"...Nothing's really sane but everything's amazin'
(Slowly takin' over,)
Baby have you noticed the sky is re-arrangin'?
(And truly moving me.)
OahoaHHoah, the ground beneath us crumbles
And we fall.
So I wonder, will we fall?
Because I don't want to be alone.
Caught up in a spiral..."
Does anyone else groove on William Orbit?
Ahem. (Distracted.) What's the best way to cut mushrooms? Never mind.
Take a piece of paper, your standard 8"x11" white copy paper. (Find it, you know you have some.)
Look at it. (Careful not to get a paper cut... that shit stings.)
It's the whole world, really. "Everybody knows that the good guys lost..."
Really. It could be anything. SO really, it's 'plastic.' Look up THAT definition.
Paper is plastic. (Steel is so plastic it isn't even funny.)
Fold it into an airplane - how many ways can you do that? - or wad it up and burn it. I really don't care, subjectively, but I'd like to point out that that thin plank of processed wood isn't free to the world. (Squirrels would chirrup something about it, if they had a 'Squirrel Fox News' to beat their drum.)
The human world is creating a debt to the rest of the planet, and if you haven't already grasped that, then it's too late for you. There are myriad factors that contribute to, and aggravate, the system.
Technology. It turns trees into paper, and rare-earth minerals and oil and pretty rocks and radio waves into computers with Internet access. And then, people penetrate their orifices with - frankly - anything - and film it. ("I seent it.")
Knowledge. It is better than ignorance. I'm pretty sure the Bible says so. (Wait, FUCK! I didn't capitalize 'the' before "The Bible." I'm going to Hell. Shit.) These words are between parenthetical marks, and they know how precarious that can be. (I can make that judgment, because I'm a BAMF and I can write whatever words tickle my fancy. HEY! Has anyone ever SEEN a 'fancy?' I'd love to see one, just to say so...) Are they in Europe?
Am I supposed to pay attention to the details or not? Which ones? It's not like there's a manual to read. SO I get defensive, sarcastic, bitter. No one trained me to the NEW rules. The greed offends me. The ends vs means arguments to support killing people before they can think to kill you. Some are overly concerned with final product, regardless off the morality involved to get there. Monsanto comes to mind. Profit and chemicals never do good things together, (Remember them at the prom? He was all over her, it was embarrassing. I saw her nipple.)
Looks good, though, right? On Monday?
Gloves off. Fair warning.
"As I stand here, I ponder greater things..." Candlebox once sang.
Memories are like a nasty 'passive voice' in your life, my life, everyone's lives. Right? People have survived some incredible circumstances - we all know of several right off the top of our heads - and lived to tell the tale. Some knew it was comin.' Shackleton probably had interesting dreams.
The memories ARE the warnings.
But the future doesn't listen, it's like a puppy. (But you still want to kiss it, even though it peed on the good Persian carpet. It's still sooo cute, right?)
If I'm ever abducted by a UFO, they're gonna regret it, those pasty mother-scratchers. That body-paralysis shit doesn't work on me - aHa! Oh, yeah, I'd go along like I was incapacitated and all, but then... Don't they get it, I'm 'me?'
I'll have control of that interstellar ship within a minute. We'd still be heading south over Elliott Bay. I'll have to deduce it's maneuvering capabilities, and gain trust in the officer ranks. Shouldn't be an issue. Thirty hektars later...
"Call me Klargen!" (That's alien-speak for "Captain," in case you're out of the loop. Newbs...)
"Heading?" I ask towards the obvious helmsman. He's a skinny, grey alien. Nondescript. They all look alike for a bit.
"English, muthahfuckah, do you speak it?" I do my best Sam L. Jackson impression.
"Glurg ning bang glim, smil pinit banut, Klargen." (Nice!) His lips didn't EVEN move.
"Very well. Slow to impulse. Come about to heading 295, pass Whidbey Island and Point No Point, then reconfigure. I'll be in my quarters."
"Blinx."
"Blinx? P'onlanje..? I'm the FUCKIN Klargen here!"
"Blinx Klargen, nimt onor ripiz pilg nint!"
They all snap to attention. They know.
"That's what I thought. Easy miss. As you were," I say, on my way to the Captain's/Klargen's Quarters. Rather modest, except for the bed. It was an ornate, seemingly hand-carved, beautiful piece of furniture. The ceiling was a bit low for me, but, shit, this thing can suffice.
These guys are easy, I think. The door shusses behind me, and the one in the blue smock is there, probing.
"Klargen?"
"What? We there already?"
"Blinx, Klargen." He almost bowed, which I found I liked, all the sudden.
I still wanted to whip them into shape.
"Blinx my kumquat! Get us to some uncommon ground, somewhere up in the San Juans, like Lopez, they won't notice anything up there, stoner freaks. And bring beer."
He didn't move a muscle. So I pushed. Hard. Harder than he thought I could, I'd bet. My temples ached a bit, (from the pushing) but it was worth it to see him squirm somewhat.
"Ampoo dez ba'aht blinx, Klargen.' So, he does understand. I could think/speak everything I needed to communicate to these wiry bastards, without wasting all that energy lost making sounds.
I like the idea of that. I pull out a piece of paper from their 'Zeerocks' copier.
"This is plastic."
'Blinx, Klargen.' I started folding it furiously.
A few moments later, the door shussed again. It needed lubrication, maybe, I could hear it and all.
"Lopez glurgen impilt nix pang, Klargen."
"Taisetsu ja nakata," I replied, fucking with him, with Japanese. I toss the plane at him and it rolls right and stalls. The air IS a little thin on a UFO.
"Klargen needs entertainment," I laugh.
That's the way I roll on a UFO. That's why they won't abduct me. They know their shit's weak.
They might call it a Kaiser blade, but I call it a "Sling Blade."
SO I'm right, in a way.
They LOVE the paper airplanes, in case that was a question.
