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#sputnik
Lawrence Hall HSG [email protected] 1957: The Year We All Became Soviets “…we’re going to get science applied to social problems and backed by the whole force of the state…” Mark Studdock in C. S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength Soviet Science launched a beeping toy into space In the name of Progress; a mass-murderer ordered it so And a month later Science launched and killed sweet Laika Abandoned in orbit to die alone Brave America suffered the Aunt Pittypat vapours: We too must launch our slide-rules into space And set our children to study Sovietism Send civilization into orbit to die alone Dogs and apes and men have flamed out in crashes And Alexandria again is but pale ashes
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Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 9:02 PM UTC
1957: The Year We All Became Soviets
dollops of dander mighty mousers meander— cats with cattitude © 2020 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
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May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 2:00 PM UTC
amy and sputnik
What are the odds Of finding je ne sais quoi When you're searching for it In the middle of a dead language Or in a parallel universe Like Sputnik Sweetheart
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Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
Sputnik
The stars might look like milky bones from afar. Or glowing tennis ***** still clutched in owner's hands while the dumb dog chases something hidden. Did he stick his head out the window of the spaceship? Tongue out, howling. Did he know the hole he had dug was his own grave? I hate when owners pretend to throw a ball, only to hide it behind their backs. The dog trusts you. The dog loves you. The dog loves life. The dog doesn't want to die. The dog doesn't deserve to die. The dog doesn't care about exploring space, it just wants to find that ******* ball.
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Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
Laika
The windfarmer was thirty When Sputnik was launched. He woke the kids who followed His finger across the night sky Of a nativity scene. He returned to the tractor, Ploughed years of soil, Planted rows of questions, Tilled crops and cared For animals. He's a windfarmer now. Stands beneath the behemoth blades Turning over the air we breathe, Felling the clouds, And harvesting the wind. The mills are run by a distant orbiter. His farm, He calls it Spooknyk.
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
A Windfarmer