Justification

Critical Prose & Poetic Commentary regarding UFOs and their astonishing ancillaries, consciousness & conspiracy, plus a PROUD sufferer of orthorexia nervosa since 2005!

Sunday, March 08, 2026

Errant Clocks...


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I'm logging in a sky-watch 
for the "stuff" one finds up there;
I won't pretend what I have found—
report what isn't there! 
Too, I don't mean to scare you 
or detract from your "beliefs," 
but we're beset by bastards, friends... 
with the ethics of disease.
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See, it's "winners" write the history 
clearly missing all its "thorns." 
Why, it's how they've kept posterity 
on the UFOs suborned. 
It's how they've lied to spare themselves
it's why we don't look up...
its why we ask no questions 
of these men we knowcorrupt.
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This is why "they" can ignore us. 
This is how we're so insane. 
It's WHY we trod the paths we take—
or shriek our "shrill refrains"!
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We bemoan that cognitive dissonance
how we think when "up" turns "down." 
How to "justify" what doesn't fit; 
turning "crap" to sparkling "crowns." 
...Can't keep it up for very long
the spirit won't abide. 
One makes oneself irrelevant,  
and this makes one "sick" inside!
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See? Still those "lights" traverse our skies, 
and strangeness DOES abound! 
Their speed is slow and variable
Their appearance MOST profound
...And yes, they "flash" and "tumble," 
and they "vanish" to "reappear." 
They cannot be mere pelicans—
too peculiar, odd, and queer! 
...And I mean that in a good way, 
as produced by massive stars? 
We've an infinite "diversity" 
barely trifled with so far!
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The "Christers" call them "demon's spawn," 
of "he who dwells below." 
They haven't copped to Enki...
or Enlil, don't you know... 
See, they've assigned their errant histories 
to mere labels, understand?. 
So, moving "sway" to human hands 
but from those Gods... as planned!
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Yeah, it's all just razzle-dazzle 
of a *faith* that they'd abuse... 
with Gods to "love" and "hate" folks, 
so the flock will stay confused!
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Now "sceptics" are a valued lot, 
but "bunkies" stink with fear! 
They've quite a lot *invested
in a *future* they'd hold dear. 
"...The crown of all creation, 
we're alone..." these would maintain, 
and "reports of flying saucers 
come from crazy—misled—brains.
They're like an errant clock 
which measures time, one would presume, 
as a chronicle of wishes 
for a world-view they'd "consume"!
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"Talkers" bury tongues in cheeks 
and sneer up ruffled sleeves. 
They front for corporate interests 
who would do just what they please! 
They've sold their souls to Mammon, see, 
would dissemble on the truth, 
so they're the part and parcel 
of "control" in disrepute!
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They're slick and coiffed, articulate, 
and too well dressed it seems. 
...And THESE maintain the status quo 
composed of shallow dreams?
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It's true the "colored lights" portend, 
for them, a non-event! 
Yet, Folks report real UFOs... 
take pictures they'd present! 
We see them all across the world; 
we see they've been recorded... 
...in the paintings of the masters 
who'd reveal, then, what's reported!
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We see them in the photographs—
too old to have been faked! 
We read them in the written word 
the sages wrote for fate! 
We hear them on the radio. 
We see them on TV. 
Content, we're sold a bill of goods, 
contained, betrayed—you see?
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So, I'm logging in a sky watch. 
I report what I perceive. 
I'm not a crass believer 
OR a skeptibunky... ...please.
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I have my own possession. 
I'm beholden to myself. 
I'll make my observation 
as I will for mental health.
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Now, I'll conclude this skywatch, 
but "strike the Sun if it offends me"!
Priests and anxious gurus
can just step off and then unfriend me.
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I shall defer to sentience,
and let its fairness rule my soul. 
I'll move towards the evidence... 
...And where where it leads? I'll go!


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lehmberg2002@gmail.com
www.AlienView.net


...Though the "heavens" fall...

Hey. If they fell at all?  Then what was their value in the first place? Heavens are like utopias. They're unrealistic, nonsensical, and impossible.  Trust in "The Lord," sure, your "fellows" will kill you if you don't... ...but tie up your freakin' camel!

The last few days resulted in four of "them" providing sightings of the previously described type. Nocturnal lights, tumbling, flashing, shamelessly stopping and starting, appearing and disappearing in flight-paths to the West, so highly strange.  

These are observed in clear skies to vary speed and direction across an inky star field... What Dr. Hynek might have termed a CE-1... all you have to do is rock your head back and refuse to forecast what you might see up there; they're THERE, damn it!

Somebody knows...

Restore John Ford. Read on.



Wednesday, February 18, 2026

Scratchin...

Scratchin'
TAP FOR THE TUNE!


Scratchin'
By Alfred Lehmberg 


Does the reader know what an "Outsider Artist" is? This is not pretentiousness... I'm too old for pretension. 

An Outsider Artist works "outside" formal institutions, has no traditional training, creates from a deeply personal... idiosyncratic vision, often ignores or is unaware of mainstream artistic trends, and produces content that feels... different... raw, original, or unfiltered. After a fashion (in a few of these "fashions," actually), I am that outsider.

The guitar, for example. I can’t play it in any conventional sense. I tried—Gawd knows I tried—though perhaps this mythic instrument and I may have negotiated an uneasy détente, of needs. The guitar agreed to tolerate me, perhaps? I certainly agreed to stop pretending I could play it like everyone else. That much will become obvious to the listener, in any case. 

In truth, the guitar often ends up playing me in some manner, or we arrive at an uneasy cooperation worked out over hoary time? The listener can judge the success of that "arrangement," themselves. Decidedly, it was not an easy cooperation.

I tried hard to play the way everybody else was doing it… but right‑hand picking escaped me, and the left hand wouldn’t chord the way it was supposed to. I suspected my left‑handedness. 

So, play "left‑handed" like Hendrix, reader? Well, that seemed to this person like something happening in an alternate universe where people could learn chords "backwards" when they couldn’t chord them "forwards" in the first place!  Most would chalk that up to a simple lack of talent… I did. Still, I wanted to play. I aspired to play

...That may be right up there with needing to play...

I noodled for decades, tried for leading expressions of individual notes… putting my fingers down where they could go comfortably and moving that comfortable placement up and down the fret board… but trying for original sounds that were pleasing… to me. I don't know what the chords are, I only try to remember where the fingers went when I'd chance on an expression or progression pleasing to me. That chance musical discovery is a "peak" experience, in accordance with Maslow, making the endorphins run like a bubbling torrent! Ecstasy!

Remains... a strum is what I have going... a loping strum with a palsied if percussive thumb strike... Conventional picking has ever eluded me... my hand turns into a clumsy Golem’s claw, still. Nails snag strings... or? I'll miss them altogether!

...Onward to snatch some victory from defeat's depressing jaws? That's up to the listener.

Remains. I wanted to make the music that was inside me… with a guitar. I needed that music to be as original as I could make it, even as my wholly instrumental tunes would be inspired, if not derivative, by the likes of Carol King, Tim Buckley,  Joni Mitchell, and Tom Petty et al… I wanted my music to go where THEY go. ...Music that flowed compellingly and then landed conclusively, right? A musical story told to be understood and believed?! 

Aspirations are nothing if they are not lofty. So say the bards...

I don’t do any covers of other songs because I am incapable of remotely performing them as they have been performed. Any attempt would be, and has been, just risible. That said, it all started to come together for me musically after I’d seen “Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind”! I began by trying to find that ethereal five-note sequence, defining the film, on my fret board.

Noodling around on the neck provided ultimately that it was a D chord, notes struck 212…4, 3… You can almost hear that musical phrase just reading it. That progression of the D chord, somehow discovered in a manner not recalled (Joni Mitchell?), was facilitated by slack-tuning the sixth string to a D... and there it was, all right there in the harmonics of the D-tuned 6th string, itself! "212…4,3" and the best harmonics of "6…5," in answer! I was off! "D" was where my music was!

Then the "peak" experience magic happened for me! Many years ago, I heard about not tuning to 440 Hz… as I had been doing previously, but using 432 Hz, instead! The tone was now palpable! Now, I could feel the lowered frequency of those chords in my GUT, and it was like something startlingly new was opening up in my mind!

I don’t perform, per se, but I record—little fragments minutes long, rough and earnest, the way they arrive. You hear the ones with the least amount of errors in them...

These bits and pieces, if finished songs aspiring to that “flow” and “landing” aforementioned, are on Facebook and YouTube. They are amateur and unpolished but have a sincerity of originality pleasing to this content creator, a content creator not being able to play a guitar… …but wanting to, needing to... so… finding his way. 

…Some people like it. Some of it IS risible… but if I may? Much of it is not. Have a listen... ...and then restore John Ford! Read on.

Wednesday, February 04, 2026

Remaining... Lacks


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I look into our starry sky... 
its length and breadth and depth untried
and question—to perchance achieve—
what these "things" ARE to soar and cleave!
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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.
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I've proved them to myself, at least! 
Should I respect what one might think... 
who ISN'T looking? ...Specious finks!
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...Sucking on our wounded sphere
—"mere parasites who breed in fear"
"specious finks" who make "pronouncements..." 
These spout denials and denouncements!  
They'd proclaim their "dead-lock nut," 
to prove in fact their minds are shut
that they are sans ...imagination... 
and must court their own damnation!
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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... undisclosed.
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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!
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...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"!
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And, yes, sometimes it's our "science" friends
—those filled with same to length and brim
prefering  "method" and "assessment" 
to live "proud" lives of glad detachment ...
Ask Rupert Sheldrake if this ain't so.
He's in position, so's to know.
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"Light" shan't dance and caper FOR them, 
speaks a language MUCH too foreign, 
so, safe beyond their "instruments"
*it* charms and glitters... no pretense. 
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Stanton Friedman makes his case, 
but most who "look" will risk "disgrace" ... 
...See, science is not BAD—or friendly
science is a tool, comprende'? 
Though, it can—too fast—be used 
to further evil ends... abstruse!
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Consider scalpels spreading butter, 
or cleaving bolts with paper cutters.  
"All Science" dulls humanity 
provoking an abject insanity 
and we're the lesser for all that 
if "science" dictates "tit for tat."
...It must be leavened with a "conscience"!
See, science can't explain what's "conscious!"
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Pure logic suits your staid computer...
But soul remains its trouble shooter!
Soul decrys atomic bombs...
or viruses in warfare qualms!
Soulless science dives right in
Enleavened by a conscience, then!
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Still, good folks think these ...won't... conspire 
to make their short-term goals transpire, 
If their gain can be "attained" 
they'll do the worstthey won't abstain!
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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 pockets, see?
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What we lack's the "real deal" 
these psychos covet, grift, or steal!
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What we lack's a base respect 
that we have lost for their neglect!
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What's we lack's the "cop to truth"... 
pretended, lost, and in refute!
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What's we lack's that money spent 
to educate our future, friends!
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Still, we waffle and get lathered... 
endure elitist double standards
puling prayers that just PRETEND 
to hold the high ground... we can't win!
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Look around, begin to "see,"
 and sense some 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."
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TV Preachers whine and pray 
from billion-dollar pulpits—crazed
They PRETEND their persecutions 
(spewing saccharine elocutions), 
all the while sowing hatreds 
they condone (...and to which we're fated!).
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whining goals or mad positions, 
wearing mantles of correctness 
he contrives (to cloak his excess)? 
He fronts the "un-elected," 
sells YOUR soul (you're unprotected!
...lives a life of privileged power—
cruisin' restrooms sans his trousers!
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Still, 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 bleed.
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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!
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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!
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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 there with my late Mother, friend, 
and I'll not lie, distort ... pretend... 
that they are there if not—you hear?
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I'll watch the skies. You face your fear!


lehmberg2002@gmail.com
www.AlienView.net





Former Air Force "zoomie,"—one stunningly shallow nay-sayer and default klasskurtxian cur-curmudgeon—James McGaha, has "exposed himself," in the past, as the public face of an "on-the-run" CSIcopia. His current too-cautionary mewling—as regards an all but smashed Aristotelian crystal sphere of caustic cluelessness (or scientism, as brittle as it is dull)—has been heard on numerous Larry King Live shows.

McGaha occupied the post previously held by Dr. [immaterial] Michael Shermer, an oilier, smoother, and more practiced representative of the dying CSIcopian meme.  Shermer abdicated his position when it became obvious that he could not make his "case" live 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 seemingly derives a lot of personal comfort from his practiced duplicity.

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... the zoomie gerbil! He figures to sell his own book, I presume. I'll lay odds it's published by Prometheus Press... waddaya-bet!

That's enough.  Read on.

Restore John Ford!







Tuesday, January 20, 2026

On the Frontier of the Unsaid...

 

The reader can take this as they will...


On the Frontier of the Unsaid... 

by Alfred Lehmberg


There may come to a person... THAT point, are we right?! The reader may come to know this point perhaps because they have, experientially, had “that” point already thrust upon them… We’ll take that as a given going forward! 


There are many such "points," true: geopolitical, technological, historical, and philosophical. Today we will discuss that point which is, "twitchy." Well, twitchier than the others...They're all twitchy.


Most embrace the obviation of that aforementioned “point,” right? It can be a less than pleasant experience, seen, as it is, generally, and justifiably, as an unspeakable concrescence looming before them (!) …like that thing which WAS to be avoided, at all costs… but looming nonetheless… and inescapable! 


Relax… We’re not talking about mere death or even ego death… oh, likely ego death… also unspeakable, even if necessary in the round, but that’s a good thing! No …We won’t digress in the fourth paragraph… Digressions will provide for illustration. They’re for later.


Unspeakable, you ask? ...Not necessarily a bad thing! “Unspeakable” only means un-Englishable. It remains that we must embrace the “twitchy un-Englishable,” unctuous as it can be. There is value to it! That value in exploring the “edges” of these things?


Why… for to make more Englishable that which was before… beyond mere “English”! The reader can dig it! …Push reluctant light where that light is loath to go. Kick over the concealing rocks of that which has been disrespecting one’s self-honesty. Englishable? …Imagine explaining a cell phone to a caveman by way of example, forgetting the explainer doesn't understand that cell phone, either. The “English” (language!) evolves… becomes a brighter light! ...Or CAN. That is what provided for the actuality of the cell phone, at all, in the first place. See that?

 

Remains, what is one going to do and stay honest to self, if that’s important to them… remain honest to one’s humble and conscience-leavened (woke!) consciousness as ephemerally frail and as timorous as it may be at the start? …We begin.

 

Individual Death? Ego death? No, not even black hole death, massive asteroid death, horrific disease death, or total cessation of life “silent spring” death... all possible, still. Rather, we’re talking about that individual reader’s first cogent observation of the world’s inconsequent and wrongly assumed veneer of contrived “normalcy,” as it seems to erodebeginning to crack before our tired eyes like ancient paint on a sunbaked and forgotten Arizona grain silo! The subsequent world’s “safe and sound” abruptly becoming decidedly unsettled


...The death of belief, reader! That's what we're on about here, and that is a shiverer of the shorter curlies, eh? One remains conscious through that death, see? Only, what’s on the other side of belief’s cessation?


Oh, and by the way… That one’s “normalcy” can be unsettled means, perhaps, that it likely should be unsettled. One can only build where it's solid. This is foreshadowing the point…

 

Maybe? You run your finger along these ethereal fissures and eldritch cracks alluded to above and feel the dust of something older, stranger, and more honest than the polished lies we’ve been fed by our too self-interested and too well-vested governmental and religious institutions… betraying institutions, actually (?), only trembling in their own unnecessary and unethical shadows of self-deceit, incompetent hypocrisy… and utter complacency. These are not clearing the bars that they set for themselves. Bars set have purpose.

 

Precisely here is where the person honest with self, self-resolves! It is where they must necessarily stand: not in the mythical “safe” center (pause for squirty giggles!), but at reality’s bleeding edge where the cold cosmic wind tastes hotly metallic, and the sky begins to be perceived as too large for the same old stories that we’ve been told in blind rote for suffocating centuries by men in gold-threaded dressing gowns! …These persons honest with self are a hard sell, true enough. Their discomfort provides for the general uncomfortable… but it remains that these persons, honest with self… are required! Discomfiture is required of needs and for cause!

 

Shifting gears? See, UFOs, physical anomalies, crop-circles, and all the other uninvited guests of our collective psyche and zeitgeist… the aliens, CE3Ks, crypto-curiosities, ghosts, goblins, and even anxious water nixies—these can't be mere curiosities for the credulous idle!


Rather, these may be, perhaps, meaningful interruptions, weeping ruptures in the polite little fictions parlayed by those same self-involved leaderships of dismissing and dismissive yore alluded to above! You know the stories… those iterated from “conventional wisdoms” parlayed to us from “on high” about our universe being, in the round, small, manageable, largely understandable, and thoroughly catalogued by the white-coated bureaucrats with cleanly branded clipboards. …But, look!

 

Those same paranormalities become the glad reminders that "reality" is not a closed system remotely understandable by arrogant collections of talking monkeys fervently believing they write large (more squirty giggles) and define their consequence! One can be reminded that our “finest works” are likely regarded as “filthy rags” to "others" elsewhere in our universe… These “reminders” become the cosmic equivalent of a knock at the door at 2 a.m.—and that knock is coming from inside your mind! This may explain the popularity of paranormal late-night radio…

 

…But what do we do with these knocks? That’s the dicey issue and the harder sell. Most people, bless their trembling and parochial (pea pickin’!) but god-fearin’ little hearts, pretend they don’t hear them


They pull their scented blankets over their heads and mutter something about “weather balloons,”  “psychological misinterpretations,” or “misleading the mislead to their mental illnesses”… as if the human mind is so fragile that it can’t distinguish between a weather balloon and an unstructured point of bright light performing right-angle turns at flesh-shredding if soundless Mach speeds… This writer has SEEN that!

 

These might be the same folks who laugh too loudly at jokes they don’t understand, who cling to comfortable, even if unreliable, "consensus" like a life raft, and who will mistake easy conformity for the contrived, so disingenuous, "comfort" of a "common wisdom." The scared are looking for any port in the storm… any port convincing of a leveled out "status quo" of facile consolations... We suspect this might explain the potentialities and short-term successes of fascist authoritarianisms… we digress.

 

We know them. We’ve met them. We’ve endured their damp-sleeved self-consoling and self-interested snickerings. On reflection of these "convinced"... Who has time for their hubristic piss-wittery laughing up damp sleeves at that which they refuse their own capacity to understand, their own aptitude to accept, their own ability to incorporate, and their own skill to recognize... a paranormal wheat for its denying chaff! 

 

The person honest with self does not bow to these“noisome negativists,” these self-appointed guardians of the soothing mundane. No—the person honest with self walks passed them, over them, and through them if necessary, because curiosity is not a sin and wonder is not a crime!  …Not yet anyway! The universe is just too vast, too wild, and too uncooperative to be contained by the timid, captured in its arrogant test tube, or cowed by the too-willing imbecilic "doin' God's work"… to be forever put off by their readypracticed, and complacent cowardices.

 

…And so, persons honest with self? They ask questions. Dangerous questions. Questions that peel back the wallpaper of consensus reality to reveal the pipes and wires and dim crawlspaces beneath. Questions that make polite society shift uncomfortably in seats thought comfortable as the seat, itself, becomes decidedly uncomfortable. ...But we must buckle into that seat, regardless! It’s what we do when we want to ascend and elevate as a far-reaching species. …More Star Trek. Less Star Wars.

 

We’ll die if we stop growing, if we don’t aspire to our ascension. Our complacency regarding these matters is our death

 

Consider! What if the phenomena we dismiss are not contrived aberrations like the gods we invent, but invitations? What if the unknown is not a threat, but a cosmic funhouse mirror? What if the universe has been "speaking" to us all along, but we’ve been too busy arguing about parking spaces and those manufactured gods to listen attentively?

 

Sure! These questions offend some. They shock others. They shame a few. But beyond the offense may lie more clarity! Beyond the shock perhaps lies real exhilaration! Beyond the shame could lie newfound fellowship—that quiet nod between those who have dared to look up instead of down. Look in AND out... Look upon and not merely passed… These are persons honest with themselves… and having humility, too. Remember what was said about talking monkeys! That's who we are. We earn our humility!

 

The person honest with self knows that institutions—governments, churches, and scientific bodies—behave, often enough, like aging monarchies: defensive, brittle, but terrified of losing the control of their purloined high grounds, high grounds thought secure. They hide behind their jargons, behind their “peer reviews,” behind their classified “stamps” and their redacted “pages.” They propound to us that the world perceived is stable, predictable, and fully understood… enough! It’s not… not remotely.

 

They make pronouncements of "fact" sans all investigation! They proclaim in the round to us that anomalies are “errors,” that witnesses are “confused,” and that history is “tidy.” …Only, they begin to understand how fragile it all is AND hanging by a thread, reader! …Why we, indeed, need to celebrate every second!

 

The person honest with self feels that our conventional wisdom, ironically untried yet thought true, just cannot BE entirely true. See? Their “enough” is not, and has never been, enough! The only thing immutable about all this is its lack of real immutability! We could have made better choices! We still can


Observe that the person honest with self has read the footnotes. The person honest with self has listened to the whistleblowers, the pilots, the radar operators, the archaeologists who found something they weren’t supposed to find, and then wanted to talk openly about it and were besmeared. The person honest with self has seen the patterns, the correlations, and the synchronicities that the mainstream refuses to acknowledge. Persons like Rupert Sheldrake, Graham Hancock, and Jeremy Vaeni spring to mind!


…And so the person honest with self asks again: If “the truth will set you free,” why hide it? The person honest with self suspects that that may be precisely why! General Freedom has always been uncomfortable (unprofitable!) to the cat-birders!


If the phenomena are “nonsense,” why study them, then? The person honest with self observes that these “phenomena” remain in spite of their classification as “nonsense”! If the witnesses are deluded, why ridicule them and not pity them? Why, indeed.


The canned answers from officiality, when they come, are invariably unsatisfying. They are evasions wrapped in euphemisms and larded in deflections. They are “explanations” explaining nothing. They are the bureaucratic equivalent of a dismissive shrug and a blank stare.


…But the person honest with self is not deterred. The person honest with self persists because the pursuit itself is a kind of liberation! To question is to breathe. To doubt is to sharpen the mind. To explore is to reclaim the birthright of a species that once looked at the stars and felt awe instead of fear… or worse, indifference. To protest ignorance (any ignorance!) is rightful.


And yes—there is risk. There is always "risk." Perspicacious inquiry into the "twitchy" is not a safe hobby. It can cost you friends, jobs, and reputations. It can make you the subject of whispers. It can place you outside the warm glow of "consensus" and into the cold air of forced independence. It can cancel you.


…But the person honest with self accepts this. They have seen what others cheer and are revalidated by their every baseless dismissal! The person honest with self embraces it, even. …Because the alternative—the slow suffocation by unexamined belief—is much, much worse... to them at any rate.


…So here we stand, at the threshold of the unsaid, the unacknowledged, and the uninvited. The sky is wide. The questions are many. The answers, when they come, will not be gentle. Level-ups must be earned or be worthless.


…But they will be true. They will be instructive. They will be, it is the intuition of this writer, our ascension.


It will be true, though, however sharp, and is that not always preferable to the padded cell of even comfortable lies… and, if it’s told or communicated to be understood, can it not be believed? Revealed! There can be no real bliss in our ignorance. Don't be ignorant of that.


Restore John Ford. Read on. 

Monday, December 29, 2025

...Reasons To Be Thirsty


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Art Bell was like Von Daniken... 
with the treble turned up high. 
I mean that in a good way; 
Art could really make you fly!  
He dragged the light, perforce sometimes
to places it won't go.  
See, most won't risk their ridicule
so "looking's" OUT, you know
...But this shan't stop Art's conflagration
—in your earpiece—at his station.  
Perspicacious in his way, 
he was interesting, if flawed, we'd say.
.
Yeah, the facts weren't checked-out... "to the tooth." 
Conclusions? Premature... 
Some's half-baked innuendo, 
or then hammered bull-manure... 
He wandered into fantasy
and he wants to "rock" you first... 
but where else would we hear that stuff 
.
See, there're reasons to be thirsty
and one does the best one can. 
One hears strange "stuff" one just won't find 
in the "mainstream," understand?  
That's why we listen carefully 
to the broadcasts of the night, 
it's there we hear the stuff not heard 
passed dawn... and in the light.
.
There're reasons to be thirsty
where "decisions sans all sight" 
so profoundly disrespect us 
as we fight our daily fight...  
We're losing faith in government, 
and the church is in arrears. 
Our agencies all threaten us.  
We've lost our star by which to steer...
.
There're reasons to be thirsty 
when one "sees" but through their "scales," 
and our "population problem" 
is "addressed" by building jails!?!
.
There're reasons to be thirsty 
when the world's lacking sense, 
and most can't see to either side... 
to come down off a swaying fence!
.
There're reasons to be thirsty 
as the cosmos flash and glow 
with all the special "portents" 
of the stuff we'd like to know!
.
Look, 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.  
See, disclosure threatens catbird seats 
and other seats "court side"; 
these are loath to give up power 
so must opt to cheat and lie!
.
Though... foundations, yet, are crumbling
Big money's running scared. 
The "word" is getting out along 
with falsehoods we've dispaired!
.
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 pap! 
So, you pick and choose your own! 
Perceiving their duplicity? 
You find you're not alone.  
You explore alternatives
look for truths supporting lies; 
the world's so much bigger 
than you ever knew...  Surprised?
.
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 folks (!)—
think of "Heaven's Gate" and cringe!
.
Some argue they're both charlatans
and in your pocket, friend...
...while accepting televangelists 
as an honored kith and kin!
.
Too, Art and Erich think out loud—
must 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 startlingclear
"Science" hides a smirking fear.
.
It tries to quash the anecdotal
all the photographictotaled
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 FUNDING troughs 
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, and be not burned, 
from Bell—or Bill and Nancy Birnes!
.
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 implores 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?
.
Not addressed?! 2K's a BASTARD! 
Did Art Bell 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 
are secrets used 
to disrespect—yes
me and you!
.
So let Art be
and I'll decry, 
for me, what's worse—
but I'LL decide!








lehmberg2002@gmail.com


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 leaned 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? He was the GOAT!

The reason? Art Bell, a default giant love him or hate him, remained 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 got out of a quality guest with seeming ease was 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'd produced, am I right? How bad can he be?

Should he have come out of retirement? Of course. In his way he was a national treasure. We should have availed ourselves of him while we could have...

There was but that one caution... [g]... Look, but don't reflexively believe. Truth told to be understood can be believed it's self-consistent and common-sensical... it IS there to be winnowed out. We got a lot of truth from Bell even having to sift that cat box for the likes of Sean David Morton et al. Remains, we listened. Many millions of us did... religiously. A hunger for getting what we know were not getting was an understandable motivation.

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.  There was a very real potential for catastrophe!

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, not a stretch, what was "Office Space's" raison d'etre, then? Weren't they there to rewrite the code precluding a "Y2K" catastrophe? Yes... they were. Y2K was a "thing." Unaddressed, it was disaster!

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

I've been critical in the past of his memory and maintain that same criticality. I even refused to go on his program once to talk about losing my teaching job (as a result of my interest in UFOs) with Stephen Basset, out of principle. Though, with regard to where Bell was and given who he was talking to, many times... well. You couldn't ask for better than him. Excelsior Mr. Bell. I regret not going on your program.

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. I think I recall that Flatwoods' Frank Feschino was an early fan of EVD! That's enough.  Read on.

Restore John Ford.


Grok In Fullness

Errant Clocks...

. . . I 'm logging in a sky-watch  for the " stuff " one finds up there; I won't pretend what I have found— report what is...

WHAT'CHA READIN'!