& few people realize how the Moon is made of pure dry ice. & those in the know by & large choose not to talk about it, for all the obvious occultic reasons, I suppose. But you, you’re one of my friends & I know you are not the sort to just… run out willy nilly & do something stupid w/ your inside information, like… You wouldn’t, say, post it up on a roadside billboard for all to see, or announce it in the new Christina Aguilera pop video clip you’re directing… You wouldn’t go mine the Moon to fill 4th of July beer cooler orders for a quick buck…
I trust you, you see, & I want those I trust always to be in the know.
So… the Moon is made of pure dry ice & few people realize that, you dig? Except now we’ve come ‘round to the May portion of our program & the Sun is winning & it punishes the Moon for January. & it punishes all those of us who worshiped the Moon back then when it was running the show & all those of us who made blood sacrifices to what we now know is an enormous chunk of ice careening @ potentially catastrophic speeds across the surface of this flat & hollow earth we cling to, you & I.
& the Sun, it beats the shit out of us in a sort of divine solar retribution, lashes us until we’re all just simmering in our own excretions. & then Aunt Maxine goes out to move the garden hose & starts melting @ her edges.
Only the garden hose is melting too, so the edges of what is Aunt Maxine & the edges of the aforementioned & now legendary garden hose get kind of blended together like a stir fry where even the noodles wind up tasting like onions so it’s no use whatever to pick the damn things out before eating. It’s just too late.
Aunt Maxine returns inside the house as an Aunt Maxine/garden hose hybrid & her feet look like the doormat so we can almost make out //God Bless This Mess\\ across the tops of her toes. & her hands look like the electric bill she was attempting to retrieve from the mail box when the Sun got her, so we’re going to have to pull off her perforated ring finger to send in with the check so the power doesn’t get cut.
& now we have to remind her not to sit on the chaise lounge because she’s watering the entire living room w/ these 12 rotating streams of water that the neighbor kids are screeching & leaping through with glee in their brightly colored bathing suits.
& Uncle Irwin, he’s fed up w/ the shenanigans so he’s loading his shot gun & he’ll take pot shots @ the arrogant & unrepentant Helios up in his tower, because we’re not going to be able to wait it out ‘til October to venture outside for more whiskey & tampons.
Ah… nothing more than May in Texas. Again.