Dear Na-Mu,
I estimate it to have been approximately 32 cycles since I was marooned on this planet. I have taken to writing these formatted messages in order to maintain my sanity. Thanks to your psyonic camouflage techniques I am currently hiding among the populace. They are a strange race: mammalian, yet obsessed with acting as though they are not. You can imagine how well that’s working for them. I hypothesize that someone must have attempted to uplift them in the past, but had given up the effort. Whomever they were, I don’t blame them. Attempting to communicate complex ideas to these mammals is like talking to an elderly Raaksull. Anyway, I think I’d just as soon live out the feral life down by the ocean shore. However, these creatures are dealing with some sort of machine fetish, most of their available coastlines are either poisonous, or heavily populated. Well, that’s all for now.
Yours, Men’Fet
Na-Mu,
They call themselves ‘humans.’ This seems to have stemmed from their use of the word ‘humane’ which means to act in a caring or benevolent manner to others. I’ll tell you about the wars they fight amongst themselves later. They claim to govern themselves with a sort of democratically elected ruling body which they call a republic. It’s pretty apparent that most of this is a façade, and in fact they seem to be governed by some kind of techno-bureaucracy. Like with most things, they refuse to notice this. More on that later. I have to say, despite all their efforts, the planet they live on is a veritable paradise. It’s covered in a glorious diversity of all sorts of species. Of course, I’m allergic to most of them, but that doesn’t negate the beauty. I live within a short walk of one of this world’s largest oceans. I love to sit by it on cold days and think of home.
Yours, Men’Fet
Dear Na-Mu,
I am currently residing with two humans. I’m to call them ‘roommates’, though there is no mating room as far as I can tell (not that I would use it with them). I preferred the term co-habitants. They did not react well to this. Apparently, there is a loose sort of comradery associated with roommateship. We have engaged in several contests of food and drink. During one of these bouts, I attempted to initiate rights of ritual combat. They did not appreciate this, and I was chastised with comments such as, “Dude, chill out” and, “Don’t break my shit.” I have since learned that after feasting these humans prefer to engage in conversation of all sorts. Ironically, I have found that this the best time to communicate with them as they at their most receptive. I have even tried to reveal myself to one of them that I have come to trust (yes, I was also drunk at the time). I don’t think I was able to break the “spell” of the psyonic camouflage. It is terribly effective on these humans. They wish to only see what makes them comfortable. I have on multiple occasions watched them wander haplessly past potentially dangerous animals. They are in a strange stage of their evolution. I have to go soon: as ‘roommate’ it is my duty to ‘mow the lawn.’ In this particular human culture, they are obsessed with large flat spaces of closely cut grass. Supposedly these are for their children to play on, yet they cultivate these whether they have children or not. Strange.
All for now, Men’Fet
Na-Mu,
You warned me about the overuse of psyonic camouflage yet I have no other choice it seems. It’s clear to me now that when you do interrupt the normal perceptions of these ‘humane’ creatures; they will resort to the sort of feral violence for which mammalians are renowned. I feel like I’m slowly being absorbed by these creatures and all their petty, soulless, routines. Last night I looked into the mirror and saw myself as one of them. Horrifying. I will increase the frequency of these messages in order to stave off an identity complex.
I miss you terribly.
-Men’Fet
Questing Potato 