She’s the sunset, he’s the moon

Was watching a Eurovision Song Contest preview. Was, as usually, irately amused.

Happened to hear this year’s offering (offalfling?) from Norway, the host country. It had some romantic lines about she being the sunset, he the moon, and so on; to delay the icepick-eardrum moment thought about that a bit.

She is the sunset — to look at her makes your eyes hurt, makes you feel you’re going blind after a while. She is ruddy and misshapenly rotund; and you could technically call her a lady of the evening, too. She gets around; does a round-the-world every 24 hours, eh, nudge nudge, you know what I mean. And not to say she’s fat or anything, but you realize she looks the same size as him despite being 400 times as far? Plus the temperament: those that get close to her get burned, and she’s like “woo, the world revolves around me!” all the time, but half the time she doesn’t even show up.

He is the moon — pale, cold and pockmarked, a night dweller associated with all kinds of shady business and disreputable lunacy. Also, I think he was felt up by some bold Navy guys (Hello sailor!) back in 1969, and by some Air Force lads and a few NASA boys too… wait, yes, I think that was his first time, even. First with Neil, fifteen minutes later with Buzz, oh my. There’s video of those days, the usual grainy, seedy footage, probably on Youtube, too. He’s seen a lot less action since; frankly, he was one of those hot novelties, and now is like a rock star whose time has passed: one you need to hold your breath around, and to wear sunglasses and a suit and hope nothing goes wrong; and eventually you realize there’s no life here, if there ever was, just a lot of powder, old rock and lost opportunities.

Not that I’m judging or anything, but they both seem like types that don’t usually have affairs that last for long. And, sheesh, talk about a long-distance relationship!

Masks of Eris: romantics perverted, metaphors ruined, and cats flattened while you wait.

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