Sometimes I forget that we are spinning around on our own planet, but NASA never does, and now they are looking to the inhabit the moon when we ruin earth. I would like an apartment in space. A well lighted place, jutted up on a rock. Stick a flag in the ground. Zappa 2010. Set up the record player, make a grilled cheese. Bachelor like. A log cabin set out on flat sand moon dust. Salvaged pine, leaded windows. Have a plant stand if any will grow. I could float around and peer down on the works of it all, learn lessons, own a better perspective on the jittering tides of life. I would live incandescently. Set out a hammock and finally catch up on Nabokov, Vollmann. Remembering (sic) Things Past. Coax a lady up to the cabin. I could sit down and take the time to write a good poem, or at least make a pact to do more fishing. What I mean is this: the moon sounds like a perfect place for a thoughtful respite from our earth, our homes. Because time will not stop. Here we are at The End of the Year, and instead of getting all worried about it, I walked around calm and controlled and feeling pretty smart for not panicking, looking out the window at the hard rain fall, enjoying the quietness of it, the spell. I worked late, accomplished much, then ate dinner alone with a book and the radio on. Everything was fine, and we always have the moon.