Posthuman Blues

I never see my neighbors. A couple guys moved in next door to me several months ago. I saw them in the process of moving their stuff in, but that was it. Sometimes I think I hear a muffled noise coming from my kitchen wall, but for all I know they're long gone. I certainly wouldn't recognize either of them if I saw them.

A week ago two more guys moved into an apartment on my floor. I haven't seen them since and really don't expect to. It's like once you've moved in, you become somehow incorporeal. Maybe all the apartments come pre-tuned to different dimensional frequencies; we could be passing right through each other in the hallway and in the laundry room without realizing it. A building full of quantum semi-persons, a hive of perfectly invisible bees.

I'm finishing up "The Ultimate Alien Agenda." This book deserves the full scorn of debunkers who criticize the flagrant and improper use of hypnotic regression to uncover "alien" memories. The methodology is laughable. The dialogue (between the "abductee" author -- who also thinks he's part-reptile, thanks to interdimensional genetic tinkering -- and his hypnotist) goes domething like this:

"I had weird dreams last night. Or at least I think I did."

"Sounds like aliens might have been involved."

"I think so too!"

"This calls for another regression. Meet me at my house as soon as possible. And remember, the aliens want you to be able to remember!"

And so on.