Sunday, November 30, 2008

...Wants To Know...


...Science is a blessing if one 'really' follows data, and one cops to implication's larger views. If you know a trust for persons who will tell you what they saw (?) though they, still and all, have quite a bit to lose?
Folks like Jimmy Carter spring to mind for clearer reference, or Farrakhan convicted in a rage; why my brother and his wife have equal weight and they're more "real"—call it "anecdotal evidence"... be brave.
See, I've boiled all the video that I've seen to twenty minutes—give or take unsettling seconds to and fro—and what there is remaining is beyond the strangest thing, and a 'teaser' for the one who "wants to know."
Too, forgetting all that video, I've chanced to watch the sky, and I've seen peculiar lights that don't make sense. The "mainstream" won't go near it, what's peculiar is "off limits." I must jump (no apprehension) from the "fence."
See... I can't escape the shadows that extend from UFOs, as I can't evade the questions they propose. I can't avoid the lessons of the anciently recorded—as what they knew, and when they knew it, is disclosed.
They wrote it pretty plainly, friend, all the planets we now know! They left it in their records, stones, and seals. Why, they named the belt of asteroids splitting Jupiter from Mars as the "bracelet for its star"—the real deal!
Neptune and Uranus were identified as "twins," plus the greenness, or the blueness of their hues. It's right there in the record that is treated as mere myth though it drips with all these references and clues...
...And this is just BEGINNING the historical account... ...of a story that just ...will not... go away! Written in its annals are descriptions of the puzzle that—if put together right—would seize the day!
They're woven in our culture! Why, they're selling what we buy! Though, we do not know the *purpose* they suggest. It's rather like we're "proctored" with assessments, checks, and rules, so I wonder how we're doing on their "test"...
One might as well conduct themselves with THIS attitude employed: an admission that they're here, and—yes!—quite close! Why not? If they're "somewhere," as admitted—and the mainstream says it's so?—then why not up a Klassist's bubbling nose?
The future yawns before us like the matchless depth of space, and the end is not for us, as yet... to see. The potential for success as huge as glaring/gloating failure is a treasure that is there for you and me!
Some will whistle up excuses how they "knew it all along"—others wallow in their terror of defeat. Some will take a deep breath and adapt to "what it is"—quickly changing if they're thinking on their feet!
That's the mood to change the world as "grasp" approaches "reach." A hopeful contemplation — optimistic? Acceleration's obvious with its stunning leaps and bounds... shall not be "confined" or "pessimistic."
It's you has been convinced, and "rightly so," by your admission... the pretense "there's no evidence" to find? You assume fidelity from those distantly in charge... ...those who lie and cheat and steal... ...chump us blind?
You presume them forthright, our "elitist jealous lords," with the interest of the masses near their heart? Then you demand from shadows what precludes a common sense, and few'd agree that's right or true or smart!

Ten thousand years ago we knew about Neptune and Uranus, planets just not possible to see with the naked eye.
We knew of the asteroid belt, too.
If ever there was a thing to make you go "hmmm," eh?

Sunday, November 23, 2008

...The Lid Is On!

Admitting I'm no prophet, or that brilliance isn't mine, I have few facts, and I'm re-miss in knowledge I should find. Smarter motes then me abound, as thick as fleas or flies, and battles with their *phacts* could leave me hammered in your eyes.
...But then they make assumptions so their *blacks* and *whites* make sense. Their arguments get heavy—much encumbered and entrenched. Too, loath to leave the prominence that has framed their "reputation," these make prevarication or a senseless refutation!
Then we have them where I've found them, and we see their posits smell. These stumble in their pitch black room—refuse that they're unwell... ...Refusing that they won't know more, or shake their fists at God, these stand at last, complete—revealed! The undisputed knob.
You say "not so," but they're not looking! Their eyes are on the ground! They cling to their mean insular; they push away profound! They're satisfied with white-bread, though it rots them from within! They are trembling in their countenance—uneasy in their skin.
You'd say glad "beads" incessantly in a litany construed to take your mind from that which makes the hell that you go through. So, pummeled by your nameless fear you wallow shameful ethics... made by you to hide your fear—destroying our aesthetics!
Cut and slashed, you cling to hope (or faith which was untested)... ...Your arguments miasma, they're discredited and bested. Confusions in your world view are the nightmares in your dreams; you look around and see the mess—perceive you're not so clean...
...Your wounds now ooze an ichor 'cause you claim that they're not there, and might never let clean air to them, or let them heal fair. Shambling in this cyberspace like zombies, living dead; STILL you wish, exclusively, the dullest, whitest bread!
The lid is on, on GOD knows what! Can't you feel it pressing down? Our spirit soars for "reach" and "grasp," but we're mired to the ground! We fight old wars that long ago reversed what's right or wrong, and now elbow good positions to pretend a *righteous* song.
The lid is on, on God KNOWS what! You can hear it in the air; the whispers that there's life on Mars ... of a type that's undeclared! Our permeated media is filled up to the brim with alien "abductions," "UFO's" and "black clad men"!
The lid is on, on god knows WHAT! It's in the planes we build. Aurora just the tip of monstrous icebergs crammed, and filled! What's the Hubble really seen? What HAS it found out there, and why are we, then, kept from truth... existing undeclared?
The lid is on, ON god knows what. You keep up your distractions. All evidence inconclusive, even yours with your detractions.
Randi said, ironically, "There are those one shan't convince with a monumental evidence that is rich, and full, and dense. A believer's a believer and will not relate to facts that are counter to a fond belief — they're settled on that track."
I cover tiny smiles with the fingers of one hand, thinking, that's an apt description of the skepti-bunky's stand!
It just may be assumptions made, indeed, are so invalid. ...Assuming *they're* forthcoming? Then be disappointed, Alice!
Assume the *News* plays heads up ball, and check into a home, dementia's consumed you, and you're senile to the bone. Assume that your *Religion* has your interests at its heart, and be doomed to disappointment as you play your backward part. Assume an honest *Government*, or an efficacious *School*, and become the spineless charlatan, hapless loser, or a fool!

Maybe all three...

Yeah — well... you get to do that in a poem. Splash the right color paint around where paint's prohibited, see where it sticks, and watch who gets the angriest or becomes the most irritated in the application of same. That self-same irritation, I've discovered, is proportionate to how worried the reader is regarding where, or how much of that paint actually sticks, and to whom.  Read:  how right you where

Read on...

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Byronic Knights

We are intrepid Knights locked in struggle, my friend. Involved (to our necks) in anomalous trends, we fight the good fight and we fight without end for the credence deserved by this thing that we're in.

Dismissed with the "fringer," our battle uphill, the mainstream's avoidance a sad, bitter pill, we strain and we struggle for reason's fair share; we want some good answers; we question; we dare!

Something's occurring!  It's straining credulity! Something's occurring! To pretend is futility! Conditions are global; it happens, remember, to folks too disparate to fake it—trans-gender! I know some myself. Honest folk, most convincing... ...reporting they're TAKEN and TIME has gone *missing*.

These possess clarity; their heads are still level. Were it me I should be, I'd think, hammered and beveled. ...But for all of the strangeness infecting their lives, some live to make use of its mind blowing strife.

They turn it their way and attempt to be positive; their vision is clearer, so they dare interrogatives! They're driven, industrious, and charming when able. They know what they want—They're industrious, capable ... not strident, but ardent to some serious stitches. To the crass opposition—they are brash sons of bitches!

How do these warrant their furious pace? How do they run, like they do, their mad race? How do they keep their composure refined in the face of digressions from purpose they find?

I, too, can get angry at those whom I love; I can lash out and rage if a push comes to shove. I can hurt feelings... to further the ends... we've perceived in a vision glad fate must portend! I can lose tolerance! I can lose sight of a good contribution to make to this fight!

...But am I forgetting the folks on my team ... the ones standing by me through nightmare and dream?

We fight draining battles without a reward. You'd think that the gods would extend some accord. You'd think we'd get funding for proper approaches—eschew new-age "craziness," confusers, or hoaxers.

A lot like John Ford (?), we go on like the bunny, but hopefully stay out of jail ... not funny. This gives me concern for our strength and intensity, and if we succumb to... our "burn-out" propensity! We are too valuable, our labor too dear to fail in this time where some truth may be near.

I hope we're just resting, I hope we take stock—I hope we are open to other's strange thoughts. We know we're not perfect; we've got half a brain! I'm hoping we're here, then, to hear the refrain.

I shudder to think of our energy lost. I shudder to think of that terrible cost! I'm dreading the fracture I'm sure this would make in the work, the crusade, and to all that's at stake!

Noble dark knights, the tormented Byronic ... accosted, assailed, by the clueless moronic. This — knowing we suffer, at last, disrespect. We *know* their approaches projected are wet.

We know that our vision is clear if far out and close to some center is what it's about. ...I offer support of the best moral kind; as one has her own quest, it is clear I have mine.

We mirror a passion! We feel a creed. I know what _I_ need when I soar and I cleave! _I_ am enraged at the churlish complacent; _I_ find it hard, friend, to suffer a fool. _I_ am incensed that we're treated like mushrooms, and broken on purpose like mistreated tools!


How does any ONE of us keep it together, remembering that some highly strange stuff likely happens to any one of us? ...And the point is, is that as it does...we do. It's what we do...

No, the justifications for our ignorance have some other design. Thank God for the courage of the efficacious talented—the under appreciated dwindling few, we listen for those who truly devote themselves to the big paradigm changing questions, are able to look infinity unflinchingly in the eye... and still have the courage to question that anomalous glare.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Shortage, Dearth, And Lack.

Wilbert Smith has pointed out, we've just a bug's insentience; our senses crawl the lowest limb... presume that tree's extension.

What purpose then this poetry that I might write to you, but saying what cannot be said... except in rhyme, it's true... Why, consider Nostradamus, and the things that he'd write down; if writ in prose these anecdotes would burn him to the ground. See, written into song or verse words stay a torch provided, and people might take pause instead... before they got incited.

Now those who think they 'know' me... or suspect I'm insincere? You decide I'm too intense... too strident flouting 'fear'? Well — a pox on trepidation, folks, there's an outrage to consider; we're played for fools; we've been betrayed; cognition's near forbidden!

Blogs aplenty tender thoughts of retro-think implosion. They provoke craptastrophe... profess the new erosion. They re-revision history or smear fresh thinking proffered, they've argued 'nits' and 'throwaways' to make their terror prosper.

'He' mewls his smears and charges; 'she' snickers, sneers, and smirks... these are the specious clueless... mere bionic cyber-jerks. They prosecute pathetic plans to keep us in their box, butwe're outside their cowardice, we've picked their facile locks!

See, these imply they're scholars, or persons in the know. These provoke the anger that we've lately come to show. These argue their inanities and re-dredge misinformation that's well dismissed as errant crap with all accreditation.

These use their erudition to preclude ones living wage. These assassinate the characters of persons they 'debate'. They scare the sponsors they offend, pump fat egos without end, and make themselves the center piecefor pompous thinking's glad disease.

What provokes their sad hysteria? Why... Space, and Time, and Surface Area! Works of Shakespeare are produced by monkeys banging keyboards used. There is 'room' for all which makes their "finest work" ...a sad disgrace.

They are not the "center jewel"; it's this that makes them lose their cool. These contrive a 'singularity', to themselves! Ribald hilarity! Birds and bolides... falling boosters? If this is all... then all are losers!

...These mere posers, non-propitious, and fearful of that "grand seditious" ...saying "beads" to calm their fear while whistling passed their graveyard bier. These hate the future bearing down, protest too much that I'm the clown, or label me a "crazy loon"... or a "danger" to my fellows? Swoon!

Fear the poet? Ain't that strange? Fear the wordsmith "all deranged..." ...Fear he's so far up your nose his boot heels scrub your top lip, Bro! Fear sincerity, off its knees and shaking off your 'shackles', please. You contrive to fill your 'plate' and that's an action of distaste.

Let's talk about the petty jibes of errant drones who must connive... to keep their stocks and bonds in place (?) so hold at bay profound disgrace! See them caper and conspire... around their black and oily fire... then burning books thought inconvenient as these expose their faux-achievement.

Watch them argue without end, their denial and contrived pretence. Watch them bring up, yet again, mal-issues well divested, friend. Watch them pole-vault tick-turds placed as errant straw-filled men, replaced... ...they'd decry when used on them; they'll whine that there's no "fair play" then!

These are the worst; I must contend; these, not colleague or collegiate friend. Ideologues are what abound, conflicted bastards non-profound. It's these who sell a failing stock... or toil to turn back Bassett's clock! These won't ask the harder question; they just "deny" my suggestion.

Now all I've ever been is service. To family, nation... no disservice. I have done the hard jobs friend, and done them well... I don't pretend. Others took a different path and served themselves... you do the math... Maybe these won't be he the best to label me in this contest... or judge upon more valid others lest they're judged and them that's smothered.

I would fight the good fight, folks, it's all I've ever known, no jokes. Something's in the skies above that 'they' ...deny... come push to shove! Know them by their negativity; know them by their cant's proclivity; know them by their lack of that which drives too few to where it's at!

Know them by their fruit, at last. Know them as the spawn of Klass. Know this 'new' guard, fresh-evolved, to keep the status quo involved. These are not progressive men much interested in truth, take ten! These are women not involved with truth, at any cost, resolved. These are persons you don't know who hide from that which flies and glows... persons with their heads shoved, blind, in places where the sun won't shine!

Point your fingers, please, at me... to feel three gouge back at 'thee'. Ignominy, once looming, lingers, but I account for all my fingers. I'm sincere to your portentous, curious to your conflicted, creative to your constipated, attentive to your... too inflated!

I'm a human unrelated to anything that these have stated, and I don't take betrayal well for friends of mine provoked to yell. So, I'm attentive to your actions, curious in your distractions, creative as regards retorts... in song and verse and image... sport!

See, these on Wilbert's "lowest knee" would intimate the whole damn tree. Wilbert Smith is right again... and it won't be the last time... 'friends'. There is more to Earth and heaven than these admit or know, times seven!

They're the quislings of our breed, they're consumed with meager needs. These are needs to smirk and preen or prosecute their errant mean. They lack courage, grace and style; these are not our socio-philes. These contrive to take us back... to match their shortage, dearth, and lack.

Sunday, November 02, 2008

Cultures Failed

What's gone around has come around that circle many times, still, some are smeared as felons so the felon's not defined. Too, where "newborns" gnaw at ankles of the aged, dulling teeth, they mewl their dreary questions like the "first" time's re-released.

These think they have their "answers" so they're bellicose and smirking but the ground must shift beneath them... lack of manners isn't working!

These new-guys use a saber of impatience, I suspect. They have that youthful vigor of the outraged and perplexed. They've resolved hypocrisies, outlined in decades past, but think them new, re-prosecute... to run right out of gas.

Intransigent and churlish, they would persecute respect, so then like a child's expected? Trade their favor for neglect.

But they've "purpose," unremitting, that pretends to see them through, if righteous in their outrage (which conflicts their point of view). They are betrayed and shortchanged, but... their aim has gone awry. It's the engines of their culture they should discount and decry.

The 'old' guys, then, new scapegoats for the 'young' guy's dearth of depth... these fight anew old battles... when those battles are the past.

Example? Rudiak's "demented" for construction and detail. He is, in fact, faux criticized... for covering subjects well! His "Ramey stuff" is smoking gun! Printy's powder's wet, 'smart lawyers' wade assumptive-ness... to cross a line? You bet.

The quandary of Dave's hecklers is their failure to provide a "counter golf-swing" good enough to contradict their lie.

Hall's an ancient hard-nose? It remains he wrote the book. He's chronicled, and early, a long, hard... hoary look. He can be forgiven, then, impatience some deride as they prosecute their ignorance from the shoulders he'd provide.

He's earned in spades the accolades that he still does without... He is "the old man down the road" who "Creedence" sang about.

Clark's a "snob elitist" and an "ET plutocrat"? There's precious little value in assessing such as that. Like those preceding indicate (in decades of real time), of that there is small evidence, bad reason, and no rhyme.

An honored man won't suffer fools who beg to be corrected, then fix upon 'inconsequence' to keep their ass projected...


...Now, stand with me in desert's dark sans city-light or shine. The air is cold and dry and stark... a moment froze in time. The star field is... immense... out there, a billion points of light... bedazzling us with brilliance born from reds and blues turned bright.

There is no cloud or moon to hide this grandeur... halting breath... it is the bald antithesis of darkness... even death...

A million, million points of white all glitter in your view. They symbolize an endless time... producing me and you. They are the pressure cooker of the matter that we mind, an endless chain of living things considers what it finds.

On Earth produced are 'people'... some are humans that we know. Too, crows and whales and wolves and bees... much loved by us? Well, no.

...Now pick one star, and any star. Pick one from all the millions! The 'space' that star must mask from view... is a trifling, tiny smidgeon. Though, expand that tiny aperture; blow it up all huge: a photograph to stop your heart - a change for all your views!

See, it's not mere stars you're seeing as the picture fills your eyes. It's billions of new galaxies as stars to fill that sky!

Now tell me we're alone in this, or the "state of God's proud art." That we bejewel creation's crown, or light a sad Earth's fart? It's clear we're pre-pubescent - if passed from wombs at all! Prolonging immaturity insures our crippling fall.

It's clear in layered evidence we're pompous - insincere... though UFOs remain extant and are our new frontier!

They are the best 'sedition' if you think on it at all. That's why the 'man' deplores them plying hurdle, screen, and stall. It's why we have an "info void" well larded by the smirks of skeptibunky charlatans and other funded jerks.

See, Culture's in denial... it's why we are regressing... we suffer culture's failing... Our culture is distressing.

Is it not undeniable that Culture is no friend to the individual where the individual has ever been the redeemer of same?