An Interview with a real alien

By Barclay Sinclair

This book is about a man who discovers a real grey alien in his garage, of all places.

Strangely, the man and the alien become friends.

In this book, Barclay Sinclair interviews his alien chum, and asks him all sorts of questions.

Learn the viewpoints of a real life alien grey- how they view our planet, where they come from and more.

An interview with a real alien is as funny as it is scary- don't say you haven't been warned.

This book is one of a kind amongst all other alien books. You get to read responses from a living Extra-terrestrial,

biological entity EBE. A must for all alien fans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barclay Sinclair
• Release date: Oct 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201864316

Book preview

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE STARVING PEOPLE OF AFRICA.

I WISH I COULD FEED YOU ALL.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION. PAGE 4.

HOW? PAGE 6.

SCRAMBLED. PAGE 16.

LIFE. PAGE 19.

WHY? PAGE 28.

HUMANS. PAGE 34.

TWO FRIENDS TALKING. PAGE 45.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? PAGE 56.

ABOUT MALVOON & MORE. PAGE 64.

ALIENS, SPIRITS AND GENERAL CHAT. PAGE 74.

WHAT HAPPENS? PAGE 82.

PICTURES. PAGE 95.

THANK YOU.

INTRODUCTION.

In this book is a real interview with an alien. The alien in question is called Malvoon, but I have no idea how you would write that in his language. I call Malvoon him sometimes, as I just find it easier to describe my alien chum.

This interview is not trying to dumb down or offend any existing aliens from other dimensions. To be honest, whether people believe in Malvoon or not doesn’t matter to me. What I know to be true is what is written in this book.

I will be writing down from interviews with Malvoon, and also shall be dividing chapters into topics. You must appreciate that Malvoon is not human, and so what I have written is neither to scare nor to offend. I believe in the truth, as if it’s a shining light that blinds all those who prefer to dwell in darkness of their own evil doings.

I hope you enjoy this book. You may be wondering, why the heck am I writing an alien interview when I could be killed for such disclosure? Well, I am protected by the aliens themselves, and am too valuable to them to be harmed. I shall be writing the answers to some very strange goings on and questions in this book.

Please note that this book is not the answer from all aliens, as there are thousands of different races, dimensions and more, all around us, and overlapping our own dimension as I write this. All that is needed is an open mind when reading this book. If you believe this book to be true, great, you’re a winner. If you believe the book to be bullshit, well, that’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it.

Thank you for buying this book, and have a great life.

Barclay Sinclair.

HOW?

As you know, my name is Barclay Sinclair. I would love to write all kinds of shit concerning my natural psychic ability and how I know the secrets of the universe. But in reality, I’m just a poor writer with fucking nothing going great. The Covid virus forced me to give up my job to protect my family, and I have barely left the house in almost two years- talk about lame! In reality, I never had much of a life anyway, so like any man with any kind of intelligence, I damn well made the best of everything I had.

I am only a human being. I am not rich. I am not famous. People who used to be my friends would rather stab you than say hello to you, and they’re all terrified of me. I am not some criminal bastard who would sell his own mum for a rock of crack- in fact, I never fancied being an actor, despite its lucrative potential.

I am a writer, but only because I was a massive reader to begin with. I could probably write until my life ended. I used to read so much, I sometimes could barely remember what I had just read. I would sometimes skive college and go into the library! You might think- what is the point of skiving college and going to the library? Well, even though I was only a teen, I liked the quiet and not being bothered by people. I would wake up and smoke a shit load of weed, then float to college and if I couldn’t take it, I would spend a few hours in the library instead, soaking up the deafening quiet- as if it’s pure life energy at its best. Sometimes I would just sit there like a spud and listen to music on my stereo, and just watch people walking softly around. We didn’t have the internet in my time, nowadays I would just stay at home and read anything- after all, we can all just download anything and read it, can’t we?

The point I am trying to make is that I had this thirst for knowledge, but most of it was rubbish, in one ear and out the other. I was hyper-intelligent, and instantly knew that most subjects at school were a waste of fucking time, but what is the point in telling a teacher that- they already know! The only things that matter in this world are money, who owns what property, and that’s about it. I believe if people stopped pretending that anyone gives a fuck about them and what they think all the time, our human race would be 3000 years more advanced, technologically speaking. Nobody hates any school more than the teachers who work there- trust me.

I had this thirst for knowledge, but nothing could quite hit the spot. The experiments of school sciences were merely demonstrating things were possible- science is only concerned with what can be quantified, measured and established as a fact. I dabbled with the social sciences, and could have been the best psychologist in the world, but I despaired at the realisation that the science of the mind is indeed the science of popularly believed perceptions of how our minds work. If I can make up any hypothesis, no matter how deranged and silly, and justify it in clever language, maybe tie in some links with quotes from other books, I am all of a sudden, an eminent psychologist. I couldn’t justify the huge gap between what the truth behind human psychology may be, and what is really going on. I went from getting straight A grades to not bothering to attend, as if the subject had become an insult to me, as they all did, inevitably. You must understand that despite being accepted into Mensa at 13, I never bothered as hard as possible with any subject, as any super-intelligent kid can see the futility of such endeavours before the end of Primary school. But still, I would have been proud of all those A grades with multiple stars at the end, had I not been so monumentally fucked up on weed all the time; I’m amazed I never died of a heart attack at 17 or something, as a result of ridiculous smoke inhalation.

It was as if I went back in time to when I was 6 years old, and stayed there, and went from 6 years old until the present day, again. As though I had already lived my entire life, but no premonitions or anything- I just went back in time, but into my own body, and stayed there. I liked being on my own with all the wonderful toys I had, and not giving a damn whether the world burned in hell, as long as me and my family were fine. I knew I was never a terrorist,