I.
The moon was made on a Monday--that's where the name comes from if you didn't already know. Moon-day.

And Monday was also made of blood. Red Monday. In a certain sense, the moon is made of blood too, like the story about how the Moon was born from a goddess's womb that flowed with blood every 28 days until the Moon King impregnated this nameless goddess in a most violent ritual of creation. And ever since this divine conception, woman has been forced to bleed on a monthly cycle, to honor the goddess and anchor the moon to this planet. Right now, a woman is bleeding, waiting for her moon child to arrive. Bloody Moonday.


II.
We made a potion of blood that was extracted from a very interesting toad that was discovered high in the Andes mountain range. This toad inhabited the halls of a pyramid who's capstone points directly to the Milky Way galactic center at the exact moment the plane of our solar system is parallel to the great galactic disc.

The toad was once a man named Juan Pedro Feliz Madrigon, a prominent vintner from Northern Mexico. He was attending a banquet for the King of Spain, at one of the oldest and finest Palacios in the Ciudad. One of the king's daughters, Isabelle, favored wine and men, so naturally she gravitated toward our famous wine-maker, Juan Pedro.

She presented the man with a challenge, "Senior Madrigon, my good sir and master vintner, I offer you a chance to secure your fortune with the crown of Spain--if only you might accept a challenge." A quiet chuckling began to stir in the room, but it was silenced as Isabelle's eyes flicked mischievously around the King's audience of Mexican aristocrats, a smattering of celebrities who had made the guest list, and ambassadors from half a dozen other nations who attended the King's visit to the largest city on the planet.

Isabelle continued, "Allow me, if you will, to drink liters of your finest wine, right before your very eyes, and the eyes of our friends gathered here, and yet I, as you shall see, I will not become impaired in the least. If you can discover the secret of my sobriety, or if I should somehow fail to remain sober, we shall sign a contract for as many barrels of this fine wine as you can spare, shipped to the shores of Spain in the next year--and renewable annually upon further agreement thereafter."

Juan Pedro was curious, to say the least, and could not pass on this most-strange opportunity for international fortune, so he let the princess proceed with her presentation. Juan Pedro made a sign with his hand to one of his assistants who smile and quickly stood up and began to wheel a cart into Juan Pedro's giant tent. He emerged with a large oak cask of wine which he set upon a nearby table and began using a small hand-operated tool to drill into the barrel and tap its contents.

"I present you with one of my finest reserves. I don't think anything like it has ever been served on this continent. It's an ice wine--manufactured from grapes that were selected during the freeze of '09--a year when many of our crops were prematurely terminated. Half of my own vines perished that very year.

"However, there was one species of grape that actually appeared to thrive in this sudden climate shift, a red wine grape, purportedly first discovered in the highlands of Tibet. Those ripe specimens which were snapped by the cold were picked, their contents only semi-frozen as it hung from vine. I never saw anything like it. These grapes had some kind of internal heat. The leaves became rigid and glossy. You could see steam rising from those rows, and those rows alone, in my entire vineyard. It was an amazing sight, even for an experienced vineyard attendant as old as I."
The room was quiet, caught up in the misty, light mood of the old winemaker's tale. And *klug-glug* the keg of wine let loose its signature sigh as air rushed into the barrel--releasing the nectar from the vine. The vintner's assistant filled a glass halfway, tightened shut and wiped off the spigot that now stuck out from the barrel of ice wine.

"Your glass," Juan Pedro reached his hand gracefully toward the princess.

"I'll serve myself, if you don't mind," she said pushing her shoulder and her glass toward the cask.

"Go right ahead," Juan Pedro said with a slight sweep of his arm toward the wine as he watched the wiry woman operate the tap, dispensing his rarest vintage like it was sweet water. He watched her drink three or four glasses, her thirst was not quenched, and she was drinking awfully fast. She seemed most cognizant and unaffected by the drink, naming the capitals of far-away nations, as she was doing now, in reverse alphabetical order, or juggling a handful of limes with apparent ease.

Juan pedro was impressed, although he was not convinced if she was actually drinking the wine, so he thought he might outsmart the princess by testing her to see which flavors she detected in the wine.

"A wonderful hint of blackberry, don't you think, principezza?"

"Blackberries?!" she looked incredulous and tilted her cup back taking another long gulp. She contemplate and said, "I taste something fruity, yes like peaches, or pears. Pears, yes I think that's it."

"Oh yes, yes, you are correct! How could I forget, I did use pears in this special reserve. You have a most excellent palette, Princess."

"Have you forgotten the contents of your own special reserve, or were you just testing me, good sir?" she flaunted a not-so-flattering smile.

"I must admit, I was not sure if you were actually drinking this wine."

"Oh, I've been drinking it, every last drop, I assure you. It is a most excellent. Either way, we will purchase what we have served at this gathering tonight and maybe an additional barrel or two if you would spare it?"

"There we're only twenty casks produced from these rare grapes. I do not know. Maybe I could release one more, for His Highness. Yes. But I must ask $5000 for each precious cask. "

"You value your product highly, and obviously you value your labor, trade, and skill. I believe that this investment, though purchased for a significant price, will bring much value to us both. Please, friends and guests, enjoy a glass or two of this special treat."

Those gathered in attendance felt a sudden, deep yearning to taste the outrageously expensive spirits which Juan Pedro had so carefully prepared and delivered to this august occasion. Many could find no words to express the depths of taste and perfect harmonies of sweetness and dryness experienced in Juan Pedro's wine. A labyrinth of flavors washed over the tongue, hints of different fruits and cherry wood and wild essences begging to be savored for an eternity by the distinguished palette. And so refreshing. One naturally falls toward the Socratic leaning while imbibing any rich ambrosia.

As the night continued on, the room became filled with a blissful energy, and sprightly debate filled the ears of those gathered, and many casks of wine were drained during this unforgettable night in Mexico. The festivities continued long into the night, but the princess appeared no more intoxicated than before, and Juan Pedro was genuinely stumped, even frustrated.

"Are you somehow immune to the effects of alcohol? Since birth or the like?"

"No again. I have become drunk on many occasions, and will do so again on some other occasion of my choosing."

"Then how is it done?"

"You tell me, and we will assure you $10,000 plus 50% of the fees for our contract for the next year. You could be a very wealthy man in moments if you could just figure out my secret."

"Are you even drinking it?"

"Yes, I promise, I will not lie to you."

"Did you take some kind of medication or add something to your glass to render yourself immune or disable the alcoholic effects in the drink."

"Nope, sorry."

"I do not know, but I am getting tired of these tricks. I don't know what kind of evil magic spell you are using to confuse me."

"Excuse me, did you say magic?"

"Yes. But you have to be kidding?"

"Armando! And it isn't evil by the way..."

The princess's scribe turned to face her with a small bow, "Yes, majesty?"

"Please fetch your ink and scrolls: we have a contract to write up for this clever man." With another small nod, he went to grab his scribing supplies stored downstairs.

Juan Pedro was dumbfounded, "You are toying with me now, because I couldn't figure it out."

"Please pay Senior Madrigon $10,000 this evening, and we shall have the rest placed into your bank account by next week. Is this acceptable Senior Madrigon?" Isabelle waved her hand in front of Juan Pedro's eyes and he felt a tingling sensation in his temples. His head cleared and he also no longer felt any effects from the wine he drank that evening. The princess grinned.

"Now that we are finished with that business, will you accompany me to my chambers, Senior Madrigon, I grow weary and we take our leave for the shores of this continent in the morning."

"Please, call me Juan Pedro," he said in a hushed tone. "And yes, I will humbly provide you with company to your quarters, m'lady." Isabelle instructed Juan Pedro to meet her downstairs near the entrance to her quarters and went presumably to excuse herself for the evening and say her goodnights to those who had gathered for her festivities surrounding her father's return to the homeland.

In the morning, the King's caravan departed, and nobody ever heard from Juan Pedro ever since.

I will tell you what transpired that evening:

When Juan Pedro met the princess, and they slipped into her room unnoticed. Juan Pedro and the Princess fell into her bed together, embracing one another in deep, passionate kisses.

Isabelle gleefully giggled as he began to unlace her corset, unbinding and gently tasting the sweet flavors from rather ripe fruits of her own maturity. Juan Pedro unlatched his belt and slipped out from his customary tunic and into loincloth. He was in his mid-fifties, and quite hairy all over with stiff black hairs and and soft gray accents, but he was fit and obviously quite functional; his large cock-head poked out from one side of the undergarment and throbbed as Isabelle's large lips wrapped promptly around it. Juan Pedro began to open spread her ass open, poking an exploratory finger around her little pink ring of flesh, and slipping another finger barely into her wet sex, which was tight and caused Isabelle to back away from Juan with some resistance.

"Listen, you mustn't fuck into my pussy, Juan Pedro. Please honor this one request. Fuck my mouth, bite my nipples, lick my pussy, I want your cock to cum in my mouth. But you mustn't put your manhood into my pussy." Juan Pedro undid his loin cloth and revealed his thick, eight-inch dick which he proceeded to press into Isabelle's throat. She worked his pole down to the root and tugged on his little hairy ball-sack with her hands, just right.

He pulled her mouth off his cock with a suckling *pop* and lifted her face to kiss her tender lips. He rolled over above her and planted his face into her supple tits, kissing and nibbling on her stiff nipples. Instinctively, Juan pedro reached down and grabbed his dick, burying it beneath her bush, dragging it up across her ass crack, and letting it rest on the wet symmetry that marked the entrance to her sweet pussy. He just let his hips fall forward and the princess cried out as his cock filled her cunt and stole her breath. He felt a warm grabbing sensation as Isabelle's tight sex squeeze his shaft and she let out a only whimper, almost a sigh. He saw a a few small streaks of her blood that had streaked across his foreskin as he pumped into her. Just another Monday.

But then suddenly he noticed that the room was becoming increasingly larger all around him, until he found himself, totally transformed into a leathery-skinned toad, with his legs stuck inside Isabelle and his head poking out of her vagina for air. As he wriggled free from her massive cunt, he could feel it spasm and it almost crushed him under its weight. He heard a roaring scream that accompanied Isabelle's orgasm.

With all his might, the ugly little horny-toad managed to land on the floor, intact, with a little splish-splat sound that accompanied his drop. Isabelle reached down and grabbed the slimy toad-formerly-known-as-Juan-Pedro and dropped him in a little golden cage lined in red velvet next to her bed. As the King of Spain's caravan exited the city, nobody ever had a clue, save Princess Isabelle, that Juan Pedro was just another item knocking around in the King's impressive menagerie of plants, animals, and artifacts that he intended to take back with him to his native country and to store these treasures in his impressive archives and personal parks and zoos.

Investigations were of course made into the vintner's disappearance, and the vintner's assistant, his best friend, found himself inheriting a very prosperous business. Investigations shortly thereafter ceased, and the disappearance was relegated to local mystery and is almost completely forgotten to this day. However, Isabelle, when becoming bored with the smelly toad, mercifully set it free one day, during their visit to the Pyramid of the Moon King, on their journey to the shipyards on the eastern shores of South America.

And this was the tale of the fate of Juan Pedro Feliz Madrigon, internationally recognized master of wine-making turned toad.


III.

I met Monday at a nightclub in New Orleans where she was singing backup for Charlie Nightingale and the Redbirds.

Monday Robinson St. Claire Nightingale was Charlie's third wife--he was still married to all three--and Monday was the only one in the band. Monday's voice was like a cat drunk on moonshine, the way it would crawl up and down the scales in a haunting yowl. She could hit lower notes than most of the men I knew. But I loved that rough, bittersweet tone. Whenever my nerves were grinding on me, that steady voice could sing away the pain. The light turns low and the show must go on.

"Said I'd have ten-and-fifty more of that red label if you wouldn't mind," I handed the bar-wench twelve dollars and she shuffled back toward the bar. I settled back into Monday. Monday night at Jack Black's was always something of a sloe-gin fizz. She brought me back three fingers of the worst whiskey in New Orleans, and I wish I had asked for the change. You never saw the same woman for more than an hour in these places.

Sonny, you've got the blues,
you're wearin' one of those faces,
I can tell.

Let the Redbirds sing away your blues, kid.
Let the choo-choo, oo-oo,
of the midnight train
take away your pain.
Let us take you, take you,
take you back again.

Sit back and enjoy the ride, kid.
For everyone will learn to fly soon.
With wings of light,
you're lighter than air.
With wings of light,
we climb on the air.

Monday is the holy whore and I am the beast in the hanging gardens. We end up somewhere between Bourbon St. and Babylon. Monday is the twin-sister of Sin. The light that emanates from her body has the quality of copper. We take the A-train all the way to end of the line and I am feeling mighty fine, hot air filling my lungs like wine.    



I. POEM OF AWAKENING:
Love for the Green Earth, watering hole of the solar system.

100 feet off the shorelines,
we enter a vortex--scheduled to arrive at Neptune's Kingdom before nightfall.

What wonders we do find
in the underwater realms
of the bottom of the ocean.
This is a very old region of the planet,
this is a sacred place,
and we know it.
 
Now the water, a murky blue-black,
evaporates into streams of green water
and bubbles containing some kind of green vapor.
We have moved into an herbal realm:
the waters have been saturated
by what look like giant tea-bags,
and some kind of heat system seems to sustain
the process from a crack, deep in the ocean floor.

If you place your ear next to a bubble,
you might hear something that someone
uttered long ago.

Just catch the next bubble and listen:
"Foolish children of the Earth!" it seeps into my ear like whisper-venom.
"Cancel-Cancel."
"Information is inherent in everything, available to be accessed at any level of awareness."
"I am the owner of my experience, I take full responsibility for everything I experience."
"I am now going to illustrate a method for gathering and storing a surcharge of Mana throughout your daily activities..." each bubble had a little saying or cryptic bit of wisdom for the listener to ponder, then it would just pop, and dissolve into the water. I listen to quite a few of them as we shuttled into further unseen worlds at the bottom of the sea. They seemed to tell me things I was ready to hear. I began to feel like the bubbles were scanning my mind.

There seemed to be two levels of operation. The bubble would capitulate a verbal idea into the listener's ear; however, at the same time, it would deploy its hooks into the subconscious and fish something up. The fusion of these two ideas would result in the formation and delivery of the message. These little green bubbles were expanding my thoughts through conscious-subconscious synthesis techniques. Brilliant!