Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: moon


There are pills against homesickness now, he thinks, staring upwards at craters and pockmarks. The land where he grew up has been torn up by the roots and does not exist anymore. This deracination was there to stop the approaching forest fires from all around and yet the forest fires rage, with a clucking, cackling laughter in libraries, intent on deleting the past. The sky is unnervingly neutral about it and it hasn’t rained for a whole year and now the impending moon hovers close enough that he can step onto it and walk away. Maybe he will do that.

The World Shatters

The world shatters, no piece larger than a clenched fist is allowed to be. The world was awful and big. I am tiny, I can fit inside a suitcase, I can make myself smaller, I can fit inside your pocket. They left the moon alone. The big dark looming shadow of the planet is no longer upon its visage, every night is the full moon, and I can see all the new pockmarks and craters. Micro-scopic. I have to learn them anew. I am floating in space, unfolding myself, gravitating toward the moon. I would like to think I am.


The sky stirred. The full moon wobbled, its contours shivering like the air above asphalt on a hot day. But the moon was impossibly colder. It pulled away from itself, like there were really two moons superimposed on one another. They tugged, and the stars around them wavered like airbubbles on the surface of a pond after you had dipped your toes in. The pale circles pulled further away, their overlapping surfaces shrinking smaller and smaller until they completed the process, and the petri dish that is the sky settled down again around two fresh moons, unmarred and pure white.

The Night the Moon Broke Free

The night the Moon finally broke free from Earth’s orbit, we held a party and watched it through small but enhanced opera glasses. It was hard to think of that little coin in the sky as once having been a huge protective disk for the older generations among us, but then it was hard to think of the past at all. The Moon’s course had been plotted, aided by small thrusters, and its surface was pocked with prime-number formations. The event itself was very low-key, simply the passing of some mathematical threshold, but the night, oh the night was momentous.

Just the Best Party

The moon hangs low, brushing against the tops of the evergreens outside of town. There is a constant high-pitched whine that can be heard over the music, and it’s coming from my dog. Every bedroom in a mile-wide radius is occupied. Some people are shagging half-heartedly on couches. We are running out of food, but somehow not booze. Most of us are dancing; it hurts if we stop. This is the forty-third time someone plays this song. Every time we send someone out for supplies or for help, we end up spreading the party. Coordinates attached. Consider this an invitation.