I Think We Should Touch the Giant Black Monolith on the Moon
I have a good feeling about it
Call me crazy, but I have a good feeling about it.
Like, I look into it, and all I see is the dead, piercing blackness of space staring straight into my soul. Like all of human existence was collapsed into the head of a pin, and it was never anything to the universe.
So I think we should touch it.
I’ve had good luck touching lots of other things: stress balls, Merino sweaters, the baby’s skin. I think if we touch it, it will go well. It won’t be like that time with the stove.
What’s the other option, exactly? Leave it there, not touched? Okay, well number one: I wanna. You do too. Number two: Don’t act like, if we don’t touch it, the Russians or the Chinese aren’t going to just touch it anyway. We’re going to be getting sloppy seconds on touching.
Should we use gloves? Well that’s a stupid question. How hot is it?
Obviously, I’d like to be the one to touch it. Other people can touch it, but I get to touch it first. The first touch is the best touch.
Sheesh, it’s the year 2001. Get over yourself.
What are we waiting for, exactly? Why are we being cautious, when it’s just standing there staring at us. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to. Don’t even think about sending a robot. Don’t waste a good robot. I’m begging you.
If it blows up, I’m blowing up with it. If it teleports me to a new dimension, that’s fine. My kids are nothing special. I’ll be okay.
Look at my hands. They’re soft. I moisturize. My whole life has been waiting for this moment.
I’d like to address the chorus of eerie moaning that begins to build as you creep, inch-by-inch, closer to the monolith: I like it. Go ahead, sue me. I think it’s cool, and I think it portends good things on the horizon. I Want. To Touch. It.
I think I belong to it, or we all belong to the same construct. We’re curious matter that aspires to more. We’re stardust that the universe sneezed out. We’re dirt. We’re clay. We’re nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but hands. Hands that need to touch a goddamn monolith.
When I close my eyes, I see nothing but black. The Black of the Monolith.
Well the evidence is everywhere. I don’t know what else you want from me. I think we (I) should touch that thing. Right now.
I have enclosed a series of Polaroids of my hands in suggestive poses for your consideration. I would appreciate them returned when you are through with them. Thank you and God bless.
