The Night of the Purple Moon

Rocksichord tune next to a giant bass tree and a shadow-net horn on the sun... what words can describe the total migration, the direct capitulation of morals. Anything is possible and death is near. By the time this music reaches you it must have travelled a very long distance, and because of that it sounds distant and thin, like fm radio jazz, yet its so overwhelming in content, something you'd wish to hear on a soccer field played by a big band. And right then and there the melody grows out and escapes its intentions, seeping under your thoughts and resting in remote pools that you'll only notice later. Climbing a stairway you stumble upon doors with numbers and you simply turn the buttons and the electric sounds start merging. Electricity flows through your blood. The sun also rises. If you've listened to organ music you'll know how the liquid flows, its a moog dream, a Muaddib soldier under lunar slopes awaiting the slow ascension of the purple star. Like when you go drinking on your own and on the way home you drunkenly stumble upon a secret and sad society of tax collectors. Quiet solitary men with the midnight burden of reminding you about your taxes. They only come out on a full moon because then its so bright and thick nobody can actually hear them. There aren't many of them but you wouldn't mistake one when you saw him, whispering while chewing on a cigar, invisible notes, semantic hiss of sorts. You hear the message yet it never physically arrives anywhere.

These lunar soldiers occupy a certain time and place, surrounded just like we are, by the immensely rich organism of our universe. Instead of snake handlers and shamans they have the purple night of the dying moon when visions arise before them. And in these visions they see a green planet, with a strange name - Earth. And on this planet live Earth people that do the Sun-Earth Rock, the All of Everything. Its interesting to them, to know this.