Let's workshop this poem about the apparent mismatch between the advanced intellect and the primitive behavior of the extraterrestrial beings that so often probe backwoods residents
Three-Inch-Girth Electrojac
Sex-crazed like us or too dim
to crack our sperm and egg code
despite interstellar craft,
almond head wall-phasers keep
beaming us up into the same
cracked-vinyl gyno chair
found in saucer-abduction
hotspots with signs like
“Center for Mental Retardation.”
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)
The images remind me of an H.P. Lovecraft story where aliens give a "hillbilly" enhanced intelligence; he learns the secrets of the universe and it blows his mind.
The images remind me of an H.P. Lovecraft story where aliens give a "hillbilly" enhanced intelligence; he learns the secrets of the universe and it blows his mind.