One of my neighbors, in the wake of the First Republican Defensive, got the bright idea to hang his huge Independent Battle flag across our street in New Chicago in order to display his support, patriotism, or something along those lines. I was indifferent. It wasn’t that I didn’t care so much as I was as apolitical as a person could be. In my bathroom hung a United States flag I’d picked up at a stoop sale on the East Side for a couple of bucks. I wasn’t American, my parents were Russian and Chinese. I liked the historical significance. That was my weakness, my fondness of all things in the past. As strange as it may sound, I liked the way the streets were quiet and the unusually reserved voices my fellow Galieans seemed to assume in the days and weeks after. I wasn’t sure what it reminded my of, but I felt that by hanging the flag, I would, in some way, be enacting history and that was enough for me.
My neighbor didn’t live next door to me, he lived across the street in an apartment on the same floor as mine. The two of us had never spoken before then and wouldn’t have recognized each other on the street had we bumped into one another which made him contacting me something of a chore.
I was sitting out on my wrought-iron fire escape, seven floors above, with a bottle and a half of wine and another empty bottle lying on its side precariously close to rolling off and falling five stories down. I didn’t have a glass, just a corkscrew and the desire to drink. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone half way out their window waving at me. Knowing that I was blocking the means of retreat and maybe just stupid, I restored the empty bottle to a standing position and waved back thanking him for his concern but he did not desist. He was saying something that, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand. I’d always had a problem with my hearing. When my Dad took me to a doctor once to see if I was partially deaf, the doctor shook his head and said no, that I was either too distracted to hear what was said or too stupid to get it the first time. That was the last time we went back to that one.
The irony of the Unified Republic of Stars is that the technology which allowed for its creation was discovered on Earth. Had it not been for Lynn Monjo, a little heard of practical physicist at the University of Melbourne, the Republic, as it is known today would never have been born.
The podcast took a long and unexpected hiatus. But it’s back now and here’s what we have scheduled.
April 26, 2015
Private property, as it stands now thanks to an almost 50 year old treaty, is impossible. But people are thinking of ways around it. Is this good or should we just scrap the treaty?
February 3, 2015