The Moon rape

The Moon was a space alien invader… emerging from her cadaver cadet, she was the Scarface who wanted to remind the Earth each time of her rape. Just as the Sun gave us light and photosynthesis, so did creatures survived below the ocean bottoms, where no light or oxygen can survive. Too much light could kill us and so the Moon became the curtains, sunglasses that protect us from getting blind. The Moon reminds, too much of that loving bright light, could bring certain disabilities… like positive thinking and toasted barbies on rodeo ride.

Whenever awaken in the dark with her mirror reflecting my face through the night, I would stumble on my smoking balcony, hiding behind the white ash rose bush, thinking of incest, open heart surgeries and bitter cocktails. Her loony Scarface was yelling at me “Rape. Rape. Rape”. And I had to wear leather pants and snakeskin boots to feel like Kali going to buy ciggies around the corner kiosk, but ended gulping whiskey in the new bar sidewalk and dancing shirtless in circles like wild tailless pony.

The Moonlight drive was her song, enjoying night dip in the ocean of deep submissive thoughts. But there was no ocean, or there is no ocean without hidden creatures, without poisonous snakes and hungry babies. Her scar-face was pain and her only friend was the Earth’s body. She would follow her neighbour, like a maniac on deludes, Xanax, barbiturates, opium teas, pointing stained silver revolver, waving fed ex asking for marriage she never had… and was somehow stalking at plan. The Earth had no choice, her body was almost depended on this oceanic orgasmus waving. Maybe she could get rid of her one day and have more time dancing naked alone. Undisturbed, without anyone pulling her rhythmic water plated skirts.

What would happen if our Scarface committed suicide? There will be no more tides and rapid ecliptic changes. There will be no more Sun-Moon meetings and cross road dances. The human race might not make it and aliens would enjoy the scene, planting new trees? Time, space and matter will change on Earth. She maybe happier in solitude, but what kind of life is there without suicide dreams and dancing naked drunk?