Allen Bramhall / Aliens, Straining At Sense / page4
10) Alien Advice
the next alien collective belongs to a scouting project. they come to look at details. we’ve had them here for years, but didn’t always notice. too busy with the mind, and the covers to things. the aliens will surround definition with new appropriation, and will do so flashily. look at that cornfield, where the saucer landed. no human could knock down cornstalks, not with such geometry. we ingest, in the privacy of time. the aliens are particles of a vast indifference, that seeps thru the universe and looks for work. here we are, we’ve been saying all along. and the aliens, generous as well as torpid, engage. we may play as dust but the aliens will scope our broadcast, check out which drama is the most intense. intention arrives with a plop of an apple on the ground: harvest time! our starry friends will take their time, and maybe some of ours. we will have to reward their patience by doing something excellent. inventing excellence will be a tough job but the aliens know we have it in us. if only we were so sure. sometimes the subject at hand is really afoot.
11) Another Assumed Waste Of Time
they choose wastelands today. those aliens, almost at the centre of something, while they wobble in the night. such mystery, lifted from the edge of proclivity. who will reward these diligent friends dropping from the adipose sky to blanket our nonsense with scope? they demur with a handy cage, and select oddities to understand. our understudies in remote places are the first to see. they rush to the spinning light and are treated with delight. when their word is heard, crazy as a tree, things go underground. the aliens await pastures and the exact livestock to uproot. someone is interested, that’s for sure. maybe the hidden moon, that really makes our day, will reveal itself and all our process. the aliens might be in that, tiny but respectable. some days, their shadows in forests simulate a clarity that can’t stop. there are burn marks here and there, treatises for the learned. and finally, the authors—that is, the aliens—are released from their duty, and they can just spin around the planet. we should welcome them more heartily: in it is in us. meteors are tough enough to contain, and the way our atmosphere burns messages. the aliens in their saucers rise from the stranded marsh and lift above the world. even quaint covered bridges are refined by mystery. another planet may just be the ticket, but then loneliness will sink us. we are on edge, at this time, tipping terribly.
12) Short Talk
aliens came politely to the conclusion that they have a reference point here on earth. strange indeed, but they have landed. here are the facts, they try to tell us—too bad they sound like dolphins. we are adverse to listening to these outlanders. their flying saucers are strange, pure instigation, as are their ways. we substitute interest in natural fixing, for the waft of the approaching season. tears form in the eye stalks of the aliens as they see us wallow. we are skilled on this planet, so we believe, but what are our definitions for elsewhere? the aliens are stoned by the time they get here, closed in the system they are trying to make. we are relaxed, except when people doubt our story. there is a lot of challenge in the plain work of going on: night skies, filled with dancing close encounters. resistance is a fable. the aliens are proper nouns, at least for now. we are verbal only for so long. things must get on, move along. too much depends on red wheelbarrows, in this day and age. sad to say.
13) Regular Adaptation
green purpose, a deliberation in time. saying which word is first becomes a study in conception. the aliens have us over a barrel. we see that communication is a rational extension of purpose, providing a basis for inquiry and resource. but. clouds fade into news, and the news is about war. war fills the planet, and that’s why children cry. sadness is arresting, almost beautiful in its regularity. vast space is the interim between words, points made. people feel triumphant in their precursors, which is a silly, ragged contribution. floods take away something, forests fires take away further. autumn hatches a plan, changing the landscape. the aliens seem to arrive in time, certain of their probe. we are children so we know of the curious ways that might elongate our truths. something curious makes us bend to distinction that aren’t really there. war is history, and that understanding is a presumption. what are these aliens including, when they look at us so? years reach climax, and jerks go on rampages. some people are small minded and others are enlarged by practice. rivers are dammed for strange intentions. life is a bundled probability. the aliens stretch the sky and leave us wondering. music rehearses the cargo we planned. trees continue to grow greenly, tho autumn may send a change. tell us, zZigno, is there winter on your home planet, is there life? death may merely be a sign.
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10) Alien Advice
the next alien collective belongs to a scouting project. they come to look at details. we’ve had them here for years, but didn’t always notice. too busy with the mind, and the covers to things. the aliens will surround definition with new appropriation, and will do so flashily. look at that cornfield, where the saucer landed. no human could knock down cornstalks, not with such geometry. we ingest, in the privacy of time. the aliens are particles of a vast indifference, that seeps thru the universe and looks for work. here we are, we’ve been saying all along. and the aliens, generous as well as torpid, engage. we may play as dust but the aliens will scope our broadcast, check out which drama is the most intense. intention arrives with a plop of an apple on the ground: harvest time! our starry friends will take their time, and maybe some of ours. we will have to reward their patience by doing something excellent. inventing excellence will be a tough job but the aliens know we have it in us. if only we were so sure. sometimes the subject at hand is really afoot.
11) Another Assumed Waste Of Time
they choose wastelands today. those aliens, almost at the centre of something, while they wobble in the night. such mystery, lifted from the edge of proclivity. who will reward these diligent friends dropping from the adipose sky to blanket our nonsense with scope? they demur with a handy cage, and select oddities to understand. our understudies in remote places are the first to see. they rush to the spinning light and are treated with delight. when their word is heard, crazy as a tree, things go underground. the aliens await pastures and the exact livestock to uproot. someone is interested, that’s for sure. maybe the hidden moon, that really makes our day, will reveal itself and all our process. the aliens might be in that, tiny but respectable. some days, their shadows in forests simulate a clarity that can’t stop. there are burn marks here and there, treatises for the learned. and finally, the authors—that is, the aliens—are released from their duty, and they can just spin around the planet. we should welcome them more heartily: in it is in us. meteors are tough enough to contain, and the way our atmosphere burns messages. the aliens in their saucers rise from the stranded marsh and lift above the world. even quaint covered bridges are refined by mystery. another planet may just be the ticket, but then loneliness will sink us. we are on edge, at this time, tipping terribly.
12) Short Talk
aliens came politely to the conclusion that they have a reference point here on earth. strange indeed, but they have landed. here are the facts, they try to tell us—too bad they sound like dolphins. we are adverse to listening to these outlanders. their flying saucers are strange, pure instigation, as are their ways. we substitute interest in natural fixing, for the waft of the approaching season. tears form in the eye stalks of the aliens as they see us wallow. we are skilled on this planet, so we believe, but what are our definitions for elsewhere? the aliens are stoned by the time they get here, closed in the system they are trying to make. we are relaxed, except when people doubt our story. there is a lot of challenge in the plain work of going on: night skies, filled with dancing close encounters. resistance is a fable. the aliens are proper nouns, at least for now. we are verbal only for so long. things must get on, move along. too much depends on red wheelbarrows, in this day and age. sad to say.
13) Regular Adaptation
green purpose, a deliberation in time. saying which word is first becomes a study in conception. the aliens have us over a barrel. we see that communication is a rational extension of purpose, providing a basis for inquiry and resource. but. clouds fade into news, and the news is about war. war fills the planet, and that’s why children cry. sadness is arresting, almost beautiful in its regularity. vast space is the interim between words, points made. people feel triumphant in their precursors, which is a silly, ragged contribution. floods take away something, forests fires take away further. autumn hatches a plan, changing the landscape. the aliens seem to arrive in time, certain of their probe. we are children so we know of the curious ways that might elongate our truths. something curious makes us bend to distinction that aren’t really there. war is history, and that understanding is a presumption. what are these aliens including, when they look at us so? years reach climax, and jerks go on rampages. some people are small minded and others are enlarged by practice. rivers are dammed for strange intentions. life is a bundled probability. the aliens stretch the sky and leave us wondering. music rehearses the cargo we planned. trees continue to grow greenly, tho autumn may send a change. tell us, zZigno, is there winter on your home planet, is there life? death may merely be a sign.
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