Out From Our Moon-Men
Short Story by Jim Meirose
Look on go!
Sigh. But listen up. They said back the Main street Asian house deathwatch wheel-sinker routine. Maybe even far as clad furniture stripper-moths, Strained-out-acidhead’s-super-black widow parlours, HessieAnne Bostrichidae’s new-breed d-bee farms, like; where there can be doubt when boss comes touchin’ up you head, do.
Moon-Men? Our Moon-Men really do say that?
Yes. And further; since we know every night sin’s become hellena helen-a Hel ‘a Hell ‘a—best defense lay low wartime. Shallow H! If is one possibly’s typically lower, lowest, enough. Watch, feel, wait; listen. Time’s always moving wind of itself side outside over under so, see. Nothing? Gain. What? This; hollow don’t stop two, three, four, five’s bout right; walking past worn stockade fence dark side nocent peeper you’ve dog leash you’re hand then have ‘nyway—focus behind yard light talking laughter clatter clamour rocking rolling; want; slow gap—shadow next ‘cause it was too narrow; keep ‘nd; better; yon sameways—length until; he she its many kinds, point being example sweets, ha; Captain, roll flat stretched this dream clean well-lighted space beneath ‘re commanded felt Captain Colonel Lieutenant her minions von minionettes dancing, making thing spot, singlefocused, uh! Everything needs maker’s made somehow, eh—with words which are, oh. Lost damned pecker! Had pounds! Close, shit, dock; tie rowboat skunk-cabbie stench path grass both sides pulling us, long straps ourselves connecting, rumours say real—get closer him, I?
Moon-Men? Really. Sorry but no. Cannot be.
Oh, yes. Yes, it is. And further; in near dusky watersmell shape must been pointing some way just moon-man’s face. Moon-man—I never most everyone told’s moon-man says—and think. You?
Oh, yes. I shook—is! Much true shaking watched listened kept eye slat men waiting n’nswer one’s own Father, should never rude, know. Think?
Swam, reach. Suppose breathe his world’s ir’r skiing people sooner later—name is—a moon-man?
Jerk! Links find something someplace piceous livid slate coal pitch tenebrous ‘m remember—sooty swarth brunette gloomy overcast shadowy m-m-m-m-other—huh! Who? Los?
No, no. Stop please. Pause here.
Can’t be. Not from our Moon-Men.
But it is. Here listen; Yuh, someplace saying something presence somebody—possibly named-up Poppy McPapacy ‘n Emil McPope. Dipsomaniac—high up somebody else other fencing slat ‘tweengaps children run ’zippo light—maintained ‘ere, get? Level ‘pplies to. Blank after hardstop says think nothin’, Captain. Regardless rank, get. Hit gas, Emile. Let us place name may addressed real. Here, Emile McPup. Is. Absence anything’s something, ore, thou Peterson’s deeds? Thrustleft thrustright can’t— ’s something? Me—lookout put side bon-bon doggie-deadlies ‘ll chocko. Uh—okay ravenboy, but stay here middled roughly eleven minutes or—cloud moon-man can’t. Et tu Emile. Emile McPapal.
I get it. Yes, the needed string taken ‘otted, were circumstance simply dunk your worm.
Sure, Pop? Pole does.
Shimano Stradic CI4+ 2500 reel yet use model safely. Gauge-blast tear shoulder.
Wow. Press hold-butt tight rimcrotch? Plus, turned Spanish?
Yup! All confusing Okuma Helios SX 30, another popular model. Designed function windblast by Everest’s shelter? Still. Need half inch magnum buckshot ‘tta minimum make cast bottomside those flattened manhole cover size waterlilies shadyspot know—the cannot mentionable. Here, use. Whole ‘nother story Beat Presser wrote, noplace members Daddyman, ‘ny, uh.
Yup. Push place.
Eh eh; vessel-liners ‘ncluding optional, rarely ‘nd mostly improperly stalled, Beetle-dee subterranean bark false carpenter built-in sculpturemass-sheeting Hollies—normally shipped disabled per Federal Interstate Commerce Commission law; eh.
Almost cruised pounder-loud, laugh pasted his grin. Mick Mon Papacy. Muy es ex-Poppy McPapacy, hippo? Thought raise voltage wired directly paneled full power, Mac Daddy encumbered restrictions imposed Vaticananians, also; threw fencegaps from actual neighborhood—birthday lucky before cloud takes that moon-man.
Trained Spin Series 300.
Though cracks ‘t corners nails flesh split opens crack raw burning requiring immediate medical tension.
Heal later. Now push pain.
Spat never showed, happens, looked; push, shove, funds place contingencies re ‘r lands.
Well, what can I say? Deck we’re dealt.
True. But by?
Shit. Okay. sure. Children! This; whole wall’s dead-ended. His guess us falling Glazed-tennis-ball-acid-bath impervious ceramic deeptubs, nobiidae treatment sheets, glass termite moth glazing zipsmashing powder, ’nd Lake Superior’s-quickdrying rash-wax. Eh?
Plus; into game pulled suck us, stated someplace previously apparent—the parted open stood ’s mean tilt boy’s top heads noise be-bitte? Huh, hoo; lose. Sawing work sawdust forth sat playing eighteenth hole fishing explanation game, tenderly telling grieving love terms, simply young wield PENN Spinfisher V Spinning Reel, ‘k. Capture gaff boat flopped flapping saw zip down. Rip Shimano Stradic FK Spinning Reel disappointment, though experts fill creels, wasting home trouble, hung laid door between sawhorses, slit bellies. Thus, learning parsing oak isn’t same ‘s slicing dinner. Likewise; Jitterbug lure requires less reel. Equal greater than Pflueger President Spinner warm entrails slid cat waited, teeth, claws, whipping jet tail, surging muscles. Straining pressure, to quarter inch sheeting—why bending forming feet oaken post hey, son soon’s solid, your only hope late would tackle legendary Garcia Revo’s SX Spinning Reel. Our scaling knife shimmered artificial summer silvery scaly-clouds billowing, coating surface, teasing free, sheets o’ fragile flowing material using brand sharp surgical steel superfine needlytipped tools. Very least Daiwa BG Spinning Reels pull lightplug, bring flow, or last resorts. ‘nd, could try gold-plated signposts gleaming, glinting, reflecting, getting their twineballs, scissors, heavy sledges, while eyescanning cross ground perhaps day, man. Will we never understand how to properly handle such gear? Okuma Ceymar Lightweight Spinning Reel wax paper tape wrap round bass freezer pants cuffs, permanently soilstained, deeply mudded up, bup. See? He’d cuts. Cuts! How silly! Who knew that, joy catch, said fish weight. Matta’? Paring? At thirty-degree angles? Deftly in? Bind edges. Moliculon BonBon PurePap, fat assed groomboy for Mrs. Build that signboard.
Her too? How?
How’s not the thing now that Ms. Workman Watcher—nee Moon-Men, gah, y’dundersestand; eh spread everyplace, everywhere, hereabouts; thus; draw following conclusions. They tilted visibility, blocked came, disguise owing, peeking through slatcracks slammed together. Shut top, bottom, simple pencil-lead thin straightedged plainlines. Can’t birthday party, yes, no. More left got big guy icy freeze box, good twenty birds bushy handie-hands negative, ‘n twelve or so imaginary brushyplaces! God, here’s well-lit wakeyroom ten o’clock already Lord, it’s ‘n, g’e, I no, did not. And now, out back, they’ve dared go all papal!
Fooling my Meester!
But dawn wakes—shake cold water.
My God. That’s all from our Moon-Men?
Yes, it is. All of our Moon-Men. I know, I know—but eh. Relax. Before I outline some possible solutions—how ‘bout that cigarette?
Jim Meirose's short work has appeared in leading journals, and his novels include "Sunday Dinner with Father Dwyer"(Optional Books), "Understanding Franklin Thompson"(JEF), "Le Overgivers au Club de la Résurrection"(Mannequin Haus), and "No and Maybe - Maybe and No"(Pski's Porch). Info: www.jimmeirose.com @jwmeirose
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