Cold war gloating in space is unseemly
American space dreams were too grandiloquent. Tiles flaked off their space shuttle, but in the '60s and '70s they dreamed of colonising the LaGrange points. Rebellion for this "Golden Age" of Science Fiction often meant author's freedom to boldly express misogyny and racism in a sort of "Look Up in Anger." Golden Age Science Fiction wore a quiff and ripped up cinema seats.
And admit it. Ender's game was trashy Mormonia. Most Mormons learn to bullshit after two years of Mission work. Ender's Game is Orson Scott Card's megalomaniac Mormon crap.
And speaking of hot piss and pissoirs. In the former communist countries a pissoir was just a pissoir, not a "Grand Design". A jar of jam was a jar of jam. And no permanently looped gif; no snarky comedian or ten million dollar advert could have morphed those dusty-brown, label- less jars full of sour plum, plonked onto the shelves of warehouse-like supermarkets, into sour plum fairy remedies for unhappiness.
Nevertheless the jam tasted fabulous on rye. That two litre jar of clear fluid was only the juice of a beech tree. That glass of foaming bubbles was merely an oxygen cocktail ready to be spooned up. That bottle in the fridge was brimming with smetana, kefir or sour milk; that silver tanker dispensed sweet foaming brown Kvas from a pipe.
I read a Polish book about a giant talking black dog published in 1979. The author finishes his book with a confession, saying:
"Children. This is not real. There is no talking dog and I am just a guy writing in a shitty room in a tower block and I am disabled and this is just my way of escaping. But I am wrong to do so. There is no magic dog. Deal with it!"
But what was indeed exotic about the Soviets was that they were the products of a social experiment gone wrong designed to create the "Novi Chelovyek", or New Man. And what was intriguing about Soviet space technology was that it had a Galapagos island feel to it: it was built by humans formed in a different societal ecology, where the value of things was determined by the value of things and not by chancers from marketing.
What happens to a human when every corner of his or her attention isn't colonised? What happens when even the cultural maya of religion is dispelled? The huge Soviet Energia rocket was exotic for this reason, and with it the Soviets could have built a proper space station with a toilet according an astronaut's needs.
Now, let's imagine the Cubans could build their rockets and satellites. What would they do with them? That's the question. And what would Cuban toilets be like. Well I think they would just be toilets not grand designs, not the gloating symbols of cold war victory .
American space dreams were too grandiloquent. Tiles flaked off their space shuttle, but in the '60s and '70s they dreamed of colonising the LaGrange points. Rebellion for this "Golden Age" of Science Fiction often meant author's freedom to boldly express misogyny and racism in a sort of "Look Up in Anger." Golden Age Science Fiction wore a quiff and ripped up cinema seats.
And admit it. Ender's game was trashy Mormonia. Most Mormons learn to bullshit after two years of Mission work. Ender's Game is Orson Scott Card's megalomaniac Mormon crap.
And speaking of hot piss and pissoirs. In the former communist countries a pissoir was just a pissoir, not a "Grand Design". A jar of jam was a jar of jam. And no permanently looped gif; no snarky comedian or ten million dollar advert could have morphed those dusty-brown, label- less jars full of sour plum, plonked onto the shelves of warehouse-like supermarkets, into sour plum fairy remedies for unhappiness.
Nevertheless the jam tasted fabulous on rye. That two litre jar of clear fluid was only the juice of a beech tree. That glass of foaming bubbles was merely an oxygen cocktail ready to be spooned up. That bottle in the fridge was brimming with smetana, kefir or sour milk; that silver tanker dispensed sweet foaming brown Kvas from a pipe.
I read a Polish book about a giant talking black dog published in 1979. The author finishes his book with a confession, saying:
"Children. This is not real. There is no talking dog and I am just a guy writing in a shitty room in a tower block and I am disabled and this is just my way of escaping. But I am wrong to do so. There is no magic dog. Deal with it!"
But what was indeed exotic about the Soviets was that they were the products of a social experiment gone wrong designed to create the "Novi Chelovyek", or New Man. And what was intriguing about Soviet space technology was that it had a Galapagos island feel to it: it was built by humans formed in a different societal ecology, where the value of things was determined by the value of things and not by chancers from marketing.
What happens to a human when every corner of his or her attention isn't colonised? What happens when even the cultural maya of religion is dispelled? The huge Soviet Energia rocket was exotic for this reason, and with it the Soviets could have built a proper space station with a toilet according an astronaut's needs.
Now, let's imagine the Cubans could build their rockets and satellites. What would they do with them? That's the question. And what would Cuban toilets be like. Well I think they would just be toilets not grand designs, not the gloating symbols of cold war victory .
Comments
Post a Comment