Part 1 – Dude’s Diary
I wish we were allowed to leave this space station.
Don’t get me wrong. I like breathing air.
But maybe a nice planet we could go to.
Or a moon. A moon would be dope.
I know I’ve got it good up here, less gravity, so much easier to get around.
But I ask myself, how would it be to stand in a place with real gravity?
It would be fuckin’ hard. Don’t bullshit me.
I might walk a few steps. Then maybe I would collapse on the ground, gasping, grateful to be alive. Getting used to gravity again would make me wish for somewhere to swim. Somewhere I could take it easy while working it all out.
Space is not the place. Don’t tell anyone I said that. It’s not allowed.
The Central Bureau insists we must live in space, for several reasons.
Space is the great equalizer. No one has any mobility issues in space.
OK, like, I can get down with that.
Also, there is room for everyone in space.
I mean yeah, duh, there fucking better be.
Also, everyone alive has equal access to living quarters in space. Space has alleviated the housing shortage.
Because they all fucking blow, every single place to live up here. I wish you could tell the Party that. It’s no party, talking to the Party.
Also, there is enough food for everyone. Because we eat plants. And plants make oxygen. And plants do great here, as long as they have all the window space facing the sun. Sometimes I want to pretend to be a plant, so I can get some sun. Too bad, it’s not allowed.
One thing I like to do is read. I’m not sure what everyone else is doing. Working hard on being equal to each other. I’d say “you do you” but no one is allowed to talk like that.
I write songs sometimes. And other times, I sing songs. They’re all old, because no one writes anymore. I sing like no one is listening, because I am such a loner (not allowed, by the way)
Part 2 –Report from Alien High Command on Observation of Human Behavior
On November 12th, the one human who is not, mute was singing again. We can hear everything that happens on that space station, because, of course, we have relatively enormous ears. Our ears are, like, as big as our genitals. Hell, our ears ARE our genitals, because what could be more important that singing?
That’s why no one was interested in the humans for a long time. That is, until I proved that one of their species was in a state of evolution. He was developing into a singer.
The name of the space station, as far as we can tell, is The Allegory, because any meaning in its existence is buried so far up its ass that most of its inhabitants are just not aware. Of anything.
Speaking of meaning, does anyone else at command have thoughts on the words this human is singing?
He sings in the shower. The acoustics are not good. So, what we think he’s singing is:
God Bless Some Erica
By singing this, followed by even more allegorical nonsense, we can see his deep sensitivity to random shit.
Does God love everyone equally? His Party’s ideology seems to suggest this.
By this logic, God must love every Erica. And yet, this person wants to love, and through his example, wants us to love, not just the Erica we’re with, but Some Erica.
Erica must truly be a blessed name. What did she do to be so blessed? By being unlovable in whatever way she might be so, does he not transcend judgment by accepting her, sight unseen?
Erica, by his description, is a Land he loves, with Oceans, Prairies and Mountains white with foam. So, maybe he is intimately familiar with her body. Maybe he wants to live on her, someday.
I hope Some Erica is real. Wouldn’t that be some shit?