This is a strange arena. It's so big and round. You could go around and around forever. That's funny. Hah-hah! Hey, astronaut-man! Watch me turn a circle! Here I go ...
In order to reclaim my space (not Myspace, "my space"), I am going to ride on horseback through the eastern woods. When I dismount and open my eyes, I'll find myself on North Milton, with a gun pointed at my skull. And I'll ask, "Why would anyone - especially you, stranger - want to kill me?" There's no motivation. No wealth, no fame, no charm, no beauty. Nothing to carry off. You can't live through me, and why would you want to?
I've met the world's most beautiful person, and it's like laying, bare-boned, in a Mercurial solarium.
To open my mouth and express such things would be like beating a dead dog.
As it's always been, I'm the only one who can see and know.
Send me Home. Neither you nor I exist, so why must we play these roles? I've never been fond of an actor's climactic hand-gestures. Aren't you playing the part of The Omnipresent? Shouldn't you know by now? So send me to my spaceship. I miss the asteroid belt, the moon rock, and the extraterrestrial language. How am I holding up, in comparison to the other Martians? Haven't I served enough time? Haven't I made my mark? Haven't you seen my crop circles? Aren't you literate? They read, "I'm ready. Take me back." Well, let's go!
Pah-lay, Tee-yah Ka-looh - The Sun & Moon,
P.S. When I take off, I'm leaving my eyes. They're a nice brown-green, with some yellow. Large and very shiny. Be mindful, though. Keep a tab, and make sure that they're not sold as a pair. I want one eye to be matched with a black eye, and the other to be matched with an eye that is very blue. Write that down so that you might remember. I'm doing you apes a favor.