SPACE JUNK


MIT MUSEUM


The sky is clotted. Tangled. Vapor trails, blinking lights of low flying aircraft. The stars are moving away from us, becoming dimmer. Behold the orbiting disjecta of rockets, pieces of space vehicles, dead satellites, live ones that can read your license plate. When there was one or two we were charmed by them blinking along their orbits. You could sit with your lover and watch them in wonder. Isn’t the new marvelous? At the place where the military blends with the corporation their data-mining capabilities mingle with spying. Dare we say this is the age of bad boundaries? Is that too psyche 101?

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