Keep close and listen now: those that know you will be left to wonder as you ascend up the tractor beam. Who were you? Where are you now? Did they ever know you? Well, now the answer is clear. Probably not. For one thing, they never thought you to be the type to be abducted by an unidentified object, let alone a flying one. And in the darkness of the trembling woods, no less. And they're sure you'll return with a corncob pipe swinging from your toothless gob while lisping a diatribe of accusations. The conspiracy theories will tumble from your mouth as if your esophagus was the favorite playground slide. As if the the nations children were all just minute details in an overwrought plan designed to make us believe science fiction had taken you for a ride. You took a Star Trek. You went where no man had gone before. You lost fifty dollars to a space card shark and dived to the bottom of an ectoplasm fifth of space vodka. Good for you. When you're watching the documentary film the fringe director arranged to cast a light of derangement upon your structuredly unstructured plight to the chagrin of your family lawyer, notice the glimmer of amber light in your eyes moments before the pine sways eerily to the futuristic whir of the cataclysmic obstruction in your life, to the start of your eccentric life of ravings, the stop to your melodrama of mundanity. Notice that you had a light in your eyes like coils within the toaster as your breakfast slowly burns. You had something annoying and subtractive fleshing itself out in your mind even before this tragedy of interstellar proportions descended upon you. You were something all unspun and poorly dealt to begin with. Jean Luc Picard had nothing to do with you.
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