巨人と月 The Giant and the Moon

I think ever since my birth, my only dream is to become a giant. So I can stride as many times as a hundred man, and could drink empty an ocean and eat a big mountain. I would have struck many a nations of the land and of the sea, squashing on all those who would throw javelins or hurtful words at me. And I would have made rivers and lakes in red from their jam; and their fat and meat go into the earth where I relieve myself. And I would have them submitted to my giant birth and form and make them pay tribute to their giant subjugator. I will go to beaches or the sea, or mountains or the field, anywhere I wish to, at any time, and always served by a train of most pious and radiant men- and womenfolk. I will also play with children and dogs in the mud pond and compete in children's games in throwing mudballs; as I am so tall, strong, and sturdy, in comparison with those little young men who can only throw upwards as far as their arms can reach, I would have thrown the ball all the way up to the moon and make it dirty too. One day I found out I actually want to go up there, the white, shining moon. But I dont see a way I can reach it. I have made my slaves and servants build tall houses, castles, big towers, and I tried using a pair of wings made of light bird feather, and using a big cannon filled with black powder, I also took up the newly invented rocket made of bamboo by my subjects and tried to shoot up to the moon while discarding all the useless parts and foundations I sat upon. I think I succeeded in reaching a floating big piece of rock that was dropped off by the moon---a tiny tiny piece that is not a true moon at all…a floating piece of rock that is suspended in the air by its levity and so, so infinitely far from the gravity of the true moon. I made a giant leap up there on the rock, and it was a giant leap for all man's kind, but a small step for a man that is me. I still long for the moon. I believe up there are black rabbit slaves pounding with tears the white gemrock-made mooncake with dead cherry blossom mixed in, nobly scented rainbow-coloured laurel trees that giggle when you rock them. And it would have set the ground on fire with the scales of sleeping and dreaming phosphorous months that once stayed on their green leaves but all perished from want of true love... I also think the moon is covered with soft, downy and cold, cold snow that are in fact feathers shed by the legendary Peng bird from Zhuangzhi when it flew over it and then back to take a quick bath. It is so crystal and beautiful yet so consistent and resilient that when one take a handful and squeeze them hard, they would still flow down through the gaps between your fingers like the sand of time….
and I believe up on the moon there is a dark and shimmering sapphire lake from melted Peng's feathers which men had yet to pollute it with names. And it was a lake with ice mountains and floating ice islands, isles or chunks that formed from despair of that planet. and there are golden-feathered, crested and fire-combed giant penguins with snow-coloured bellies who would go down the ice - covered lake to catch white blind fishes who have ink instead of blood in their vessels. The penguins would pierce their long sharp  beak into the ink fish like a long straw and suck up that black ichor which they then drink like coconut juice---this makes them ink-drunk, very polite and edified, and would sing the most beautiful poetry  that praises the cruelty and despair of life in the language of their race----in the tongue of extinct Garuda birds which no one may understand…but I deviate from the topic.
I think deep in that lake lives a shy, blush-faced, fair-skinned and blond lay sleeping curled up in a ball in a gigantic clam that hides her from nibbling ink fishes and guards her from the coldness and water pressure in the deep bottom of the ocean. She fell to sleep as soon as my father God has made the earth and the moon, and would not wake up until they are both destroyed. One day she will wake up and rise out of the deep vale down below the sea; her clam shall rise like an adamant U-boat. And it will open up like it is smiling and spew out her as she stretches her limbs and licks her slightly paled red red lips. and the turmoil on the sea will all turn into beautiful rainbow foams, some will yet float up as colourful bubbles that will spill and fly away without popping.
I tried singing to the moon one night but I don't think I disturbed the quiet surface of the lake upon the moon at all- not a ripple formed.
Perhaps the only solution is to become even bigger myself. I tried eating and drinking and doing sport . I also tried travelling and observing the world in order to swell me up with memories and knowings. I tried asking a big mob of humans to support me up to see if i can make a pyramid out of their sweats and blood so I can reach the heavenly moon---but everything were crushed and fell to destruction owing to their own gravity. I have yet to find a way to teach men and things how to fight against the grave and learn to make use of their natural levity.
Thus, I thought to myself, the only way to reach for the moon is to become a doctor and find a way to make myself bigger through medicine. If I know the mysteries of all lives on the earth----which includes me, there must be a way for me to become bigger and bigger so that one day I can be so big I may reach the moon.
I read, and read. sometimes I got so bored and annoyed by the useless sad words I rip books apart and drink undiluted ethanol. It doesn't make me bigger either.
I gave up on being a doctor and took up drinking and singing all day---who can know my woes?
But if one day my songs could become the sustenance of my inner things, and do make me grow up a little bit a day, maybe one day I can be so grown up I can tiptoe to the moon and go to that ancient blue lake. Jumping into it without regret to smash open that damned clam shell and join her in her eternal sleep.
But----I did not know. I was born destined to never grow up. For my name is Peter, and last name Pan.