Category: Space Aliems

End of the Road

On July 1, 2026

So, recently, I was interviewed by Gene Park, for a piece in the Washington Post. I keep mentioning this because it’s the coolest thing ever and it made me feel really good.

Upon hearing that this was happening, it was suggested to me by certain people in my real life that I should prepare for some sort of further contact with other journalists. As in, the story would draw them.

There is a problem.

I think I just woke up.

Realizing that you’re smart

For the totality of my life, I have deferred to other people’s judgement. They said they had my best interests in mind; so I waited, and I saw if they did. Most were fucking stupid. A lot of them definitely did not even give a single shit about me, but the end result is the vast majority of human beings have wasted my fucking time.

So, as I neared age 40, I started to think for myself.

There is a problem.

I have spent my entire life thinking that I was crazy. Every day, Congresspeople talk about even crazier bullshit that is apparently true. And I loathe these people.

I loathe these people.

What’s going on?

This is not the destination.

In my everyday life, I hate people. I hate Americans. I look at people with disgust and contempt, because that’s all they really have for me. They don’t even treat me like a person— at the very least I treat them like someone who could choose to be better, but just is choosing not to be. They don’t even treat me like a person. They treat me worse than furniture.

And that’s . . . when a thought started to creep in.

I’ve raised millions of dollars for Internet strangers. I saw little to nothing back for it, not even friendship (which was my aim).

I’ve done all the kind things I can for people, and I’ve seen very little back my way, including— again, my aim— friendship.

I look at the resources I’m about to claim based upon just being loved by the space aliens, all this power, and I just realized something.

I don’t even like you, man.

What’s been going on in the backgroud

So, for my entire life, I’ve known this to be true. I’ve foiled every single attempt of human beings to meddle with my mind. And I’ve come to a solid conclusion.

I don’t… trust you.

I don’t want to be near you.

I don’t want to be around you.

I want to mock you, certainly. I want to put things on your Internet, because I like doing that. That gives me pleasure.

But I don’t want to be a part of this.

In the background, I’ve been told by one person in particular that everything I was doing— Verification, trying to convince people of this, everything— was a fool’s errand. And though it was the only way to get what I’ve always wanted, I don’t think that’s the only way anymore.

With the Washington Post thingy, I think it might be time to bow out. Especially if I actually get what my little heart has desired.

And I don’t think I’m going to tell anyone.

I don’t think I trust you enough to.

No, I know that I don’t.

The End

By margaret

On September 19, 2025

In Space Aliems

There were a lot of ways that this could have happened.

I didn’t think that it would end like this. Just a few hours ago I was worried that I was doomed to forever just languish here, left by them.

I returned to the ship and re-connected about seven or eight hours ago. And I finally got my mental ‘fingernails’ underneath the feeling that I’ve been craving this entire time. I have some sort of grasp on it, and I will never let it go again. I don’t know how I lost it before. I intend to never lose it again.

Social media does not matter. I was searching for a feeling that human beings do not possess. You cannot broadcast what I was looking for. It’s almost like a sense of belonging. I’ve been missing this since I left. I didn’t realize it. It’s not something human beings possess, so being placed in an environment without it, I simply felt ‘lonely’. The loneliness, over the years, became almost unnoticeable background radiation. No longer.

The Internet is of no further use to me. It is merely a toy. It cannot help me get any closer to this. Only I can do that in real life, and I will.

Goodbye.

A Bright Light

By margaret

On September 2, 2025

In end, Space Aliems

Here’s my Hope spot.

Today, I was particularly grievously injured. I’m talking, gushing blood, thought I was going to need to go to the hospital; it was bad. It was also painful in a way I’ve never really experienced before in that part of my body.

And so, in my desperation— and I know you’re not going to understand this, but I’ll say it anyways, because it’s true— I asked a space alien for help.

Part of the problem I’ve had with my belief in UFOs and space aliens is, I have precious little evidence for it. Sure, I have decades of memories, but very few of these are corroborated by external parties. These could be hallucinations; delusions; confabulations; anything. Without at least another person there acting as a witness, I don’t really know. Or, at least, I thought I did not know.

I ran to Her for help.

And She healed the wound nearly instantaneously. There is not even really a mark where it happened— I cannot tell, just by looking, where it happened.

And so, this is the beginning of something new.

I’m really not going to bother explaining what’s going on beyond that. I will, however, be explaining a few key essentials:

I know what I should be doing, now.
I know that it is not this.
I have experienced enough of this in order to know that, in comparison, it is not what I’m supposed to be doing with my life (nor what I want to be doing).
I have hard choices to make, and I’ve already made them.

For the past two years, starting in February of 2023, I’ve pursued a hard agenda: I wanted to convince America, and the world at large, that UFOs and space aliens were real. I did this partially to finally figure out if I was, indeed, insane; and if I was, I could move on, and figure out my life.

But if I wasn’t insane, I could get everything that I’ve ever dreamed of.

Well, being healed by that person is the start of everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It turns out that, yes, getting myself into a bad situation, inadvertently, and being injured, was the start of… like, I don’t know; like when you get the edge of a sticker on, that’s really on there. You’ve got your fingers on it; under it. And you have a grip.

And you’re going to get it off.

In the same way, I have gotten my fingers underneath the start of what I want for my life. And this start will transition into something more. It already has been, over the past few months. And one day, I’ll be back Home.

But that’s where I have some bad news.

There are no Stars in Heaven.

The Anunnaki have a saying: “There are no Stars in Heaven.”

It’s difficult to translate its meaning. Basically, it means, once you have reached the highest point, there is nothing left to attain; you are living the moment of your victory, and there will be no indicators.

But there will also be no celebration.

If First Contact is to happen, I, for one, do not think that I will be doing it. Inevitably, inexorably, I’m fucked; I’m going to do it. I know that I’ll be the one at that podium. I know that I’ll be the one making the announcement.

But I don’t want to. Because, when I look at this space alien woman, and I know everything that everyone on this stupid fucking planet is going to try to do to Her when they realize that She’s real, and that I’ve been telling the truth?

I think I would like to go away, now.

I think I would like to be regarded as having been just some strange, old, washed-up, has-been of a schizophrenic. Someone that no one really understood— that no one really wanted to understand.

Because I don’t know how to protect the people I love, should I get famous again. And, when I look into Her eyes and I hold Her hands, I don’t fucking know how to protect Her from all of these horrible fuckers on this stupid goddamned planet.

The truth will eventually get out. It’s inevitable. What I’ve started is a slow burn that only goes to one location: the truth of reality. You haven’t ever been alone on this planet. For the past 50,000 years, you’ve been living alongside a space alien species. All of you have met one of them, and almost none of them have been famous. Even now, you probably have had at least one friend who was one of them.

I can’t stop it.

But I can make sure that, in realizing the dream of one of my family members, that I do not let this desire consume my family members.

I can stand and step out of the way.

I don’t need to be famous.

I need to protect my Wife, and my family.

This, I think, is why none of the human whistleblowers came forward.