Sometimes, you don’t get what you want. This is a prospect that I haven’t understood, for a very long time. I mean, I get it— sometimes, you don’t get what you want. That’s just life. But I don’t get why I have to accept it. Because I’m not going to.
Adults used to tell me— and continue to tell me, time and time again— if you don’t get what you want, it’s becasue God might not have wanted you to have it. And, for a lot of things, I can see that. I can draw a line from what I wanted, and realize that not getting it was sufficient. That getting it might have put me down the wrong Path; but. For a few things, I don’t get it.
I’ve had wishes and desires where, if I had gotten what I thought I ‘wanted’, it would have ultimately ended in my death.
But there’s one thing I do not understand.
Why the fuck is it so hard to call the Space Aliens here?
They’re here. They’ve been here. But why can’t I begin with the reunification?
Of course, there’s a simple reason. And it’s not the one that’s been staring me in the face; but, still. It has to be discussed— despite how little I actually want to talk about it.
The fact of the matter is, you’re not ready.
I was more hopeful than I thought.
On July 2nd, 1997, I apparently saw Men in Black in theatres. At the time, I was terribly upset by this scene. Because, I had just come back from the ship, and— I was desperate for human beings to meet my friends. And, all signs pointed towards the fact that, you all just were not ready. And you wouldn’t be ready for a very long time.
I’m not stupid. I’ve pretended to be dumb for various purposes, and that’s all over. What I’ve been doing here, is over. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing in the future; but, I know that it’s going to be a lot less like what I have been doing. I’m not sure I wasted my time, here. But I also know one thing.
Unless God herself comes down and changes something in the heart of mankind— unless, tomorrow, something spectacular happens— I don’t think you’re ever going to be seeing any space aliens.
And I’ve struggled with this. I have struggled.
The fact of the matter is, though, that human beings just are not what I hoped that they would be.
I was hoping for a kind heart.
You might be a good person. But, you know, just as well as I do, that you cannot depend on someone to be good. And that’s just the problem. Because there’s no way to depend on human beings to be decent, when the space aliens show up, I’m going to be exposing them all to your evil. And I don’t want that.
Ultimately it’s going to be out of my hands. As it should be, I would think. But, I just keep on thinking. Maybe it would be better if they don’t show up.
For the longest time, I felt lonely. Because, I thought— what if I’m crazy? What if they never really existed, and I’m just stuck here, by myself, alone, for the rest of my days?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t fear that.
I know they exist. There’s no longer any sort of pastiche of, oh, I know how you don’t believe me; I’m no longer trying to please anybody but myself. I am not holding your hand. If you think I’m crazy, I’m not going to try to convince you otherwise. I know where I’m going. And you’re not coming with me, regardless.
I always knew that they existed. Because, my entire life has been forged in and by their own influence. And I miss them. I miss them more than I have ever missed anybody else. And, strangely enough, after writing down a bunch of things, I realized that I had just proved their existence something like 13 years prior. After I wrote this, I found two other ways to prove their existence. There’s no doubt left in my mind. That’s all over.
… and because of that, that’s why I can’t let you hurt them.
This is it.
I’m not leading you to them.
Throughout my life, I’ve always been one where, if I went somewhere, I offered everybody a chance to come with me.
You’re not coming with me.
In fact, being so open almost got my work stolen. If you ever wonder why I published my first book so quickly, it was becasue, I was ‘friendly’ with someone on Twitter, and they started asking all sorts of questions about my book. I gave them no answers; but, looking at their behavior, I knew. They wanted to steal it. Published, now, it’s fully copyrighted. So any chance of theft is now gone. But, God. That hurt my feelings.
After a full life of dealing with you people, I know I cannot trust you with anyone whom I love.
So I won’t.
When I got in, I was going to put my foot in the door, so more people could experience them. But, now? If you want to blame anybody, just pick somebody. I don’t have any one person I could blame. I’d like to blame the person who tried to steal my ideas; but, Hell. Who cares?
It doesn’t even matter anymore.
If the aliens want you to know them, then, just like getting to know anybody else, that’ll be their responsibility. But I’m not introducing you to them. I’ll write about them, certainly. But you’re not getting in through me.
You know, at one point, I actually thought about all of this, and I was like— wow!! What fun I’ll have, as I get uber-fucking-famous off of this!!! And then, I realized. No. No.
Humanity is evil. I know you people well enough to say that with absolute certainty. Its Core, its Shell, is evil. I’ve lived with you motherfuckers more decades than I can count, and though there may be one good person out of a hundred— honestly, probably more— that’s still 99 evil motherfuckers. You’re not gettin’ in.
Quite honestly, my plans have changed. I still want to initiate ‘first’ contact—it’s not first, it’s more like seventh, or even eighth contact— and while I know all the steps to do it, don’t you mind none— I know what’s going to happen.
You’re going to try and fucking kill them.
You people are just fuckin’ bad.
Going forward, I’m not even sure I want to tell you of my progress.
Are you worthy?
Is it wise?
I don’t know.