You cannot name anything that is not a cow. The stars are cows that come at night and the moon is the great cow ooooooo. Just add an m. There Schopenhauer weeps or we say moos. As Herr Nietzsche says, the world in suffering forgets and repeats the triple speech that gets a cow is not a cow, but a girl; and the girl is the moon. Susan and the cow in our history of this illusion are everything der Wittgenstein said we must not say. In Sue-speak space ships are cows and before that Fords.

So you ask, am I a cow?  Well do you remember yourself friend? Do you remember anything at all? Herr Nietz in his last case said the cow was just so happy because of ignorance, but we who empathize with Sue Cow Earth, feel great oooooo all the more. Not to say that the news is not good, even if another Trump ensues. Get out those prophecy books of the world cow now. Get 'em up and read 'em out. Now is the time to ooooooo. Susan is the cow of the world.

Once on the plume of dream white sleep, when soaked with milk and shining through the night the moon came waving her silvered mantle on all sides, the lashes of that fair countenance of blue-grey laughing eye threw a shadow here, and there, as white as snow in one night fallen, the moon in her sheen body shone outside her dress. Oh là là. White feet with rosy sandals rode a chariot of silver gold. Two braids of hair wound round her head and one threw a shadow down her calves.

Over the tops of Atlantic seascrapers by night that moon seemed stationary on the western line. When it did finally move, a cow remained, dropped off on top a building to the west. On her shoulders rode the man who is our due, who brought the Borealis current with Sue.

Electric in the barn, in the field, under the tree, among the flocks she stretched the way a heron flies the canal. Pharaohs of the Nile rippled outward as she splashed. Other cows  shuffled through the hedge to put roses at her feet and take a seat to shade her eyes. Red Hats whispered and the night wind blew as she walked that rocky islet face to face. Men fell to their knees. Earth gatherers in the indicas of light confessed through the wood gorse and breathed They saw her white dress and parted lips. As a cow would munch the grass serene and go to barn content in a field's fair berth, the moon and the cow, Susan, unslumbered from night headed west.