OH Those Aliens I Have Known

Ok. Today I will attempt to begin to address the looming question of What Is A Love Alien? My colleague Love Idiot might object to any qualifications I list here, for he is an alien of sometimes accidental pretensions. However, a big part of what makes him a true love alien is his own self -recognized naiveté – of which pretention is just one of many ingredients – his general confused attitude in the face of the pressing question of his own human identity. This is the thing. Human identity/Alien identity. How can the two be reconciled?




This conflict lies at the core of the survivalist, sometime juvenile but always true-blue, alien nature. Love aliens don’t know how to be mature or confident or bizarro or beautiful. They sometimes succeed and they often mess up – they are messy by nature (though they also often display visual/virtual neatness, usually in flurried attempts to stifle other manic bursts and tiny rages.)

Some of my best friends are aliens. Most of my favorite people. Actually, pretty much everyone I know and don’t know (yet).

My best friend Valentine, a classic case. Red nosed and twinkled eyed. Like a reindeer with mischief coming to a boil on the future-burner:




My dearly departed uncle Phil, of another beautiful breed entirely:



And so many more! Too many to count. Each full of oozing, lima green life force. Confused. Striking. Searching & Seeking & Searching. Living in fear! In doubt! Tying to digest the planet’s habits and rules of practicalities, riding the waves of emo-fluctuation, the swelling surf of hope and despair, shining crazy light all over the place.