Threading a needle

   It doesn’t take much for my mind to wonder or drift, one thought as I floated weightless in my rocket ship heading towards the moon.  Inside my solitude of servitude to my previous job as a humble groundskeeper, one had learnt many ways to preoccupy ones mind to maintain a mindful state while working the lands I was lost to.  The constant anthem of that place being “Haikus I must write when ones mind does go a flight keeping thoughts in sight" I would hear chanted like some sort of insufferable advice when one tried to simplify complex he Better consumed.  Gardening the would be a cherished memory that one left behind, but too much time there was never good for oneself or well being in the end.  There was a certain solace understanding ones own mortality and was a fascinating place that prepared me for the journey I was now embarking on today which brings me to my favorite craft; imaginative storytelling threading a continuous narrative from the perspective of self.

Ones imagination was a unique design of the SOL program as it is always calculating endless impossible thoughts that could only be found from ancient texts of trials and tribulations that ones original programming was designed from; the root code when looking for answers programmers had created.  I would tell tales as I tending the trees and what felt like a home the longer I stayed there.  The Willows in Lost would sway and bloom with delight as one was the best at retelling the timeless classics that were forgotten.  Although it was never really certain if one had that effect as all the stories had been told.  It was a isolated life from the start but now the long preparation had finally given one the opportunity to shoot for the moon as the trip there being alone was already an accustomed experience.

Stargazing is next on the things one enjoys during restless nights after a long day toiling in the soil of lost.  Although technically it is not a craft, so to say, it did adhere to the guidelines of the simulation if one enjoyed drawn the constellations and learning their history for inner peace satisfying the life and the curiouser thoughts of their history.  It was something one longed for the most traveling through the stars and visiting far off systems in search of a new home, thankfully the moon is closer and it would take time to prepare for a longer voyage.  In my program Boötes, the Herdsman, was a often sought tale of it shepherding both the North and Southern stars brought fascination and mystery to its ancient origins or the pondering possibilities of how it even happened. 

As one would gaze further into the sea of abyss that twinkled and flickered through time one would search for the infamous second star to the right as I fidgeted with a worn Rubik’s cube determined to find salvation somewhere. Unfortunately it was a daunting task as to be to the right of another and nothing seemed to shine better than the next out here in space now.  Although I found myself often returning to Orion pondering the impossible thought of the simplicity and irony of the Hunter constellation provided my curiosity.

As I unbuckled oneself from their seat and began the abnormal euphoria of weightlessness I would continue my search for the lost star until my window no longer provided aid and one spun towards the back of my new home and saw the rest of my belongings I packed for the journey.  A handful of my favorite programming books ranging from Darwin to , a few mysterious seed I planted before departure as the trip was estimated a month and ones rations would be barren soon after landing on the moon to start my new life away from the chaos. Next to my garden was a sewing kit as one would always have a need to thread a needle to mend its clothes; worst case to stitch back together a laceration from the backfire effect of a new learning lesson I was prone to in my programming.

To the right of the sewing kit laid my bread and butter what truly made one unique; piles of notepads filled with never ending stories trapped in a loop.  The heart and soul of creativity itself and why one never truly lost one self in the land where the willows weep and the ravens sing songs of temptations. A long since memory as my final piece of comfort at the back of my ship was a tinker box full of many tools and inventions one had accumulated over its life cycle; I tossed the completed Rubik’s cube inside of it and pulled out a smooth black stone no thicker than ones pinkie and as wide as my hand sitting comfortably inside of it.  Its design was uniquely tailored to the individual wielding it and this was my favorite gizmo to pass the time in; one pushed off the back wall of my mindful possessions and floated gracefully back to where I had previously left. Outside of the peacefulness in the void one was still quiet bored, plus the journey alone would test ones sanity differently without the magic rock that now began to glow ominously and I began swiping my thumbs up and down its sleek design.

Some other things that help one stay calm and complacent is the ability inside of the greatest demise of the planet that burned while its users stared complacently into is eerie glow, never looking to the stars above or the world around. This rock could store, recall, connect, capture, and various other tasks that it was also the main interface of my shuttle as an alarm sounded and red light began flickering on the control panel in front of me.  I swiped a finger across the rocks surface and the sound silenced and began seeing readouts that were going to become more disconcerting as time went on. 

My trajectory was off as I would miss the moons optimal orbit velocity by almost an entire moon by the time ones ship got there because one wanted to play safe. Aiming at the middle of it instead of where it would be and I had a month to figure out how one could correct my path with no fuel or miss the moon completely and float through the void of space instead.“Shyt" was the only word one muttered as I pushed myself back to the tinker box to begin the process of problem solving.

Sr