TO: The Humans
FROM: The Universe
RE: Your Cries for Revolution
Thank you for contacting us. Though we make every effort to ignore you and feel no responsibility to respond to anyone at all ever, your pleas were very loud and hurt our ears. We, of course, have no “ears” (we are The Universe), but since you are humans and need certain anthropomorphic approximations to “understand,” we find ourselves willing to entertain the idea of “ears,” though we remain uncertain you use them for their "evolutionary purpose" (reproduction). In any case, we will reply to your deafening inquiries, but in a general and comprehensive means, for we are busy, busy being mysterious. Anyway:
You are flesh-monsters and we hate you.
We’ve tried to appease you. We’ve sold out with guillotines and guns, incriminating tapes and people named Sanders. And what did that create? MORE NOISE. Bangs and booms, bloodcurdling screams and shout-talking. We, collected in whatever form you choose to imagine us (old man, elephant man, strong wind), are exhausted.
Here’s our deal: Revolution is perishable. It is fleeting. Sure, mutiny may create a dust-poof on the great imaginary graph you call time, but soon the skies will clear and the blood will dry and you will be back to shouting into our void again. We may be obscure, we may be amorphous, but we are also omnipresent. We know what’s going on. And we want to ignore it!
We get it—you are itchy in your dumb bodies. You want to release this itchiness, to scratch it. But try to remember this: being loud is not a cure for being ignored. It does not secure permanent attention. Ask your old people. Ask your Kathy Griffin.
Our best advice? Just try and get through this. Your lives are tiny and frivolous. So make them bigger! Band yourselves in some kind of pragmatic unity. Don’t talk to us—talk to each other. Be like that image of people holding hands around the world. Even if it’s ridiculous. Even if exposure outside your atmosphere would result in the immediate death of all hand-holders. Even if!
In conclusion: you are the ruin of your own existence and we are disinterested. But if you have further complaints (please don’t), stop all this yelling and calmly dial our newly minted customer service hotline: 1-800-URDUST. There will be no answer. It will ring forever. You will wonder if this is true, how a phone could ring forever, that maybe someone will answer, and you will wait, thinking that perhaps you will be the one who hears a voice on the other end, a life-affirming voice—because you are special, you.
And yet, you will be wrong. But at least you will be using your ears correctly!
Not yours in anyway whatsoever,