Wooom woosh Beelzebub—BAM!! Walls were spinning uncontrollably, noise was at a maximum. The entire spaceship was coming into focus (zero walls, a huge room, and Sheth and I were in the middle of the air). A fine string in orange light taught between our bodies and the disc. And everything, everything pointing to the fact that we’d just been abducted.
Caves of light, exploring children! Ancients dancing! Not a cattle anywhere.
They’re dicing us up like helpless piglets—or helping us just the same! Medical tables, equipment. Wires like pencils running everywhere. It’s the apocalypse (of what, I’m not sure) the final countdown, the end of us.
Against the backdrop of Andromeda-764, I ask our Alien host—a female who is controlling the other beings on the spaceship, I ask, “What is this experimentation?”
Her voice is like glass and it comes to me as if through water.
“This is Arcturian-571. A biological scanning entity designed in Andromeda number seven, six, four. We have come to diculate the contemplate and to concentrate the potentate of your un-delicious air. This vessel was built to specifications of complexity based on tours between your planets and ours, a hyper-light symphony begged us to come here and check you out!”
I try to speak but it’s garbled and I just give up.
The Alien continues.
“However, upon arriving, we have become confused about the intelligence quotient, on the ground, here. It seems to be very low.”
I try to explain to her that we were just coming to find out about the oxygen thing, the atmosphere, but she shut me up. I was going to tell her how we were just getting around to global warming and we’d be done soon.
“You’ll be done soon, alright,” she said—but there was nothing of a huff. “Your civilization has failed to evolve along those lines.” (Again, though, there was no judgement in this.) “We like your rugged-ability,” she says. “As you can see our race is quite gaunt. It’s our hope that combined with your DNA, we will experience a slight bulk to our race. It is unfortunate if this is the only reason we have traveled this distance to see you, but this is enough.”
“What is enough?”
“That we will be able to bulk up our species. And your species will be able to live on.” (Blah blah blah, then she said—) “Apocalypse.”
“Apocalypse?”
The head Alien looked at me like she wanted to eat me. To gobble me up. And in an entirely sexual way.
She mind-melded with me. Something like—I want to sit on your cock and mush it all around. But she kept talking.
“—arrived here 14 billion years ago and terraformed your Venus, which is fully populated now with humanoid creatures. Everyone’s living a happy life while you roll in squalor here—you human beings apparently got it wrong—all wrong! You were meant to create a paradise here on Earth and we come back after six thousand years and find you created money!? Money!? And you waste your lives going this way, going that way trying to hoard it up but you can’t take it with you when you leave this life—“ and at this point my brain fuzzed out because I couldn’t take it—all the things we humans had done wrong—but stated in a sing-songy performance (as though our demise was funny to them?) and my awareness took in all that was around us (where was Sheth?) and I tried to understand what the equipment does—
—and I fade into another room (It’s like they’ve been manipulating our memories!) where I’m locked to a table and they’re pulling shit out my ass. This is a long, silver instrument with a pointed end. They put that into my ass. It’s not sexual (exactly) it just feels like I’m reverse taking a shit. Like some cold no-no feeling I might have had as a youth which I’ve forgotten until just this moment. Cold, cold feelings. Sharp feelings. Fingernails. Cocks? How would I ever know if it happened before I could remember? How would we ever know, if they started us here when we were evolutionary babies, that they created us? How can we ever forget that they’re landing their spaceships in our yards? That they’re sticking probes in us like they’re our mothers? As if we have no rights!! The right not to be probed in my asshole for a health checkup! These are human rights. The right to keep you off my property! The right to hold a gun to your face to tell you what to do. The right to keep your whole damn country—whole damn federation—off my doorstep.
—this is our planet—except that you put us here—
—this is you infringing on my God—except you are god—
My cries of faith are cries of blasphemy in this place. When they say, “What do you have to teach us?”—I say, Faith. To which they say, Even in this place? Which I interpret as meaning, Even in this place of hell, so far from Earth and so foreign?—Even in this place, you call upon your God?? But which really means, Even though you have seen this place, even now that you know the truth, you still cling to that little idea of yours you call God. And somehow my ignorance has become faith, faith has become ignorance, follower has become God and God has become follower. Even in this place, do I carry my false, trinket belief with me. Even in this place do I rely on it, rely on Him—even here where Satan’s bells play tricks around my eyelids, where the Devil’s scent is woven with every thread, does the truth fly through. Even here, my ignorant construction gives me strength. Even here, the secret I keep in my pocket gives me some comfort. I wasn’t born an Alien, I was born a Christian, and even here, in this place, will I claim my God as the One. Even when it’s useless. Even when it’s clearly wrong. Even through I’m out of my—out of my—element. Marooned. Beefed. Fucked beyond belief.
This is the universe they showed to me and Sheth. Sometimes we were together and sometimes we were alone. A universe of life (though weird life). A universe of computation. Of wild lines—can you imagine that? Something as simple as a line, drawn 100 different ways. Countless forms, incarnations. Embodiments of embodiments. Sarcasms of sarcasms. Lost in lost-ness. Great in grateful-ness. Abandoned abandonment. Rich richness. Lovely love. Lively life-hood. An ape with an appetite. A half a half-stepper. Bathed in a bathtub. Born full of born-full-ness. The ignorant one who proceeds (stupidly) correcting her mistake and walking on as though it was just a lesson—I hate thy stupidity, thy part that innocently adapts, moves on, fucks. Never looks back, hardly ever learns. I stand at arena’s edge, looking at this cluster fuck, standing far from it, thinking over all my inconsistencies, looking back on my agitations, being over every one of them—levitating.
You. Levitate. Me. You bring me forth. You know me—she knows! She knows my mind, when I want to fuck. Where does she get all this extra time (to think about what I’m thinking)? How does she love me? Seems to be familiar with what I was thinking yesterday! Everything exposed about me—FEAR! Everything about me known! Everywhere I’ve been! Every sexual fantasy! Then a feedback loop where I sink further into self-questioning, trying to hide, and every move I make, she knows. She knows everything. Everything inside me. I no longer know the difference between me and her—the distance between us.
I don’t know how to tell you more about our trip inside the spaceship except to say it in poetry, with random words and cutouts. To tell you in bizarre sentences—this I’ve tried to do. The Alien experience (which you all are familiar with now) is not an experience which expresses well in human words—in English words anyway. But remember, at this time this story was told, very few people had had experiences inside spaceships. And even fewer stories than that were told about it, due to CIA secrecy and bullshit. I’m not going to discuss the Secret Space Program here (and you probably know where I stand on that shit anyway). I say send ‘em back to space and let us fend for ourself on this planet. They say we’re doomed on our own. I say give us the chance. But they’re far too careful—begun to get us off the planet when Exxon got their start. Far too careful, to let us take the reigns—that was never an option. And if we get out of control, they’ll give us another Great Flood. Move the moon around a little, jostle us into oblivion. Export our DNA then flush us back into (before the Stone Age). It’s all encoded in the doctrine of Alien kids of the universe—the greater good above all else. Here’s a sense in which we’re the other—the Alien—to them. Here’s the sense in which we have crashed the party and brought our nukes with us. If you think they’re gonna let us fuck up their universe—there’s a dome above the Earth to keep us in. And if you think they’re gonna let us mess up their Petri dish, think again—Aliens have their eye on our WMDs and every time we push the button they tickle us under the arm and we drop everything we were working on, forgetting all our thoughts and never quite understanding that it’s our defenses (which are really offenses) that our creators find unnerving. It’s as though we had staged a fight on the front porch between brother and sister and then as soon as we had laid out the rules, our mom came out with sandwiches and smiles and we had forgotten that her other kind existed and our punches were loaded, ready but Mother had no intention of letting us kill each other and we fought her for a moment over this point before putting down our weapons and sitting for lunch.