The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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James T. Kirk has left the planet. The captain is 90 years old, a tad overweight, but otherwise in great spirits, having actually loosed the bonds of earth, going where no old guy has gone before.

I can’t blame him for leaving. Lately I’ve been fantasizing about living on some other planet. Maybe one that believes in Spockian logic. One that doesn’t think it’s okay for 8 or 10 of its inhabitants to own most of the wealth. One that actually believes in the kind of democracy where my vote isn’t equal to a corporation’s, but is equal to everyone else’s. A planet that spends its money and intelligence on curing diseases instead of waging wars. One that lives in harmony with nature rather than ruin the atmosphere and the ocean and ravages the land. Maybe one that hasn’t advanced to the internet or social media or smart phones and computers even if it means a more primitive existence. Primitive is looking pretty good to me these days. And definitely a planet that doesn’t elect a baboon like Donald J. Trump as its leader. Really, is that too much to ask?

I know, that place doesn’t exist. So best next bet, grab a rocket ship and hurtle myself away from this doomed orb, up up and away from the pandemic mandate battles and the Koch brothers and the religious kooks and the climate change deniers and the Taliban and the great state of Texas, as far away as I can for as long as I can. Like Elton said: I think it’s gonna be a long, long time
‘Til touchdown brings me ’round again to find
I’m not the man they think I am at home
Oh, no, no, no
I’m a rocket man
Rocket man, burning out his fuse up here alone

All I can say is Godspeed, Captain Kirk, godspeed! Beam me up too!

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