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Remembered a scene from a movie, one of those Astronaut movies, Apollo 13, and we were aglow with golden tears, at the Idea that there was inherent goodness and resourcefulness in our compatriots during a time of trouble. Toward the end Of the picture they were in translunar space

and everything was switched off but the Air, they weren’t even in pressure suits because they were needed for re-entry, and anyway too much for the ship’s damaged electrical system, and they were Freezing and so cold and one guy had the flu, with a fever, and that was Class AAA misery. And the

gestalt of their Situation Was Captured in a shot of the Walkman tape Player that the guy had brought on board along with the flu, With a selection of pseudo-psychedelic rock, shit like Spirit in the Sky (although a good tune and well-rendered). It Was weightlessly floating, turning over, in the

command cabin, batteries running down, playing slowly and more slowly, Conway Twitty somehow, at the end of the tape, and he sounded sickly mournful, more like that than anyone ever sounded. And they were alone and sick, just like us, hoping they had been strong enough for a rescue.

But I would have turned off that fucking little doom-sayer, because it was such a fucking symbol of running down and into the abysm, of fear and echo-y weirdness as to deny even the merit of rescue, from within or without.