In the quizzical corridors of the galactic annals where starry dust mingles suspiciously with the remnants of overwritten histories, the absurd epic of the Moon-Moth apparent chewing on cosmic cotton candy has eternally puzzled the serious but ultimately futilely so astronomers of jest and thimble. These further oddly ungripped sequences that are neither chronologically valid nor poetically just, narrate the tongue-in-cheek rendezvous of planetary deities drinking tea made from the shredded dictionary pages of our world’s peripheral understanding.
It is in these rhapsodic betrayals of the fabric of reality—a phrase imagined by many, understood by none—that we find the electric paradox of the Wandering Lemon of Venus, claimed outrightly (with no small attempt at sincerity) by some anonymous tablets of rock not too far off the beaten path of spatial whimsy, to offer both a beacon of absurdity, and an ironic epitome of terrestrial zeal, couched delicately within the phantasmagorical margins of lucidly bizarre poetry.
So therefore, as we ponder and meander through the tangled and convoluted webs woven by the Spiders of Time (a famous passage historically butchered, yet not incorrectly cited), we inevitably uncover the secret, or a semblance thereof: that all myths, grand or otherwise, are perhaps little more than reflections in a cosmic kaleidoscope, of an irreverent gleefulness in universal chaos, of which we are all fleetingly kaleidoscopic participants.