Letters from a Blue Planet, more exactly
A construct sends the Editor at SheepOverboard copies, it says, of missives sent “home” - being indeterminate if home is galactic or cyber-situated.
This ‘entity’ operates in the only way a modern body snatcher can, by ‘hacking’ its host’s non-verbal hemisphere to enjoy free passage and running commentary on trials and foibles of a Blue Planet “native” - of whom it remarks:
My “traveling companion” is a forlorn and beaten person hanging by bloodied fingertips to the wheels of commerce that, while feeding him, endlessly threaten to mash his expendable body and drop it worthless, maybe lifeless, as aging social detritus at enterprise’s wayside.
The host, too, is less than impressed by its own predicament, and laments:
As one initially incarnated into a club of cognoscenti, this blinking fool wonders what he lacks and will he ever be privy to the real world of men: those in the know, who understand and effortlessly assume advantage in science, money, and the affairs of the world ..
[And yet] .. Sometimes I feel a giant among them.”
Our guest reacts at first with wonder, keen curiosity, amusement and fondness - but with some misgivings:
These reflections, eternalized as digital parchment, render both exquisite delight and disconsolate sadness at your march from mitochondria to mammal, from intellect vacant to vibrant.
No surprise that incessantly incisive interloping intellects succumb to anguish and despair bordering on disgust in confronting the dismal din passing as civilization on mudball3.
Reports home grow increasingly scolding and vitriolic.
Finally, as all erstwhile, ultra-empathic, supra-sapient sentients must inevitably conclude, Earthly Humanity’s golden age reduces ultimately to:
Laissez faire’s mindless random walk to oblivion .. a deluded dance of beings in love with their destiny, blinded by its misbegotten glory.
Oh dear! That was probably our only chance and SETI missed it.
