(from the Tom Robbins discussion group) "The moon can't help it. It's only an object. The moon doesn't mean to set things sloshing--in every ocean's basin, in every female's uterus, in every poet's jar of ink, in every madman's drool. `It's only a paper moon/Sailing over a cardboard sea.' The moon can't help it if the best toys are made of paper. And the best metaphors made of cheese. They say that lost objects end up on the moon. Is a siren responsible for a sailor's taste in song? The moon can't help it. It's only a fat dumb object, the pumpkin of the sky. The moon's a mess, to tell the truth. A burnt-out cinder the color of dishwater; a stale gray cookie covered with scars. Every loose rock in our solar system has taken a punch at it. It's been stoned, scorched, golf-clubbed, and inflicted with boils. If lovers have chosen this brutalized derelict, this tortured dustball, this pitted and pimpled parcel of wasteland as ...
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