I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Friday, January 10, 2003
Aliens Don't Need Jamie Escalante To Teach Their Children Calculus...
If intelligent life exists somewhere else in the universe, have they visited Earth?
Some say they have repeatedly in the past. Some say they are monitoring us presently.
Some say they live among us. Some say they secretly run the world. Some say they want our world for themselves.
Are we being studied?
And if we are, why haven't they made their presence known in a more direct manner?
If people believe in omnipotent, all-seeing, all-creating gods, and devils with cloven feet and pitchforks - why not believe in skinny, big-eyed aliens playing on planet Earth?
Why aren't aliens knocking on our door with pamphlets containing something other than Mormon literature? Why aren't beings from another world spamming me? Where are my extraterrestrial pop up ads?
If aliens exist, why aren't they fucking the shit up?
Because everybody knows that you shouldn't knock on the glass. You shouldn't stick your fingers in the water too much - especially without washing them. It's better for the fish if you just sit back and look at them.
Because you feel a little guilty riling up the ant hill.
Because you never know what you're going to catch playing with stray animals.
Because if you pay too much attention to them, they'll follow you home.
Because if you play with them too much, the mother will smell you on them and then abandon them.
Because nobody likes to break up a dog fight.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?