Something to distract and unite us. All of us. This country, the one below it, the one above it, one that’s mad at us, ones we make jokes about. Let the dream be: Aliens.
They don't have to be scary like usual. They don't have to be green again. No missing eyes or too many eyes. Maybe they could make sense. These aliens are less like wind and ghosts, more like food and animals.
They aren't attacking or kidnapping; they are moving into some of the smaller cities that have space. They are moving into Providence, RI. They have new kinds of ways to have fun. Way different than roller-skating. Kind of similar to roller-skating. They live life better than us, like Native Americans did, like birds, like kids. We date them and it’s Amazing!! Our parents have their reservations of course. Silent family dinners. But, The Fun! Everyone starts having The Fun!
Previous to the aliens, everything was too specific. A fork's form was stuck in perfect fit to its purpose. A light bulb, reading glasses, bottles, socks, floss. All perfect fits! One was driven to dream for things in between. Things between solid and liquid. Like hair gel and lava!
The Aliens arrived just in time, just as things were becoming Unbearable. No new albums were good albums. Brand names had finally succeeded in being really spooky. But then: Alien Surprise Weekend! The aliens came with tools. They told such funny jokes! We all stood in the outside, like it was perfect temperature, like the skinny moon would say our names if he had time, waiting in line to hear the underground alien poets who’d made it Big on their planet, who hadn’t heard the term underground, but upon hearing it had dug houses underground in a new type of joke where you actually did the thing.