What You Want

Sometimes, you don’t get what you want. It’s a prospect that I haven’t understood for a very long time. Adults have told me, time and time again— if you don’t get what you want, it’s because God might not have wanted you to have it. And, for a lot of things, I’ve understood it, later down the line. A few of my wishes, and desires, would have ultimately ended in my death. I was screwed up; and I was not thinking straight. But there’s one thing that I have never understood. Why 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?

There’s a simple reason. And it’s been staring me in the face, this entire time.

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.

I know they exist. There’s no longer any sort of pastiche of, oh, I know how you don’t believe me. My entire life has been forged in and by their influence. I miss them. I miss them more than I miss my father. They are constantly on my mind. And, a month or so ago, I realized that I had already proved their existence something like 13 years prior. There is no doubt left in my mind. That’s all over.

… and that’s why I can’t let you hurt them.

I cannot lead you to them. I do not intend on leading you to them. If they want you to know them, then that will be their responsibility. But I cannot be the one who does this. I can’t do this to them.

At one point in my life, I thought— what fun I will have, as I get uber-famous off of this. No. No.

Humanity is evil. Its Core, its Shell, is evil. I’ve lived with you people for more decades than I can count, and though there may be one good person out of a hundred, that’s still 99 evil motherfuckers.

If I were to initiate First Contact— and I know what all the steps are, don’t you mind none— it would result in a war. The aliens would not even fire a shot. You people are just fucking bad. I don’t know why this is; but, my 28 years on the Internet, has just pointed to one simple fact: you are rotten.

The average individual is fine. People in a large group are some of the most-evil entities I’ve ever encountered.

There is, of course, the lynchpin to all of this: the aliens want to be known. They want you to know that they exist. They’re tired of hiding. They want to be friends.

I feel like a father looking down at my children, as they want to play with their friends— who live in the broken home across the street. What will happen if I allow them to go over? Those children are beaten. The ones who live in the broken home, filled with alcohol, and drugs, and, probably, something even worse that I cannot even fathom.

… but, on the other side of all of this, I have to realize— these are adults. They can make their own decisions.

I wanted to be the one who opened the flood gates. I saw within it an infinite potential for happiness. I could be famous. I could have power. I could stop bad things from happening, with my newly-infinite reach.

But it would be like throwing them onto the fire. Sacrificing them, so that I could have temporary ‘happiness’.

I cannot do that to them.

I won’t do that to them.

What was this for?

I’ve wondered why I’ve suffered so much, in the past 22 years. I figured that everything that happens to me is preparing me for the upcoming future; that, everything that I have to endure, is training for the challenges that lie ahead.

What was this for, then? To be shown such evil? So that I could warn them? So that I could protect them from it? Or was there simply no meaning to it, at all?

Does everything have to have a meaning, after all?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

In everything that I have done for human beings, the vast majority of it has been spit back in my face. I expect nothing less than that, now. Partially, it’s why I no longer share wonderful things. I’ve done that once or twelve thousand times, and I always come away from that experience, being harassed by human beings.

What do I do now, oh Lord?

Give me a sign.

Show me the Path once more.