My wildest dreams...

...have come true. They want to take me home and cook me some curry. But I'm not so keen. I bought a samosa on the way home instead.

I'm a being without a centre. Socially, that is. "Be yourself", but being myself might entail choosing to treat you in a certain, appropriate way. And that way is chosen from a bunch of live options, that are all authentically me, and all morally good. Actors upon a stage - but in this pseudo-modern era the director handed us a bunch of scripts and a vague explanation of how the play might go.

Stole, but committed no crime. Vandalized, but didn't leave a mark. It was arson, and the town got raised
up in the middle of the night
but didn't go back down
because the town got
razed
down in the middle of the night
but didn't go back up
because the town got
lowered
into the ground
no one to be found
to rebuild it.


Find a beautiful boy who doesn't look a thing like Jesus but talks like a gentleman. He'll save me from myself. The sun creeps in, I'm a gone and it's all a mystery. Stand up and be a man, because he's a beautiful boy. You should have fought him; it's a distraction.

It's eerie. On paper, their language is the same as ours. Their clothes are sort of similar to ours. The cars are a bit like ours, but bigger. But just below the surface of thick make-up and big hair, they are aliens.