Moore Brothers : Murdered by the Moore Brothers
It was the kind of day that you only see in slow motion Downy detergent commercials with snuggles the bear bouncing through grass up to the tip of the curls on the top of his ears. Everything shimmered with a light that suggested I probably needed to go to the optometrist. Maybe it’s just the window I’m looking through.
“Through a Glass Lightly,” I said to myself in the chair next to the window, becoming an excellent illustration of senility, “ha-HA!”
I realized that that was much less a joke than it was a call for my immediate execution. Luckily, the only one around was puppy, and his English hasn’t ever really been that good, so I don’t think I have to worry about him telling anyone what I said, much less understanding me. Besides, dog is man’s best friend, he wouldn’t rat me out, would he? Well, regardless of my impending death, this day seemed a little too good true. I’m going to go check it out.
I was a long while from home, and I could pretty much guess everything to be true. Everything, of course, except for this little island I stumbled upon. As I said, it was an island, but in the middle of a lake with a chain link fence around it with the backdrop of a suburban cul-de-sac. Islands don’t just happen out here, especially the kind with two men marrying their voices and guitar tings sitting on top of them. I walked up to the edge of the lake, a toad jumping from his stool and into the water as I did.
“Hey, you two guys, how do I get over there onto that island?” I asked the two men.
“Just don’t think about it,” they replied simply.
Cross-legged with my hands around my ankles, I sat in front of the troubadour duo, listening intently as they read from their storybook of songs, all the while bobbing my body to the rhythm. On the cover, I saw their names, or, to be more specific, their name, the Moore Brothers. I checked out the back cover. These guys actually are brothers, the bunk-bed kind, with their childhood bedroom being the musical bridge between the ’70s and ’80s. The rollicking rhymes they read to me were called Murdered By the Moore Brothers. They must be going for irony.
Sitting, I was absorbed into the lightheartedness of everything around me. The Brothers celebrated the unworldly grasslands they kept free from time’s cruel ravages with their perfect harmony of voice coiling with the astounding mirror refractions of light brimming from every branch of nature. Even the sun seemed to chill out a little and quit the rat race around the skies as it slowed, almost to a stop. Every once in a while, the joyful rebellion against maturity made me laugh, like when I heard “If there were one thing in this world that I would kill/You know it wouldn’t be cancer/Because even the tumor on my little toe/Doesn’t smell half as bad as the parties you throw.” Chuckling to myself, I rolled over onto my back, looking into the sky so blue it was bleaching. Suddenly the sky was eclipsed by a cuddly teddy bear whose curls brought cotton clouds into the clear sky.
With snuggles clinging onto my shoulder, I walked up the sidewalk to my house. I looked up at the sky, and I saw the sun. It was all flustered in the sunset, stressed because it was late for its date on the other side of the world. Snuggles rested his head on my shoulder, and I walked into my house through the front door.
A man with a black hood was waiting by a guillotine for me when I opened the door.
Damn it puppy. I trusted you.
Owl & The Pussycat – Owl & The Pussycat
Hayden – Everything I Long For
Essex Green – Everything is Green