Dammit, Mike, I know I’m not an alien! I’m not stupid. But you seem to think I’m stupid. At least if I’m an alien, I have a reason for being stupid- for being awkward and not getting things! If I’m an alien, of course I wouldn’t be able to tell when you’re kidding. Or when I tell your mother the title and artist and even the year of the song from 60 years ago she’s trying to remember, she won’t look at me like I’m an al—well, she will look at me like I’m an alien, but it will be because I AM! Why would it be so bad if I were! What’s the harm in believing if it helps me cope! I can make a paycheck just as easily- I work from the house mostly anyway. It’s my delusion. Join me. Wouldn’t it be cool to be married to an extra terrestrial? You can teach me your human ways. I can show you how to manipulate your simple human emotions through music. Maybe you wouldn’t appreciate seeing how easy you are to influence. Maybe all musicians and storytellers are aliens, too! But I could make you see yourself in a new way! You’d appreciate your world more! For me, going camping with you would have more purpose if I could try to track signs of UFO exhaust, or broken branches, or artificial clearings….Let me be an alien, Mike. I guess I could try to be a witch or something… no. I’m an alien. A Star Child. I know those online quizzes are bunk, but…maybe. I’m just creating a hypothesis to fit the facts. Don’t limit me- limit us—by denying who I want to be. Stay, Mike. Teach me how to be human. And we’ll explore this planet, it’s customs and people, together.
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Odious Coif by Ingrid Holst is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.