Aliens aliens aliens aliens aliens - Clare-Rose : Story-teller for Kids

Aliens aliens aliens aliens aliens





I had a daydream when I was about ten years old. A small green martian came to me and whispered that modern humans were half ancient monkey – magical monkey – like how some describe bigfoot/yeti – and half alien life-force. I awake the next day, and thought about it for the next 27 years. It certainly explains the rapid changes to the planet in such a relatively small amount of time. I mean, if a daisy you had in your garden for years had happily sat there (botanists please humour me here- I don’t know how long daisies live for), and then suddenly overnight had grown lost of metal cubes all over it, been covered in tiny lights and miniature flying machines and the tiny amoeba we all frantically running in all directions at once – wouldn’t you assume something from the outside had happened to it? Or maybe you’d think it was organic? But next to the fern that just sat ether being fern, I would at least be somewhat inquisitive. So yes, now you know. I do believe we are alien hybrids, an experiment – as I have written in the book, but I don’t always believe in some sinister or not so sinister hidden agenda behind it. Just chaos. Beautiful, divine poetry. But I’d just like to dig a little deeper for a second. The other thing that tipped me over the alien-monkey edge was watching humans for 27 years and noticing their beautiful contradictions. We make promises and break them. We protect the earth and destroy it. We love and we hate. We interrogate our emotional pasts and put our head in the sand at the same time. We look in the mirror and change our facial expressions. We wage war and fight for peace. We drive, and we fail. I find this beautiful. William Blake could have been right when he wrote ‘The marriage of Heaven and Hell’ – that night couldn’t exist without day, and therefore nothing could exist without it’s opposite. Fair argument, but I still think we are alien-monkeys. Half belonging here on earth, digging our children hands deep into the sand and shells as the waters of the tide run  through their fingers – and half building rockets and sky-scrapers and telescopes, looking and building outward, looking for those who put us here, asking for their love. 

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