|My homeboy, E.T.|
“You preachers of equality, the tyrannomania of impotence clamors thus out of you for equality: your most secret ambitions to be tyrants thus shroud themselves in words of virtue. Aggrieved conceit, repressed envy—perhaps the conceit and envy of your fathers—erupt from you as a flame and as the frenzy of revenge.” –Thus Spake Zarathustra (pg. 212).
When we approach Planet Earth from the stars, we strange winged creatures who soar above the clouds and satellites and bright blue atmosphere, why do we always encounter a dying race of men and women?
And hovering above the sick and murderous masses we ask ourselves, why shouldn’t we conquer it, we aliens? Why shouldn’t we rule over what is just one small mass of blue matter spinning with centrifugal force in the great black abyss that you Earthlings call space? I’m often puzzled by astrophysicists and science fiction speculators who debate whether or not we would conquer the rest of the world were we to invade it.
Of course we would. If we were just like Earthlings. Fortunately we are not. We aliens are a weird and diverse bunch indeed. Many of us hail from the Planet Argon. Like this guy:
|Fellow alien and novelist Tom Robbins|
Some of us have traversed all the way from the great Planet Uterus. Yet others have blasted forth from the Planet Urethra. And others have unraveled reality from the Planet Frizzle Fry. Myself? I hail from the great Planet Grizzlegird. We Grizzlegirdians could overtake Earth if we wanted to. But aliens don’t really have any interest in that sort of thing. I recall the first time I saw Earth from orbit. Long, long ago before I ever crashed down to party with the rest of the planet, to shake things up a bit, to remind the Earthlings that to—what’s the expression?—rock out with your cock out is not just something to do on the weekends, but a way of life!
There she was—that bulbous blue beauty of fertility and life just spinning around and around her mother star on a slightly tilted axis. Enveloped by the endless black void of space, I took note of its ice-cold nothingness and envied the sun’s warm gold rays confined by Earth’s robust atmosphere. Amidst space’s still windless airs I saw the magnificence of Earth’s clouds swirling like the tootoos of white ballerinas in slow motion. What glory this rounded rock beheld with its flawless fusion of the eternal elements: air and water and fire. As I neared its curvaceous heavens in my descent, what honor to realize that I would herald the truth to mankind: that they, the people of the Earth, need not look up beyond the stars anymore for salvation, that such stars were mere reflections of light-beams wayfaring their way through space-time, having abandoned their long-since-dead forebears with no purpose or planned direction; that they, the people of Earth, instead have every reason to celebrate and worship the miraculous ground upon which they soil with their own blood in their tireless attempt to rule one another; that were they to continue to worship the heavens rather than the earth, they should worship their own sun, their own nearest star as the ancient Pharaohs did, and pray to burn their eyes out on it so that maybe they would begin to listen to one another; that Planet Earth itself was a heaven but far too many Earthlings took it for granted and wanted to recreate “heaven on Earth” instead, thus igniting and stroking the perpetual fires of hell.
And we aliens were not much welcomed nor was our wisdom. A xenophobic crowd much of the Earth is, indeed. Many of us are outlaws. We are outsiders. Misfits. And artists who speak in tongues or poets who paint in words. Our haloes shine so bright that they blind the average Earthling into a state a fear which spreads to mass hysteria and historically ends with the odious stench of our outlandish flesh burnt black upon a fresh wood stake. Rare it is that I meet a sincere and honest xenophile who wishes to probe the oracular advice and interstellar acumen we aliens can share with our beloved Earthlings. Most of us since our arrival thus live and dwell underground, with other subterranean members of humanity in peace, or high in the mountains, with the owls, eagles and other birds of prey. But whether we dwell above or below the flat, mundane avenues of Planet Earth, many of us are nocturnal. And we hunt at night. Xenophobes beware.
|My good friend Alf,|
in his prime.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, that’s not really our nature. We don’t desire to rule the world or even take vengeance on those who wish us ill. I take great joy in zipping around Earth every morning to stretch my strange eagle wings, to soak in the gorgeous views and breath the fresh air of my adopted home planet. We aliens don’t need to conquer the world. We already have the ability to soar through its storms and its sunny days alike when we create things, like, poems.
My dear Earthlings! Halt your blather about constructing a “heaven on earth” in your blood-thirsty attempts to rule it. Only when you admit your impertinent desire to rule will you release your fear of us—the aliens—and focus your eyes upon the green flame of extraterrestrial truth you have yet seen flicker: if you can rule your own soul through art, the world is already conquered.