the passengers, the lights and the crew, but each night they still dance amongst the stars. As flotsam and jetsom they sway and sway in the night of man’s latest frontier. They still exist there, as both new and old, dead and alive, and dancing and dancing. Whilst all around them the pillage goes on, the treasure hunter retreats back to his own and the living dead’s dancing goes on and on.
– by Kier Sparey
© Copyright Kier Sparey 2013