In the control tower, all the experts with headphones eternally ear glued, said, ‘All systems go, one by one, by one, by one, by one, by one.
The rocket thing, cobbled together from recycled drink cans, steaming like a steam iron, lifted smoothly into the morning, cascading powerful rhythm, as it was a sonic rocket. Attaining orbital procedures, Captain and crew settled down in their custom seated area.
At first organisation, the main bell tent expanded, slowly, slowly, covering a whole swathe of stars. Tattooed all over in delightful variation and coloured in part, the great ship rippled in the give and take of the solar wind. Deflecting the harmful slings and arrows of outrageous radiations, whilst absorbing the heartwarming solar energy and storing in great batteries of bubbling chemical systems. Hydroponic variations are also available. When the surface detail had hardened, the great tendrils and manipulative arms unrolled in slo mo, eventually reaching an light year into the distance. In the living halves, which rotated to prevent memory loss, comfy sofas and sundry food outlets vied for prime position. A sushi bar and chicken Saty outlets proving the most popular amongst the inmates. The sushi was the most precisely cut in the history of ever, as it was all done by robotic samurai knives of ancient pedigree.
Smaller utility craft nestled, secured, within the skirts of the great Jelly. It being noted that deep space remained very much in common with the dark depths of the ocean, it had been decided to copy the deep designs for the smaller units in accordance, The small ships Angler Fish, Black Swallower and the tug runabout, Arctic Shark, were all fully primed and ready for the off.
She Captain, faceted eyes all ablaze, she might call the ship the ‘Woman of War,’ but, as she came in peace, she stuck with ‘The Jelly’,
Anyway, the first task, before insisting on its great voyage, was to sweep up and declutter earth orbits to neutralise the dangers of casual collision cascade or CCC as it has been nominated. Lowering the main bank of prehensile tendrils from the under belt of the great Jelly ship. Loose spanners, spent cartridges, leftovers of all kinds and cultures, linkstar web monitors and lazy orbiting detritus were captured, wrapped in sticky tendrils and then pulled into the main ship where a myriad of tiny helpers sorted, recycled and stored away till the night sky was clear once more.
Soon, it was time, and when all the hugging and crying was over. The Captain set a course and waved the everlasting wave.
As you know, or as those who have waved goodbye, it can be both a sad and yet exciting pastime. The first step on a journey to who knows and all. Can one surf on the wave? Ride the wave to its conclusion on the farthest shore? By the way,
I don’t think Jelly fish dance very well,
The sway of their limbs is propelled by the swell,
The water defines the style of the dance,
The Jellies just hang in a fidgety trance,
Weaving their arms in an upside-down rave,
While floating along, enslaved to the rave.
Is it in the dance that we may find the rhythms of creation? Emoting on a diagonal across deep space. The performers in their costumes of star clusters and nebulae embodying the music of the triangles. The streamers reached away from the gantry all up into the orbital sky, the multicoloured strands forming and reforming in plaited and twinning ropes, dripping with tattered fringes, as the slowly stretching departure played out.
The Guardians of the Cave 