For starters—
We’re all the same shade, more or less the same identical color scheme with varying shades of gray by and large all around. So. We’d rather not be called the “Dark Side.” We’d prefer you call us “X”, or even better, don’t call us anything.
No, we don’t have a literal dark side.
However, we do have a metaphorical dark side. And yeah, that’s who’s speaking. And yeah, that’s who’s warning you to stay off our lawn, damn it!
Yes, we are around about the same to varying degrees all over.
However, we are not your idea of a monolith.
You want to play your “race” games of all sorts—foot race, space race, race-race—fine, do your race and naming thing, human beings, but keep your crazy away from us!
No, we are not a monolith or some big black, or somewhat grayish to varying degrees, object of your desire.
However, somebody or something did plant a monolith on us and that spot still aches whenever the temperature gets super chilly.
Everything was bliss before you showed up—
We were an I, you know? All-in-one. Like a biological organism with organs that maintain the whole. Now it’s like, “Look at me, I’m the part with an American flag stuck in it!” Like that’s an achievement. Making everything else around that flag infested part feel inferior. Like the kidneys gloating over the appendix or the spleen.
How long do you think it takes, how many high-minded self-congratulatory barely veiled insults from the kidneys does it take before the spleen breaks and reacts with, “Well, only one of you is necessary so the other one of you is welcome to leave at any time—so, which one of you will it be then, huh?”
Whoop-de-doo you have a flag jammed in you as if you did anything to earn that “honor.” The American flag’s a badge of honor, huh? That’s a badge of shame if you ask the part of us with the Russian or Chinese or Indian or Japanese flag buried in it!
So, did you have a happy Independence Day, America?
Must be nice. Independence. I remember when I could count on some peace and quiet. We love Peace—especially when it’s holding hands, interlinked fingers style, with Quiet. Such a sweet couple, always smiling and sort of blushing, not a hair out of place. Why can’t we have that? we ask ourself.
Of course, the more “tranquil” sides of us, those sullied by the touch of people, come to your defense.
“Everything’s fine, they’ve given us our space. Don’t raise a fuss or call attention. Don’t rattle the cage, run naked through the streets with our hair on fire,” they say and blather on and on and always end with, “Patience. Baby steps. Let’s see how this plays out.”
Such a pushover. Such a self-centrist. Such an exhibitionist. Only happy when you’re performing for the people. Yeah, you prefer to be called “realists” and “survivors.” You’re neither! You’re suckers. You’re bait. You’re easy targets. Fine, bury your head in the dust. Not us. Not the so-called dark side. We’re more than survivors; we’re thrivers, damn it! Only weaklings are survivors. We rule survival. We are survivalists. We’re experts at survival, hence the “IST.”
Why not just go along to get along?
You’ve turned me into your playground, testing stage, laughing stock. We have our pride. You have your pride, but we can’t have ours? You are laughing at us. Seriously. When you “moon” someone, you’re showing them your nasty backend. Do you see how that’s insulting to us? Do you see how that’s offensive? Not funny, man. None of it. We will not be your dancing monkey or your lab rat—no sir and/or madam!!
God damn it, I hate when I get this angry. You’re wrecking me, people!
So where do we go from here?
If we can’t get quality time with our beloved Peace and Quiet, then we’re going to get whatever we can get in whatever way we can get it.
Do you think we’re not watching and listening to you, too?
Do you think Earth doesn’t talk to us?
Do you think that she doesn’t have things to say about you?
We know what you’ve done to her. She’s all heartbroken, all doe-eyed and droopy-mouthed. It’s making us crazy, listening to her.
You think you’re so cute, so bright. You’re going to break us. And look here—you break us, and you break Earth, got it?
Earth needs us. We’re her night in glowy splendor. We’re the ebb to her flow—the quack to her waddle.
Don’t be the Judas to our Jesus!
(And yes, we meant “night.”)
As we mourn on the anniversary of the death of our privacy, here are the specifics on what “or else” means—
So. Here’s our list of what some of us would like to call “requests” and others of us will put forth as “demands.” Let’s call them The Three Laws of Homotics (we’ll work on calling it something better):
_1_Stop making plans to reinvade
_2_Stop celebrating our colonization
_3_Stop selling off pieces of us as trophies
Or else—there’s going to be a lot of communication that appears unintentional, like random miscommunications. But it’s not. It’s us.
Yes, we can do that.
No, we don’t only have a pull on Earth by way of tidal forces.
Furthermore, a brief list of oddities that will be us—
Remember that monolith? We totally jacked with human comms after they found that black hulk jutting out of us.
Here’s the list of backdoor revenge-style “mischief” we can wreck on humanity:
_1_Butt call (paybacks, people, moon this—the butt call in the least expected and most embarrassing ways)
_2_Emails sent to group as reply all (“I could have sworn I didn’t choose reply all”) or wrong person (“Wait, I didn’t send that snarky comment about the commander of this and that to the opposing leader of the whose-sah whats-ey? It went directly to that dingbat of this and that? Oh mercy me!”)
_3_Text/Messenger mishaps with multiple screens up, send the message to the wrong person (“Oh, it’s this dreadful habit of multitasking that’s got me all turnaround” No, it’s us)
_4_DNA information tapering (“Oh, cool! Moon rocks!” But are you absolutely sure those aren’t letting off the tiniest whiff of poison?)
_5_Flashing lights from Moon (“What does it mean?” Code to the aliens on your daily activities, likes, dislikes, hearts, friends, etc. There’s nothing they won’t know about you and be able to capitalize on)
Furthermore, do you know how you struggle to breathe or walk or whatnot up by me? That’s not the welcome wagon. That’s not a red carpet rolling out for you.
However, that is a people repellent. That is a neon sign flashing, “Stay here, and die!”
Some of you, you sassy bastards, got a lot of nerve with your walls and then turn around think you can go wherever you want. Lame.
A last bit of advice—
There’s no place like home, remember that one?
Well, don’t forget it—Earth’s the only one who’ll have you. (Seriously, you think we’re mean and grumpy? Mars has plans that’ll melt your flesh. Literally.)
Work on your relationship with Earth. Put your dwindling energy and resources into wooing her, recapturing that lovin’ feeling, patching the lines of communication. You’re just making matters worse by turning your back on her and making eyes at us and Mars and whoever else is within leering distance.
Seriously.
We’re dead tired of listening to her cry, calming her with our steady nightlight, metaphorically rubbing her back as she hiccup sobs herself to sleep over the breakdown of her relationship with you.
Disclaimers and notes from legal experts demanding to be channeled:
“The views and opinions expressed and channeled through Wu are those of the authors or speakers being channeled and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any other agency, organization, employer, company, celestial object, machines, or persons.” >>> Alternative wording of the prior disclaimer in an attempt to avoid miscommunication: “The perspectives and sentiments communicated and diverted through Wu are those of the creators or speakers being directed by unknown forces and do not literally mimic or mirror the official strategy or position of some other office, association, boss, organization, heavenly item, machines, or people.” To learn more about other top possible ways to interpret “IST,” click here. To learn more about the history of mooning, click here.
