Loosh Harvester
I am a being living on the moon.
I busy myself harvesting the loosh
that’s emanating from the planet earth,
of its supply there never is a dearth.
What does the organ of my sight perceive?
Not what you see as ordinary light,
but how your anger, shame, and jealousy,
self-pity, and your many senseless fears,
it’s those vibrations that it registers.
To emanations of the sun, I’m blind.
I never have observed its shining light.
My sun, the earth, how it appears to me?
A blazing star that’s all engulfed in flames.
You have your right to negativity,
to all emotions correspondingly.
Expressing them is what you can’t avoid.
Repress them and they only, you, destroy.
To process them will prove impossible.
For them you cannot be held culpable.
I serve the traugoautoegocrat.
