Pyramids of Maslow (I of II)

It's called "self-actualization," and it comes to one with luck—if one aspires to it, and ones courage measures up...
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You build it like a pyramid, just one level at a time, and once it's been constructed there's a treasure one might find! Atop it one can see for miles, and perceive the grandest things; one could feel very deeply, but could still detach from things. Too, one sees, at last, the cosmos—for what it really was, and writes it down for you and me describing what it does.
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The first tier of this pyramid's a wide-based broad affair. Requirements must dictate what the *real world* bears.
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Food—and plenty of it. Food for health, and day to day. Food that feeds the body, so the mind I need to say. Food that's never ending. Food that's always there, but food that won't distract you from that *upward* path you dare!
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Sans a meal one must perish; without food one's driven down; without food all one thinks about: its taste and smell confound. Sans food there's no cognition; you will think of nothing else, so at last one's too distracted as one tightens at ones belt.
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The next tier of this pyramid's *almost* as wide and harsh. It presupposes shelter, a roof, some clothes — a hearth.
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Ones life requires sanctuary, security—retreat. Refuge and some cover are essential basic needs. Without it one's distracted from that "self-affirming trail." Without it one is dispossessed, sans a lodging—failed !
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Without it one will suffer while his future is refused. Without it one is lost at sea without a hook to use...
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The third tier is relaxing and it gives one time to think. It hinges on security—how closely lies the *brink*.  It's SAFETY that concerns one—no 'gators in the swamp ... as one might work to drain it (?)—be undistracted by that "romp"?
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It's protection from disaster, and defense against disease; it's redress from all the worrying one procures upon ones knees. Not a ramp-up of ones anxiousness, that distraction from the path ... which ruins satisfaction—runs a motor out of gas; in safety one has time to think—to ponder, more, our stars ... to give some thought to flying things, like saucers and cigars!

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The forth tier is a puzzle and maligned—misunderstood. Worshipped and detested, call it lust or something *good*.
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It's tumultuous, a wildcard. It can make you sick as hell. It's like dancing with the stars and hearing ringing—pealing bells.
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Providing for ones basic drive it's woven into love, or pounded into sabers used to strike that spark above. One shall not rise above it ... this tyranny of genes—denied, it sneaks upon you, and shall visit you with *dreams*. A column of ones total drive, it shall not be dismissed. This tier of your potential is the tier that would be *kissed*.
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...But, then one wants "belonging" as a fifth tier finds its place. One wants to feel useful and ... a PART of something graced! And, this is fine and dandy 'till it's used to take your hand and then lead you down some primrose path — mere fodder to be damned.
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One finds belonging to ones SELF a better path, you see — a path so ever upward in a climb to make one free. Yes, free from grievous despotism that takes away ones edge, free of harsh elitists who would have us live THEIR dread.
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...Free from all behaviorists, their programs and their chains, free from all the guilt imposed, the charges, and the blame. Belonging's fine until it's used to cause one further pain. It's, then, a mechanism and a collar on your brain.
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Oh, then there's recognition, and rewards that that entails. A sixth tier may be added, and one reaches, grasps ... and sails! It's here there's contribution. True ACHIEVEMENTS can be made! One provides for an endowment which is loath to dull or fade.
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One's competence unquestioned (?) and esteem needs justly met (?), one looks around for what is left, to pick up, savor—GET! Perhaps one takes the high road and decides, instead, to give ... in a manner self-providing one—with WHAT one can't pretend.
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Perhaps it is the time one has... to hear a different drum. We need unique perspective for the future that must come. Perhaps it is the time achieved to clarify ones mind, to look instead into that light we're *warned* would strike us blind...
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...to be continued.
alienview@roadrunner.com

www.AlienView.net

Maslow's Pyramid. From the golden age of psychology... but still considered today. ...But, still!

Amazing, the stuff that must come to light in that self-actualized brilliance—what it portends. Why even a super powerful gestalt humanity linked efficaciously with computers (and suggested first, imo, by Theodore Sturgeon). Oh, to reach up and touch THAT on its shining face. And that just a facet of our potentiality...

Likely it is the potential of which we cannot yet conceive ... some new thing used in a way as yet unpredictable...

Back at the ranch... A key condition of Maslow's Pyramid seems to be that as the preceding level is consolidated there is time to consider the formulation of the next level. There must be, though, that consolidation. People want to self-actualize, are predisposed to it I suspect. Only, hindered, betrayed, abused, and cheated... most must fail, eh?

What advantage and advancement is pared away when a "sociopathic society" pounds a "square" peg into a "round" hole... or the inverse of that. Whatever is least attractive to the pounder I'm betting — who should really just pound sand.

"[We] coulda' been somebody. [We] could have been contenders... not bums, which is what [we] are..."
 

Restore John Ford.

Specious Finks Remaining

I look into a starry sky with length, and breadth and depth untried, and question —to perchance achieve— what these things ARE to soar and cleave.

They are there, there IS no question ... dismissing any protestation that I'm quite mad or just mistaking. Or worse: that I've been lying ... faking.

Oh, I see them. No great feat! I've proved them to myself, at least! Should I respect what one might think... who ISN'T looking? Specious finks!

...Sucking on our wounded sphere —mere parasites who breed in fear— our "specious finks" would make pronouncements. They'd spout denial and denouncement!

Keeping council with their favorites, pretending they're alone (the flavor!), they would turn their eyes away from that which haunts our skies today. Oh, they're fearful. No mistake. They're throwing on their drags and brakes! See, new ideas threaten those who keep their process indisposed.

They're braking to arrange distraction, provide for our INSANE inaction, but keeps the subject tongue-in-cheek so they can sully errant leaks. ...Remaining is the ink and stone —which they discount with heads of bone.

...Remaining is the anecdotal: weighty, plain and calmly totaled. Remaining is the photographic: ponderous and enigmatic. Remaining, there's the evidence that one perceives with no pretence — no axe to grind, no bill to fill, but has a brain and knows the drill!

And, yes, sometimes our *science* friends —those filled with same to length and brim— prefer their *method* and *assessment* to live *proud* lives of glad detachment ...

*Light* shan't dance and caper FOR them, speaks a language MUCH too foreign, so safe beyond their instruments *it* charms and glitters — ask Jeff Rense. Stanton Friedman makes his case, but most who look will earn disgrace ... Science is not BAD —or friendly— science is a tool, comprende'? It can —too fast— be misused to further evil ends abstruse!

Still others think some ... won't ... conspire to make their short term goals transpire, when survey says it's one in ten would do what they will DO, my friend! If their gain can be attained they'll do the worst — they won't abstain.

I've studied them, they know no bounds, to them "we" are as dumb as hounds; we're shackled to our rules and codes made ethics bound to bear their loads. We're mere *objects*, we're their CATTLE — they keep us buying, taxed, and addled while they write their tickets free and freeload from our pocket, see?

What we lack's the "real deal" that psychos covet, own or steal!

What we lack's a base respect that we have lost for their neglect!

What's we lack's the cop to truth that's been pretended, lost — refused!

What's we lack's that money spent to educate our future, friends!

Still we waffle and get lathered... endure elitist double standards — puling prayers that just PRETEND to hold the high ground we don't win!

Look around, begin to *see*, and sense a new reality! Stealthy wizards find new ways to fleece their flocks and make Y O U pay. They would trade your soul for power; holding court, they build your towers on these special "clouds" they'd claim would keep you *whole* or *safe* and *sane*.

TV Preachers whine and pray from billion dollar pulpits — crazed! They PRETEND their persecution (spewing saccharine elocutions), all the while sowing hatreds they condone (to which we're fated!).

See the *moral* politician, whining goals or mad positions, wearing mantles of correctness he contrives to cloak his excess? He fronts the "jealous un-elected," sells YOUR soul (you're unprotected) ... lives a life of privileged power — cruising restrooms sans his trousers!

YES, the sky's alive with lights (which act most strangely in my sight), and these belie pontification, discredit all the obfuscation, and keep in me alive the ... need ... to ask hard questions, watch, and read.

Finks pretend, "alleged weirdness... warrants special proof's coherence!" Claims that are *incredible* demand that *proof's* infallible (?) ... but then RETREAT becomes the norm! It's cloaks like these are used or worn! The proof's horizon just recedes ahead of fear... we do not need!

No, I see them — that's a fact. They don't conform to aircraft, Jack! See, I'm a flyer too well versed for wishful thinking, last and first!

What I see will fly big circles, glitter like a flash bulb hurtled, then slowing to a crawl they'll glow... to bursts of speed — away they go! I'm out there with my Mother, friend, and I'll not lie, distort ... pretend... that they are there if not — you hear?

I'll watch the skies. You face your fear.

alienview@roadrunner.com

www.AlienView.net

Former Air Force zoomie, stunningly dull nay-sayer, and default klasskurtxian curmudgeon James McGaha currently shines as the public face of an "on-the-run" CSICOPia. His current cautionary mewling, as regards soon to be smashed concentric crystal spheres of cluelessness as brittle as they are dull, was heard on a recent Larry King Live show.

McGaha occupies the post previously held by Dr. [immaterial] Michael Shermer, an oilier, more smooth and practiced representative of a dying meme... who abdicated his position when it became obvious that he could not make his "case" to a public he wants to buy his skep-dick's (sic) books.

Shermer is to McGaha what Pat Riley is to Bobby Knight. Though, IMO, Shermer is much more the regrettably craven sum'bitch because he's smoother, more lettered, and derives a lot of personal comfort from his duplicity.

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Problem is: he can't make his case on this stuff to an audience getting a little more informed every day, and he risks his cottage industry of nay-saying literature, as I said above, to come on TV just to look like a fool — as McGaha seems only too willing to do... gerbil zoomie. He figures to sell his own book, I suppose. I'll lay odds it's by Prometheus Press... waddaya-bet!

...Reasons To Be Thirsty

Art Bell is like Von Daniken with the treble turned up high. I mean that in a good way; he can really make you fly! He drags the light, reluctantly, to places it won't go as some would threaten ridicule — so looking's OUT, you know? But this won't stop Art's conflagration... in your earpiece... at his station. Perspicacious in his way he's interesting, if flawed you'd say.

Yes, the facts aren't checked-out... to the tooth. Conclusions? Premature. Some's half-baked innuendo, or hammered bull manure...

He wanders into fantasy, and he wants to *rock* you first... but where else would we hear it when we have our kind of, righteous, thirst?

There's reason to be thirsty, and one does the best one can. One hears of *stuff* one just won't find in mainstreams, understand?

There's reason to be thirsty, where "decisions without sight" so profoundly disrespect us as we fight our daily fight.

There's reason to be thirsty when one sees without the scales, and our "population problem" is *addressed* by building jails!?!

There's reason to be thirsty when the world makes less sense, and one can't see to either side to come down off a swaying fence!

There's reason to be thirsty as the cosmos flash and glow with all the special portents of the stuff we'd like to know!

The mainstream just won't touch that stuff — keeps its coward's tongue in cheek. It shivers in its ermine boots at the whispers, hints, or leaks.

Foundations yet are crumbling! The money's running scared. The "word" is getting out along with falsehoods they've declared!

The information curve's straight up! The content's harsh and raw! The better brains are getting out to float above it all.

See, "their" news is predigested! So, you pick and choose your own! Perceiving their duplicity you decide we're not alone.

That's why I like Von Daniken, and the higher pitched Art Bell. These are guys who soar and cleave to burst our stifling shells!

Some argue they're responsible for all the kookish fringe. Some argue they have murdered (!) — think of "Heaven's Gate" and cringe!

Some argue they're both charlatans, and in your pocket, friend — while accepting televangelists as honored kith and kin!

Too, Art and Erich think out loud — but know there's something there! These are men (like one John Ford), who've questioned, sought, and dared.

These are men —and women too— who point it out for me and you. These are folks who bring some light we otherwise would find denied!

What has *science* done but hide (?) from stuff we KNOW must haunt our skies? The evidence is startling — clear. *Science* hides a smirking fear.

It tries to quash the anecdotal, all the photographic — totaled; all the history is deterred , and what we're left's the *bag* we learn!

Read forbidden books, my friend, and come to know or comprehend that there's a lot to see besides what some might stifle, lose, or hide. *Science* wallows in its trough and Art Bell pisses folks, yes, off... but I'm indebted to a clan who asks disturbing questions, man!

They stretch our limits, walk the brink, make us ponder, watch and think ... Friend, we NEED those frontiers W I D E if we expect to soar and fly!

I would have my news if pilfered, but true to life, pristine — unfiltered. I'm offended at the pap the mainstream feeds me lap for lap. I'll get my news, one might contend, from Bell and Howe, or Rense, my friend!

These are people with the guts to look beyond, dismissed as nuts (?), but with the access to that *edge* that some deny, dismiss, and hedge!

Bell does not deserve the MUD... that's slung around — such *vicious* crud! McGaha, Shermer — like detractors don't disclose the facts! They're CANCER!

All they do must earn discredit, proclaiming truth because they *said* it, shilling for their own dark ends a status quo that they pretend!

Toe to toe, Art makes HIS case while all the rest project disgrace. Cheap-shot artists whine and pule to demonstrate that they're the fools, but Bell must pay to move this freight as other items fill his plate. "Other items" undersells ... his troubled past does not fare well.

Perhaps it's that which drove him under, or calling Y2K HIS blunder, when (perhaps) it's HIS attention kept the *focus* on that mission?

Non addressed, it was a BASTARD! Did Art help AVERT disaster? Very few proclaimed concern, but from Art Bell, of this, we learned.

Intrepid Art provides a taste of what we might then hear too late. He's exposed the programs, Jack, that haunt our shadows queer and black.

He allows a venue, friend, for different thinking some pretend: is specious nonsense made to pry the dollars from your pocket — lies!

Sure and all it's mostly bogus, but *enough* is brought to focus — justifying an alarm that MIGHT come up; there's greater harm? The harm that's found is secrets used to disrespect —yes— me and you!

So let Art be, and I'll decry, for me, what's worst — but I'LL decide!

alienview@roadrunner.com

www.AlienView.net

Excuse this small hyperbole, but compared to his unethically noisy and criminally unimaginative detractors, Art Bell is a towering shrine to inspired ethics and incisive accuracy. That's right!

He leans further right than I find comfortable... but then hey... compared to me, so does Dennis Kucinich, eh? LOL!

Forgetting my own small concerns, it remains I have been dazzled by Art Bell like few others are able to constructively dazzle, you know?

The reason? Art Bell, a default giant love him or hate him, remains an advocate for his listening audience like few others can, or appear to want to —or fake— frankly. This is with regard to other giants interviewed or points raised, a point other broadcasters and pod-casters —overawed or trying to make points— frequently miss. What's the listener getting out of it; that's where rubber chews road.

That said: Bell is 'establishment' and he has a certain synchronicity with that 'entity' establishment writing a giant's checks, perhaps, eh?

I don't dither, his admonitions have a corporate —status quo-preserving— ring to them. His recriminations of 9/11 wing-nuts, for instance, are illogical and inconsistent imo (Building 7!)... but his sense of memorable radio remains unerring! This is forgetting that what he gets out of a quality guest with seeming ease is providing for the dazzle mentioned earlier.

Though, it's like the great buzz on a trick liquor you know leaves a hangover because of its impurities, I imagine. But still. Dazzled, in ordeal, but dazzled still.

Though, what a dazzlingly beautiful child he's recently produced, am I right? How bad can he be?

Should he come out of retirement? Of course. In his way he's a national treasure. We should avail ourselves of him while we can...

There is but one caution... [g]...

Oh, and on the now legendary "Y2K" debacle, where it once seemed that there was to be a real disaster looming computer-wise in the late 20th century because of old machine code trying to conceptualize a year with three zeros in it... a very real problem.

It is the alarm partly raised by his early attention, I submit, that got enough people working on the problem —early enough— so there wasn't a problem, eh? Or, an admitted stretch, what was "Office Space's" raison d'etre, then?

Art Bell? Say what you will, but he can hold his chin higher than most network anchors or mainstream pundits. I anticipate his return, forgetting his proud disdain for poetry precludes my complete regard.

I've been critical in the past and maintain that same criticality. Though, with regard to what where he is and given who he's talking to, many times... well. You couldn't ask for better than him. Hurry back Mr. Bell.

Oh — and on EVD... say what you want about him too, but he sure got us all looking thoughtfully in new directions, didn't he? I suspect a list of who he inspired into their own quality investigations is impressive, to say the least.

Restore John Ford.

Penetration 1952

See? There WAS the "flap" they'd called it, and jets scrambled — that's a fact. Folks were seeing *something*, and for days — imagine that!

This was early in the fifties, when we loved our Uncle Sam. Before we knew duplicity and began to understand.

Oh, and all around the capital of the nation with the bomb; it's there in print and picture, and it's been there all along. UFO's were flying where the people HAD to look. Folks were clearly rattled — sensibility was shook!

If the universe is grandly huge with "space" and "time" enough... to foment "surface areas," so supporting living stuff... then upon those surface areas, as its happened, life evolves to counteract an entropy our physics says devolves... See, there WAS a penetration of our airspace so profound that many eyes still watch the skies! What baffled now confounds!

This started on July thirteenth, about sixty miles from town. Reports are most unsettling — are amazing; they astound! An airline crew is homeward bound, the weather's CAV-OK, the ceiling was unlimited — they could see for days and days...

...A blue-white ball of brilliant light APPEARED and matched their course! A staff of worried pilots and the stews all saw, of course. Oh, and see astonished passengers as effulgence flashes light! See blue/white brilliance zoom up close — an awesome... stunning sight!

...And, then to watch in wonder as, away, it hurries off — at a thousand miles an hour, and straight UP the pilots clock!

The next day is a mirror — more "highly strange" transpires! A southbound jet's accosted, and imagination's fired!

Six strange craft formation fly! They flip their edges wide and high! These climb in graceful arks that night — breath is stolen by the sight!

Too, with that jet things calmly flew, then blinked on out — away from view! Still, and minus all pretence, they'd not stem reports, too, then! Victims of futility: reporting what in fact they'd seen!

...Interrogations DID ensue. The Air Force pressed, a bit unglued — but men and women saw, yes, THAT ... which radar saw! This caused the flap!

On this date in Newport News, reports came in! "Red saucers [flew]."

They flew a way and manner — strange. Those who saw ... said, "flew [deranged] ." "With speed too high and turns too steep," these craft were seen to soar and leap!

In Hampton roads, July sixteenth, a man is working late, it seems. He takes a break to go outside to cop a smoke, I would surmise. Looking south... a pair of lights (!) would zoom on up to pierce his night! Dodging back in tight U-turns they danced like flies to twist and burn!

The witness is a man who'd know, an engineer of planes we've flown. "These maneuvers? Too extreme — would kill a fragile human being!" Joined by other lights that night the pair are four (!?!), then south they fly!

July eighteen, nineteen — twenty, anomaly occurs aplenty. Orange/red disks fly single file for witnesses bereft of guile. Radar sees them too, you know — a different kind of seeing, though.

Written off as "air inversion," targets seen, agree — concurring! Pilots see what radar sees and still some scoff from thick-skinned knees! Shooting stars, if sans their tails, moving up or down, detailed. "At all times," was the report, "they coincided [in cavort]."

Eyes and radar would agree that what was seen was ...there..., indeed!

On the airbase five confirm what radar sees the eye discerns! Pilots in the airspace see these flying disks are flying free. UFO's — tracked twenty minutes! Ten or more at once, they tell it, flying to the runway hard to scatter like exploding shards!

Moving solemn wraiths of light, direction changes out of sight, many saw them there that night at Andrews airbase — causing fright! Too sharp turns in weird directions, from entities beyond conjecture — quicken my imagination (!) ... Admit it, this is too amazing!

The twenty-sixth came by at last, and by THIS time there're folks aghast! "Nothing's being done," they peal, our "impotence" is plainly real.

Government won't have a clue! Their impulse is to LIE to you. They give it spin and obfuscation, then act just like it never happened!

But jet-planes scrambled out of fright for threatened airspace clothed by *lights*. Our capital was ringed with *craft* which ruled our skies — and that was that!

Interceptors, we thought hot, were left as though they'd simply stopped! ...Pilots fooled when they climbed out to find they hadn't landed — ouch!

Something *took* the sky that night and treated us like boys, no jive!

We were children to what flew these craft we SAW in fifty-two! IS this why we HAVE denied it? That we can't measure up? Deny it?

That we are so "without a clue" as to what this means or what's the truth? Is this WHY we haven't bitched, and ridicule rewards our niche? Is this why there's no respect for people asking questions yet?

This was BIG — it filled the skies, but we had trust that's now denied, and yes that trust has been confused, BETRAYED, accosted, and abused.

There is more than some let by. They're locked into *position's* why.

Some have let the secrets fall where some would keep them — on their call!

All convenient, arbitrary. All self-serving, canted — scary. All contrived to keep from YOU the answers you would HAVE! It's true.

Think — if the news was really bad? They'd mobilize us — make us mad! They would use us in an army they would make (but do no fighting!).

See? Even facile questions would undo their method of controlling you. The Buddhists left to make the sense, as all the rest are "flushed and rinsed."

Power's individual; autonomy is usual; you provide your own belief beholding naught to priest or chief!

This'll scare them — YOU, cut loose, independent ... full of juice. This provokes the bare faced lie that nothing strange flew Truman's skies. This was it, then, bland indifference — disregard for your deliverance.

alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net

You, reader!

1952 — a big year, perhaps the biggest, and at the beginning of that which was kindled in this writer as it happens! 1952 — A penetration of national sensibility so profound that it is an assault too uncomfortable to remember by a slack-jawed and inadequate leadership then and sense. More James MacDonald! Less Edward Condon!

Additionally, it is a leadership not up to the task of shouldering the responsibility necessary to advance us into ubiquitous future. Rather, hold us to the back with duplicitous and abusing religiosities succoring the adipose few at the expense of the hapless many — that few insistent upon an intellectual three-field approach to culture, when an intellectual advanced-hydroponics is attainable and called for!

Hey, I've read the harder something's squeezed, the more slips through the fingers, eh? I've personal experience with same and also that what's hammered down in one spot only pops up, meaner, somewhere else. Another approach is indicated. Nay, demanded!

Running with this ball lateraled to us in 1952 would have led to a goal, I feel, winning the game early by providing access to a much larger box of tools, the power abundant to energize them, and the progressive philosophy to make efficacious use of them. We fumbled that ball, and now only ape the monkey prosecuting carnal knowledge of same. Funny when not humiliating, eh?

Restore John Ford