Neil Armstrong – He Dead

Neil Armstrong died today.

A few hours ago, or something.

He was, in every imaginable way, possessed of the Right Stuff. A hero of the human race, to the point where even his sweat stank with the musky spice of courage.

I, like every other useless cunt on this wonderful world, have nothing but depthless admiration for him, and I’ve felt the guilty shadow of emotional investment in his achievements, as if I had anything to do with them beyond the sheer dumb luck of being born in the same species. “We” made it to the moon, like I did anything 21 years before I was born, in a field I’m too much of a coward and an idiot to ever take part in.

What he did, and how he did it, will forever remain inscribed upon the sphere of human knowledge. A name that’ll never be forgotten.

I’m not ashamed to admit I sat in stunned, melancholy silence for a few minutes after I found out, and read several news articles hoping it wasn’t true – or that his final moments had somehow been as vital and enlightening and world-changing as those first steps on the moon. Like anyone without their head up their own arse, I’m mourning a hero.

And yet.

And yet.

It’s a sad testimony to me as person that this is actually the most emotional photo I’ve seen today, and it made me burst into tears. The kind of crying you do as a kid, when something is so insanely uplifting that losing your shit with a huge grin and leaking ocular saltwater is all your body will allow you to do. A rather more immediate reaction than my otherwise sincere mourning, and I’d like to apologise to Neil Armstrong’s ghost/zombie for the injustice done to him by my too-human heart.

Stop hugging him.

You’re making me cry.