the moon pilot says that whilst all things are transient, if a rock hits your head it’ll still hurt

and since in order to deserve respect one must preach by example, i hit the moon pilot’s head with a rock and sure enough it hurt; as respects were gathered with alms, and bandages wrapped to music, the moon pilot says – i don’t know why they hire me, this fucker flies itself; the moon pilot says many things, often in reply to the question – how many things do you know; one can then guess how silly this gets until someone points out that it matters not who is on first no-one’ll better jiggs donahue; the moon pilot then proceeds to call tide-control to make sure he’s flying at the right height in order to avoid any undue floods or pesky droughts, he then proceeds to take his redundant yoke and simulate a kamikaze attack, or a particularly fearsome dogfight over guadlacanal or malta, or pretend he’s a submarine pilot, whale, fog diviner; when asked what he’ll do if tide-control ever want him to alter his altitude, he replies – i shall tell them to fuck off…………we prayed to be present should this parle play out……….every friday he just makes shit up; goes through the whole day lying about stuff, saying how much he doesn’t enjoy being critiqued, how much he doesn’t think he has a great name by the way, how curtains aren’t to be trusted, how it’s impossible to cook with a vial of god’s wrath; thank fuck it only happens one day a week otherwise we’d suffer greatly and have to have him put down, but the big grasshopper smile he wears makes the lengendario easy swallowing…….and easily swallow it he does when the blues hit him; dark asteroids of fear and loathing bombard his soul, the toys in the attic fray and revolt, splinter into parasitic ticks burrowing under gangrenous, sloughing skin……and then he’s alright; remembers he has the moon to pretend to pilot and so becomes again the grasshopper; spiracly endowed with a violin under each arm, staring off sidewise in to the distance; we’re so far ahead but he thanks us sincerely for following

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  1. how curtains aren’t to be trusted?????

    • are you questioning me? a lot of these little things in this section are references to other people’s blogs; i can’t recall whether the curtain one is or not; it may in fact stem from a long time ago when post coitus i was lying underneath one of those lostlost women, and i noticed that the way her curtains hung made it look as though there were a pair of elephant’s feet poking out the bottom……so of course i said to her, ‘did you know you’ve got an elephant on your windowsill?’


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