Jecca Zane
Sandra 1The night of the bleeding Moon
August 30th 2007 23:36
I recently wrote of the primal forces exerted by the star that fades our jeans: the Sun. Last night I was to feel another wave of primal force coming from a different orbiting body: the Moon and in particular its full phase.
Now we all know the power the Moon wields over the earth and it’s dwellers; The Sea’s infatuation with the White Orb causes it to gather up it’s waters, reel them back from the beaches and cliffs of the world, stack them all up, whales and sea snails too, in an effort to touch it. Moths venture upwards expiring kilometres from the ground just to free fall back down again on their way to bash themselves against it. Owls and Kiwis come out side with their big eyes to greet it, like the kids leaving Revolver on a Sunny Monday. And not to mention your crazy uncle that no one talks about screaming from his inside his leather shackles in that institution the children dare each other to jump the fence of on nights like this one.
Mythology is rife with tales of creatures using shards of the moon plucked from the night air to turn themselves into ungodly fiends. The root of their indecency coming just after the street lights start breathing yellow onto the roads.
The Moon sends Werewolves out to remove limbs and skin from their daylight cousins. Vampires float about draining the claret from their previous living incarnations and Batman invokes the spirit of a Bat to leap from buildings onto the form of the criminal world.
So when my progress through Richmond’s industrial flank became lit by a haemorrhaging moon I craned my neck skywards with a sinister curiosity. It was soaked in blood, lacerated by our planet on its glancing orbit, like a stabbing in the lunch queue of a prison. If I had a pair of wings affixed to my shoulder blades I would have beat them like Icarus did, in an effort to reach it.
School nights are usually marked with a lack of people on the streets and Tuesday was no different, but it wasn’t the effect of the people on the outside, it was the outside’s effect on the people.
I heard sounds rush towards me from suburbs away. Laughter leapt over rows of offices and factories, like a burglar fleeing over backyard fences, to enter my ears and cause sound.
I saw the old instincts light up in passers by. Their dark suspicious eyes flicked all over me, their white knuckles bending their fingers to fists.
The night had been infected with an undeniable presence. The scathed Moon had let fly with the vengeance the earth had provoked on its way past and I was amongst it.
I rushed from the old streets into Richmond Station, onto a train bound for Sandringham and with hair beginning to blot on the colour of skin on the backs of my hands and fangs protruding over my bottom lip that I turned the lady next to me and asked if she had seen the eclipse.
Now we all know the power the Moon wields over the earth and it’s dwellers; The Sea’s infatuation with the White Orb causes it to gather up it’s waters, reel them back from the beaches and cliffs of the world, stack them all up, whales and sea snails too, in an effort to touch it. Moths venture upwards expiring kilometres from the ground just to free fall back down again on their way to bash themselves against it. Owls and Kiwis come out side with their big eyes to greet it, like the kids leaving Revolver on a Sunny Monday. And not to mention your crazy uncle that no one talks about screaming from his inside his leather shackles in that institution the children dare each other to jump the fence of on nights like this one.
Mythology is rife with tales of creatures using shards of the moon plucked from the night air to turn themselves into ungodly fiends. The root of their indecency coming just after the street lights start breathing yellow onto the roads.
The Moon sends Werewolves out to remove limbs and skin from their daylight cousins. Vampires float about draining the claret from their previous living incarnations and Batman invokes the spirit of a Bat to leap from buildings onto the form of the criminal world.
So when my progress through Richmond’s industrial flank became lit by a haemorrhaging moon I craned my neck skywards with a sinister curiosity. It was soaked in blood, lacerated by our planet on its glancing orbit, like a stabbing in the lunch queue of a prison. If I had a pair of wings affixed to my shoulder blades I would have beat them like Icarus did, in an effort to reach it.
School nights are usually marked with a lack of people on the streets and Tuesday was no different, but it wasn’t the effect of the people on the outside, it was the outside’s effect on the people.
I heard sounds rush towards me from suburbs away. Laughter leapt over rows of offices and factories, like a burglar fleeing over backyard fences, to enter my ears and cause sound.
I saw the old instincts light up in passers by. Their dark suspicious eyes flicked all over me, their white knuckles bending their fingers to fists.
The night had been infected with an undeniable presence. The scathed Moon had let fly with the vengeance the earth had provoked on its way past and I was amongst it.
I rushed from the old streets into Richmond Station, onto a train bound for Sandringham and with hair beginning to blot on the colour of skin on the backs of my hands and fangs protruding over my bottom lip that I turned the lady next to me and asked if she had seen the eclipse.
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