Monday, September 13, 2021

Tulli's Papyrus

To Touch Truth On Her Face...

"Tulli's Papyrus"—The Eternal Duel 
Of Seekers And Shirkers
By Alfred Lehmberg 

What might a person DO... to avoid being laughed at? What means might they contrive to avoid that unbearable perception of being the butt of someone else's, even ignorant, joke... or face-losing accusation?  What chances will this person take, then, to be wrong, or, even MORE damnable—too correct? From where will an act of very necessary and selfless courage then come? This writer looks at his own courage and despairs for cause.

Worse yet, and far more likely... what does a corrupt and illiberal person, one who senses an obvious threat to their worldview or pocketbook, do? Predictably, this person selfishly employs their praetorian point of view's UNJUSTIFIED instruments of unrighteous deconstruction... cognitive dissonances and employed illogics—alternative truthssits on some smoking-gun evidence, say, or even (shame!) destroys that evidence outright! These are questions more than intimated as one investigates the presumed unintentional disclosure of one Father Alberto Tulli, and how it pertains to the (assiduously AVOIDED!) subject of historical UFO's.

So, let's say it was you, honored reader. Let's say it's YOU who'd stumbled upon some bit of compelling evidence providing that first inimitable push into a startling new view of our more expansive world and the multi-verse beyond it!  Bigger than the genetics of Mendel or the implications of Darwin's Origin Of Species... the startling evidence is held in YOUR trembling hand!

What do you do with it? All courage issues aside, courage would of needs be colossal as freight is paid for "disclosure". For example, consider Messrs. Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden. Jesus, conjecturally, was killed on the cross for his disclosures. The "light bringer" is often killed, outright for their contrary stand, even the righteous one... oh, especially righteous one... 

Only, one regards our current condition: however, dismayingly. This is given the clear results endured as a result of: the toleration of superstition over science, rumor for fact, and insentience for sane sensibility... Maybe an alleged dying on a cross is a satisfactory trade-off for the efficacious elevation of a self-actualized humanity, even it were the reader? ...What would Jesus do?

Perhaps, like our Father Tulli, you stuff the revelations of a rising and advancing human spirit in a remote and dusty drawer amongst your personal possessions... only to have it found at the conclusion of your remarkably dull and pedestrian life—final proof of your regrettable cowardice? What price three days scourged and stabbed, then?

Do you DESTROY the accusing evidence (?) and live with your nagging conscience (or not!) for the remainder of a pathetically indifferent and lamentably complacent existence? Or, do you (rare bird!) offer the OTHER hand, and use it to extend your purposeful, positive, and passionate reach deeply into the waters of REAL truth... or at least a more challenging, vigorous, and dynamic INVESTIGATION into that richly complicated, but more vitally satisfying and inclusive *real* world? "What do YOU do," Keanu asks...

What DO you do!

Pausing for a moment's reflection, how many other bits of information (just like the forthcoming!) are hidden away in the sealed drawers of shadowy vaults forgotten by ALL (excepting, with difficulty, that select and secret few with total access)? The question is begged. 

How many MORE of these artfully anomalous articles are at the arbitrary WHIM of some craven and convenient coward—that faux-conservatively minded and exclusive sociopath? What dazzling documentations, momentous mechanisms, or awe-inspiring inferences lie smothered in the CONSCIOUS attempt to protect that occlusive socially conservative plutocrat's—conveniently pernicious and predatory, but wholly contrived and imaginary—position? WHAT hides—WHERE and WHY?

Exposed! All of it!! Necessary secretes has been too wee abused.

Truly, that arguable need to keep SOME secrets is an abused privilege that has been suspiciously and egregiously overexploited, as stated, and so distastefully and even dangerously, PERHAPS, a full and complete accounting must NOW be made... .  Maybe we owe it, this storm before the calm, to ourselves.

Returning to our intrepid anti-protagonist, the good Father, what kind of man was Father Alberto Tulli? Was he a gentle and cloistered academic loved by his family of friends and respected by his educated colleagues, or was he a sullen low-tiered architect of the pervasive and unjustified SECRECY crippling and trivializing the individual potentiality of every ONE of us, today? Could he (by some strange mechanism of social irony) be both? 

This is forgetting that an assessment of "either" is not within the scope of this essay. Those essays have been written by others—they will continue to be written. This essay would lance THAT particular boil!

Though, who WAS Father Alberto Tulli? Certainly, his lack of *remarkable* (conscious) contribution could be his definition, and a possible answer to the preceding question. Wool-dyed association with the Catholic Church's curious office of Egyptology, he was but a tiny cog in a tightly closed institution that has been around long enough to generate (and then jealously keep) a PLETHORA of deep and darkly shadowed secrets... all its own!  Indeed, Father Tulli's single association with the anomalous subject of this essay was to come to light, by some reports, ONLY after the event of his death.

We pause here to remind the reader that "Tulli" is another one of those UFO cases, like McMinnvilleRoswell, and Trindade, which has been dragged back and forth across the line of self-honest credulity by the ufologically disingenuous so hard and so often that the line is smeared into near illegibility. We'll remember that we need but one true UFO, right? One is all you need, and surely there is one in our human history.

Back to Tulli, the meager papers, effects, and possessions accumulated in a life of apparently unswerving institutional loyalty are, at last, revealed and examined... presumably just to identify what goes where (as in the event of ANY death, this writer's eventual death—assuredly!). Controversially, though, Father Alberto Tulli's personal and otherwise mundane academic effects contained an unsettling surprise decidedly NOT so mundane and assuredly NOT so personal.

The writer pauses to remind my patient reader that this written exploration is made in good faith. Further, the writer presupposes (and reiterates) that intelligence not of this planet is MORE than suggested by seven deep categories of OTHER pieces of evidence just as, or even more, compelling than THIS one, one which could be wild horse muffins

That doesn't matter remember, TRUFO or True UFOs only have to evidence themselves once in those seven vast categorical seas. Numerous items from our purposely contrived and foggy history provoke similar pointed questions, forgetting for a moment that this particular one was dismissed by writer Samuel Rosenburg as unfounded invention!


His—too easy—dismissal was based on an alleged (and unsubstantiated) inexpert translation of an ancient document the Catholic church reports as currently "lost." One critique, Rosenburg's scoffing conclusion, was as dictated to Rosenburg by that SAME Catholic church cloaked in the, ever assumed, faultless integrity of an "infallible Vatican."  The reader should be feeling some unease. Infallible, this writer's south end moving north.

See, even THERE the reader can hear the weak admission that some artifact existed, even if it cannot now be produced! Is this naught but just one more piece of the ongoing puzzle lost in the convenient shadows of the planned general ignorance? Such might be so.

So, what IS this alleged artifact?

Roughly, but certainly no less than three thousand, five hundred years ago, in an unremarkable Egypt far removed from us and further distorted by murky academic antiquity, there once ruled, as it's writ, the minor Pharaoh Thutmose III—also unremarkable (at least as far as Pharaohs go). 

THIS Pharaoh, as it happens, fortuitously continued the serendipitous tradition of making a durable record of the events of his time in a manner that would (it was naively hoped) be CRYSTAL clear to the presumed unending chain of forthcoming future Pharaohs. Writing was a serious business back then, it was treated with more respect.

It is plainly suggested that he made (or had made) the following recording, inked deeply into the rough surface of one stunning sheet of startling, if lost, papyrus! The reported translation of the stylized figures in these curious hieroglyphics follows:

In the year 22, the third month of the winter, in the sixth hour of the day, the scribes of the house of life found that it was a circle of fire that was coming in the sky . . . its body was one rod long by one rod large. It had no voice, and the scribes so advise the King. Some days pass, and lo, they are more numerous than ever. They are shining brighter than the sun in the sky. The army of the Pharaoh looks on with Him in their midst. It was after a respite that the circles flew up higher and disappeared to the south. It was a marvel never occurred since in this land.

Other accounts of this intriguing document talk about a strange "stink" that the "fire rings" make in the air as they dash around (foreshadowing Flatwoods?), and further describe the Pharaoh as futilely chasing the dazzling circles from below in his horse-driven war chariot, slinging pathetically ineffective bolts at them as the fire circles darted effortlessly past. 

Perhaps exhausted, finally, from their seemingly ignored exertions, the sweating Pharaoh and his fearful men stand at last looking up at the indifferent saucers with their mouths hanging open, effected by equal amounts of enchanted wonder and abject terror. Such is reported so.

In a sidebar, one could speculate that the personal stock of this apparently fearless Pharaoh went WAY up with his relieved troops at the no harm conclusion of the terrifying, albeit one-sided, exchange. They could ALL call themselves very brave that day, and, this writer submits, likely did.

Returning abruptly to the mysterious document suggesting this astonishing occurrence, this writer questions what truly underlies the social mechanism USED to preclude a document, of this enigmatic type, from being brought to light immediately and with all deliberate speed! What hides in the shadows of that ridicule permeating the interested discussion of such a document, and the larger reality that it heralds? Much likely hides in that ponderous ignorance we continue to consciously assume like a smothering cloak, to our peril.

Consider some idle if reasoned speculations. Father Alberto Tulli was a man who did not want to be laughed at. Father Alberto Tulli was a man who did not want to compromise or contradict the untested faith, assumed fidelity, and convenient sensibility of his order and its institution. Father Alberto Tulli was a man willing to stuff an oddly smoking gun into an out-of-the-way drawer to further postpone, perhaps, humanity's rendezvous with its more secular destiny? 

Father Alberto Tulli was a... coward (yes) in the most regrettable sense of the word, was not motivated by adherence to any strict (otherwise fawned over) scientific method, and was a mere stooge for an outdated, probably criminal (certainly unethical), and decidedly back-stepping world view? Yes. 

This writer knows that he would be judged in a similar fashion upon committing the so described, or some analogous offense. What's gravy for the goose, and all that... this writer appreciates consistency only because TRUST can sometimes be born of it.

This writer challenges, with outrage, that "smoking guns" remaining hidden, and ACCUSES the owners of these drawers (into which these smoking guns are so smugly ensconced) of the aforementioned regrettable cowardice. J'accuse!

With fervent anticipation, this writer envisions a time when we will, collectively at least, more typify the courageously advancing and forthcoming seeker over the cowardly retreating and obfuscating shirker. The seeker—the one willing to run that gamut of wounding negativists to touch the truth on her shining face. The shirker, of course, is described everywhere else in this essay.

Concluding, this writer asks WHEN (and even if!) we might all ever learn to laugh at the laughter we SHOULD be laughing at! That brand of laughter alluded to is identified as toxic and that which comes from the one with substantially less COURAGE than the one PROVIDING the mal-alleged amusement. It is the laughter born of a whistle past a graveyard. It is the laughter born of those unable to face the selfish fears of their own convenient manufacture.  Turgid and turbid and not a little rabid.

Additionally, this writer wonders when we might begin to compromise and contradict that which deserves compromise and contradiction—even bite the feeding hand which offends so deeply and egregiously that it CALLS OUT to be bitten?  How much social infidelity and inconsistency are a rank and file expected to bear?

Some see evidence of the beginning of that furtive hand gnawing, a coming revolution, and assuming the patented Dan Quayle deer-stunned-by-headlights "look" on complacent faces—pretend they don't know why or how.  ...But they DO know, we all do, of course, know why and how.  

Those answers don't have to be searched for, reader; they have but to be faced!  How much is a betrayed and abused rank and file expected to endure from their own officiality, anyway?

Somebody knows.

Read on.

Thursday, August 26, 2021

Autonomous Is Therefore Free

...What we'd have is time to think
to puzzle at, or ponder... 
on the workings of reality—
its vastness, scope, and wonder! 
We'd pay the freight (or one's fair share!) 
to lever up what rocks are there...
We'd know what's hidden deep inside 
our monumental pile of pride! 
Too much *stuff* is hid away: 
the taxes that the rich won't pay, 
the saucers flying high in skies, 
the black-ops of psychotic scribes. 
 Cozened by an *earnest* evil
tormented by its pins and needles
bred respect-less in our billions, 
 used like grease or servile minions... 
...we who'd follow on the heels 
of those who make what's real... surreal!
Those who shall not care "who pays," 
as they "enjoy" psychotic days! 
He (less she!) to make us shriek... 
encourage us, then, not to speak... 
of that which then must truly dare us, 
or just terrifyspin... but scare us...

...This glad ablation kills our spirit!  
We're close to meltdown—
something near it!  
We won't listen to the wind; 
we shan't see what signs portend. 
We're so close to what renews us, 
less respect from what's contused us
almost there, we breathe upon it, 
yet we must let that go? Be honest!
We're harried by mad Gods, not Devils
bamboozled by their priests and heralds
Most that's "preached"? Division—hatred! 
The least (if most)? The "chosen" hated!
Those who work to heat our water... 
washing rocks and forcing laughter, 
languish as the disrespected
bereft of choice and spurned—neglected
Poisoned and then, yes, infected... 
as glad toxins, we're rejected, 
a wasting of humanity. 
Viral vectors, memes like fleas...
Confined again by *old* disease, 
we cower on old callused knees! 
...Attention drawn to *hallowed* ground?  
We miss the saucers most profound!
...And blinded by our jealous culture—
"made to order" raptors... ...vultures—
wishing to reward the few 
their lack of vision, depth, or view! 
...humans aping hapless lots, 
so unaware of what they've got... 
pacing to their shallow graves, 
while hoping for some "bone" of praise.
Then we get a brand new car (!), 
forget, somehow, exploding stars—
forget that real comets spring 
to smash our Earth when next they swing. 
Forgetting saucers fly our skies, 
though still, they fly I would advise, 
we pander to invented Gods 
made jealous by their heralds' cause... 
to keep themselves in unjust power—
safe behind rich walls and towers!
These, the folks who *killed* John Ford 
(at least as good as!)—scabrous lords! 
 These remaining un-elected, 
these unseen, so undetected
These producing shadowed blight
these who would preclude our SIGHT—
these who make our schools expensive, 
prohibitive, or bland—litigious
These performing "planet sodomy" 
with all pretension, grace—abominably! 
These who sell us out for dollars—
growing rich by fueling squalor!
THESE are who we should decry, 
and disrespect ... abhor—despise!
These, true devils—they confine us; 
their priests and judges starve and blind us! 
 Yes, I'd try to do without 
the *God* Newt Gingrich mewls about; 
I'd trust the future, what it brings! 
When "dams" do "burst"? Potential springs!
I'd confirm that we're endangered—
kept from goals by scowling strangers ... 
taking us from higher places 
that we shan't find in rein or traces!
There is where I'd romp and wander
test my faith, considerponder
This is where I'd rather be! 
 Autonomous and off my knees!
Autonomous Is Therefore Free!

I realize there has to be a "cooperation," or store-bought socks don't get in the sock drawer and food larders go scarily unfilled. Though, when that cooperation is presuming, presuming at the dire expense of the individual person, eventually (everything's eventual)? 

That revered and ever esteemed *team* or corporation will suffer most egregiously for it! It will dissolve, disintegrate, deteriorate—break, in one characteristic word. "Chains" of limited strength... Think not?

Sock drawers and food larders contents dwindle. See, I offer that the quality of a team is DEFINED by the quality of the individuals composing that team! The quality of links defines the quality of the chains composing it. 

That a classic no-brainer, eh? One has heard the old saw regarding the chain's strength and that single link. The individual, one can see: a link of any chain... remains critically key it would seem obvious!

Consider, reader, the "teams" that a collection of autonomously powerful individuals must, undeniably, make! Consider before you tell me there is no "I" in "team." Without the "I" in "team"? You don't have a team! You have a limited, lack-luster, and unimaginative—entirely predictable and spiritless drone—a conscienceless machine! 

The chain's an aggregate strength, sure. Of course, or what would be the point? Remains, there has to be something "in it" for the link! "Not breaking" is not enough! A sincere consciousness must command a certain respect and an appreciation for that respect!

Moreover, autonomous people have time to think on their own! This is of course, exactly what *they* don't want us to have—time to think. When one thinks, the eldritch, hoary, if illuminating, light comes up ... can't have that! Only, I suspect we are better served AS a humanity by that eldritch illuminating lux Mysterio... what presents from revealed shadows...

Moreover, the aspiring brave, climbing their own Maslowian peaks, can have it no other way.

Case in point:

At around 13:00 CST on the first of March one year not long ago, a little piece of reality obliterating "anti-matter" made contact with Enterprise, Alabama, a still growing and productive little American town in the southeast of the state. My town, at the time.

As the expected result of a quantity of this meteorological "antimatter" coming in contact with any amount of regular "matter," there was an inclusive annihilation of the matter contacted. There was complete destruction. There was obliteration. There was much death. Homes were destroyed for the rest. Quality of life corrupted or negatively affected for those remaining... not 500 meters from my OWN home.

The aggregate devastation was, in fact, complete enough for crass Republican opportunist George W. Bush, the President at the time, that walking personification for disqualifying any vestige of the myth of "white supremacy," to descend upon us, uselessly, in a junket costing many millions... so fruitlessly grubbing for a political capital all but entirely lost to him late in a failing Presidency...

He would fly over in a fleet of pricey helicopters while we cleaned up below. I loudly reminded everyone around me similarly toiling that he probably thought he was looking at "Katrina's" Louisiana. There was no dissension to my observation, no protest... only laughter. 

Verily, a metaphoric "Disaster Area" over-flew the actual disaster below, and everyone seemed to sense it. See, real people could use the money spent on Bush's wholly empty and self-interested gesture to rebuild their lives.

The point is that a 'team' of human beings rallied and continues to rally in the face of this calamity. Thousands of friends and other strangers had banded together in the fellowship of the assaulted, the obligatory hapless who will be shortchanged by their insurance companies, governments, or other soulless corporate bodies... singled out for special high-intensity terror only *God* can provide! They are the 99%. We even named our confederacy: it was called Tradijinae.

Individuals were forgetting personal concerns for a time and supporting shell-shocked neighbors they were not even speaking to previously. True giving and self-sacrifice by single persons empowered to give and sacrifice. Truly, and tragically, we are individually at our best when things are at their worst. Read on.

Tell me there is no "I" in team!

Restore John Ford!

Thursday, August 12, 2021

A Missive To Myself


A Missive To Myself

By Alfred Lehmberg

"We will have a liberal democracy, 
or we will return to the Dark Ages." 
--Franklin Roosevelt, 1940

FDR  knew. We live in a tinderbox world of dire—even fearful—propensities. The only relief we can achieve from same is that which we make up of ourselves, for ourselves, and by ourselves. Failing to trust "God" enough is our too meager excuse for failure. It's ALL on us. God doesn't seem to enter in except where we invent him to do just that. The latest incarnation wears orange face paint.

Verily, by way of the science of same, we create our own reality in the conscious observation of it! "Wish" hard enough, friends and entities lurking, even if over centuries (faster all the time!), and it is so! You observe an example of this currently on your device, now, as existential proof of that! Think what else could be imagined when it doesn't HAVE to be bad and materialized from hatred! Choice.

The reader can see how this might work. The reader, one must understand, is an individual, and, arriving at the individual, where we MUST arrive, we find that the individual is key

We individuals always were. See, there are no teams of any quality without the individuals making them up. Synergy only happens when there is a "there," there!

Billions are feloniously spent manipulating the feelings and sensibilities of the individual... you, good reader! It is largely successful, unfortunately, but forewarned can be forearmed. The reader will endure. 

You always have. Always!

Now, everyone is the center of their own universe, by default! Trouble is, "reality" is a universe of many ~many~ centers, known and unknown. And, that's a good thing. Really. We wouldn't want it any other way, believe me. 

The antithesis is an abject and unconstructive boredom prone to rot and toxicity... decadence and constructive spirit's dearth! There must ever be a dark that we shine light into, and only marvel that our brightening light exposes even greater shadow.

The dark antithesis of this necessary and productive diversity preferred above (and a dark antithesis recently attempted in reality) is a "rule by authoritarian force," outside the rule of sensible law: an autocratic convenience for a very small minority, that and a giddily abandoned due process for the rest of us—a theocratic hypocrisy, one's ironically faithless authoritarianism, and a cruel return to the horrific pre-renaissance "Dark Ages," as FDR, upon whose shoulders we stand, forewarned! 

This was a dark, dark time, of course, where, just like now astonishingly (remembering an orange scourge still infective this moment!), even the first-tier Kings couldn't read! "Stupid" had its run THEN, too!

What can the individual do, then, against a hijacked society imposed against him or, and especially, her? She of the resolutely legislated genitals, one is reminded, and by old old white men. The answer is simple to express even if difficult to execute. Ready to hear it? Here it comes...

Gylany... you may have to look that up. You really need to do that... do it right now! I'll wait!

...In other words? Enthusiastically embrace an enlightenment at the ready expense of your ignorance! That's it. Hard, if glib, but it does get easier to do as you go along. Sincerely. 

See, we seek our own questions though the answers offend us, shock us, or shame us. The writer does not have that backward. 

In the first place, it's not always offense, shock, and shame. In the second, there are, and many, many times... joys beyond the shame admitted, satisfactions beyond the shock best endured, and fellowships, good readers, beyond the offense, an offense no longer perceived as an offense. See, that was a choice, too. We've digressed.

In a nutshell, if one feels a certain way about something? For one's God of choice's sake, be able to explain OR JUSTIFY why one feels that way! Readily entertain discussion contrary to the way one "feels," to test it... work passionately to dissolve one's needless and corrosive ignorance, dissolving itself to a fulsome stupid... or shut, the fuq, up!

The expletive was justified. Let's move on. 

No one else should be required to validate ~your~ faith, justify ~your~ belief system, or pay with their lives, liberties, or gainful employments for ~your~ excluding and exclusive world views... especially if you can't competently argue, remotely justify, or in any way qualify your prosecution of them! One's hypocrisy must become risible; it seems inexorably true... let's all have a laugh and move on.

Yet, you gloat pompously (if you do), acting as described (without meaningful justification), as you needlessly create your own enemies for your corrosive efforts! Acting thus, you have created me, in fact, and this is among a multitude of much more significant others. Verily! Be damned. 

Get thee from the skin of the sensible world. You're not an asset to humanity. You are its toxic debit!

How does one become informed enough to be able to explain why they feel the way they feel? Ready? Here it comes!

Ask questions you know you don't want the answers to! That's frost for a short and curly! It gets no simpler than that!

Yeah—I know... The short answer just cattle-prods more questions. What! Where! When! Why! ...And all too often, How! But that's the point, right? That's the f'n point! That expletive was justified, too. 

This writer, by way of example, explored his own racism, his antisemitism, his misogyny, and his homophobia. He found he had dodgy ideas with no sane support in a research of primary histories... you know, histories where it is discovered that Columbus was a full-on monster, Jackie-O was a meth fiend, Vietnam was an entirely and tragically needless racist debacle beyond mere mistake, Critical Race Theory is well supported and... 

I was offended. I was shocked. I was ashamed. Too? There were the mitigations of joy, satisfaction, and fellowship alluded to earlier beyond what was found to be tragically false.  

Who, what, where, how, and why are weaponized in a world where Ronald Reagan makes it entirely possible to lie on public airwaves sans all consequence... but profit... still, there are very valid justified questions... even in Reagan's world, a world so weaponized unfortunately with mechanisms maneuvering you, honored clever reader, into the cruel cold claws of the tyrannous and psychopathic monsters plaguing us all today. Gaslighting (and evil, no hyperbole!) billionaires, to cut to the chase.

It is by malicious design, presently, that one has to work multiple jobs in an increasingly irrelevant economy with no health care and even at a subsistence level... a person "distracted," perhaps, so they don't have ~time~ to stop for a prudent "Hey! Wait a minute!" or even a cleansing breath... a meaningful pause... some respite! Some relief and an earned satisfaction's ease

Prosperity Christian "Charity" finds too many "reasons," read "psychopathic rationalizations," to step up in a way not quid pro quo! It just doesn't have to be this way. "Live our way... believe what we believe, or suffer..." is a festering an ill-chosen option for existence. Respect, reader, only what respects you!

It is by craft's design that our psychosis spews from television, that hatred rules the airwaves, and that the "bothsiderist" loathing oozes from mainstream print, portrait, and motion picture. Thank Ronnie. 

It's all about manipulating ~you~, good reader, assaulting ~already~ bruised sensibilities with "Dr. Suess" distortions and "Mr. Potato-head" distractions and "wars on Christmas"—"men are men and women know it" confabulations... phony "culture conflict wedge issues" because they offer NOTHING... nothing of efficacious substance, anyway, so the reader won't have ~time~ to be reminded about unending war and planet death and suffocating overpopulation... slave's wages and kids in cages... all in a horrifying list that just goes on and on and on... 

We won't go there, now, even understanding it's the "not going there" defining the tragedy... Still, we won't digress!

Back at the ranch, an answer to the previously posed questions is the point of this essay. You need an inventive springboard, good reader, a trampoline's bounce into raw thinking and information that is diverse (our cultural savior!), inclusive (of needs and for cause!), and widely focused (because we are of, by, and for!)! 

...From UFOs to hate crime and through crypto-archeology and currency to progressive politics... honest regard and rejection of regressive politics (supremacies be damned!)... there should be no boundaries and fewer filters. Raw veggies are ~always~ better than processed ones. Eclectic!

...Sure, I'll digress for the purist. There are some necessary boundaries and filters. We're opposed, for instance and example, to drugs turning a person into a cockroach and we don't fuck our kids. With regard to drugs, Consciousness must make aspiration... and it is not to be discouraged of that aspiration (we sin where we do), and the kids? The kids can make no informed consent to that physical association. That's the tall, short. 

A sentient person knows what boundaries and filters apply and where they are, of needs, implemented. We need say no more as regards filters and boundaries.

Who, back on the track, would have been an excellent example of this exploration to which we would allude? Of course, the personification of this essay. A gylanic ideal personified. Who would have been an efficacious springboard, and of whom from one... has one... likely never heard? ...An individual! Tet's put a light on her.

To wit: Who was this musically named Miriam Andujar (pronounced Ann'-doo-har)? A gentlelady... to start. An inner radiance trying to make efficacy in a world of tooth and claw.  Bario born... education would be the ticket out... and productively back... good reader.

Miriam Andujar is defined then as an assiduously educated and progressive woman of grace, intelligence, and courage. She is on the blame-line for having produced just such a cyber-springboard alluded to above, earlier this century... right after 9/11! 

Once spanning "worldwiderenaissance (sic)" dots COM, ORG, and NET, Ms. Andujar aspired to provide a wealth of new outlooks, fresh outreaches, and novel approaches which inspired while they informed, gladdened while they satisfied, and compelled as much as they inspired one's existential and corporeal reality... that, or indicated useful tools for same. Her sincerity becomes as quickly noticeable as the flowers were once worn unabashedly in her hair.

In its own class, it was to be an eclectic site, as foreshadowed. It was to be charmingly organized, inordinately objective, completely constructive, and wildly comprehensive. It was to be entirely flexible, wholly acceptable, plainly specific, and decidedly thoughtful. It was to encompass a wealth of progressive, people-loving, and humanistic conduits to 21st Century information venues, and it remained optimistic for all its criticality of a corrupt status quo. It wanted to call a spade a spade. Not caring where credit went, an efficacious egolessness was aspired to and diligently sought. It wanted to make better choices.

World-Wide-Renaissance was to be the WEB embodiment of the Internet-driven 'new' renaissance still bursting into less constructive flame as we speak! It was to be worthy of a spot in every progressive person's Favorites folder, without doubt, and to be sure... a magnet for it.

WorldWideRenaissance believed that it is the people, ourselves, who would be the engineers of our salvation; persons listening to one another and respecting one another as the cure to what ails us... not jealous institution, conflicted government, or faithless agency. It is as rich as Christmas cake and as relevant as air. It is about people of, by, and for themselves.

People aren't prone to hatred... it's a learned behavior. Love seems the goto, so it's the hatred that must be practiced and facilitated to germinate and grow, the lie eclipsing a truth. This is why hatred is a lie and love is truth. Reality is chosen by the observer as has been pointed out, and we could choose better. Miriam Andujar was a person to help reveal some of these better choices.

Closing, we give the memory of that initiative a look only because we want to be able to provide some citation for our feelings regarding the aspiration to same. We give it a look only because we're confused about the hateful theocratic direction that our Nation seems to be taking—the autocracy it would perilously embrace. We give it a look only because we want to take an individual hand in defining our own perceived, if more efficacious, realities. But, we give it a look. It could change lives, and the lives of those around us... in a productively efficacious way. 

It's about gylany... aforementioned. The admonition to look that up is not an empty admonition. Engage that engine and we are saved. Us, the planet—the whole proverbial wax ball! Choose.

Saturday, July 10, 2021

The Shadows Of My Day...

Remembering WW... "Scungilli"

These started as apologies
which is why they're so ironic. 
I evaluate hypocrisies, 
You see? It's like a tonic. 
Apology's explanation
See, *sorry's* not the issue
I'm not the least repentant. 
Best, put away your tissues...
My interests may be bothersome... 
unpleasant, non-benign... 
to throw the light where it won't go, 
and cop to what we find. 
UFO's are in the news 
provoking trepidations
I should think my interest healthy
and allay all apprehensions.
...And implications are apparent
so they raise their mottled heads; 
though most would rather fight than change, 
so shoot their foot instead
These believe in "airborne castles
just to keep their dreams alive, 
provided by glad "shadows," 
so obscuring what's contrived
The damage is disruption 
by the few who have "connections," 
so we won't "get together," 
and demand some SANE reflection!
...I had a friendship once upon... 
he wrote a note to end it. 
He said, "[You get behind me Satan, 
you indicate predicament! 
My *foundations* are a-crumbling, 
and my livelihood is threatened; 
you've threatened, too, 
my wife and child; 
a pox on bogus legends
You've jeopardized employment
You've compromised my life
You've engineered my failure
You write a script for strife"]!
I knew he couldn't help it; 
conditions squeezed him hard
I know that he can't mean it—
not a button, part, or shard.
Though, I was amazed at my dismissal, 
a little hurt—you want the truth
See, he's just another casualty 
You know the *ones* of whom I speak. 
The ones who have his answers! 
The ones who should allay his fear, 
and stop their lying cancers! 
The ones who threaten needlessly; 
the ones so rife with guilt! 
The ones who hide intentions 
like a knife shoved to its hilt!
The ones who are so comfortable 
as a "monkey" on his back! 
The ones who will, so quickly, 
let him fall between their cracks!
The ones who do his "rendering"—
for the reasons that they hide
The ones allowing punishment 
for conditions they've contrived!
...The ones who hide the UFO's 
so deeply from us all; 
the ones who keep "the secrets," 
and, so, are—in fact!—sans gall!
I will mourn his contribution 
now as lost in all that mist
I will mourn the conversation 
that was once so smart and rich
I will feel like a loser 
who might end up sans his friends, 
and will they fall, then, one by one 
until my inquest ends?
And what of me; will I succumb; 
will I give up the ship? 
When, finally, if I'm pressed his way, 
by wife and job or kid!
Will I change my phone and E-mail? 
Will I shut my website down? 
Will I sigh and vote Republican... 
let a smile morph to frown?
Will I replace the scabrous scales 
that had fallen from my eyes; 
will I give in, and then embrace what, now... 
I must despise!
And that's the real reason, 
I imagine, that I mourn. 
My friend is ME, 
if he goes down... then I must? 
...That's the norm?
He's proof that they are winning 
(the ones as writ above). 
These ape marauding raptors, 
and we're the hapless dove.
He metaphors the powerless. 
He is, then, you and me. 
He needs his home and wife and kids. 
He needs his job, you see?
I'm consumed with my resentment 
at a system so capricious, 
that it's allowed to stifle 
all those questions which beseech us! 
I'm enraged that these conspirators 
are allowed egregious power 
so destructive to relationships 
that examine "walls" and "towers"!
I'm angry that they CHOOSE MY FRIENDS, 
or make them run away
or provoke them to forsake me... 
these are shadows of my day!
I will expose hypocrisies—
that's a valid tonic still. 
I'll abuse their satisfactions, 
as against them? I'm fulfilled.
I'll borrow from Will Shakespeare, 
and to myself be true, 
apply my OWN philosophy 
that it all comes down to *you*.

  • "You" is, of course, a metaphor for the individual. I remind the reader that it is the individual who is the real power, and why *they* work so hard to program, coerce, and control same.

    They are pointed at you like I'm pointing at you right now, only my agenda is mooning the deserving world at large and bearing any criticism for same! ...Showin' my discursive ass as I will, eh? The other? He wants to burrow into your pocket to a vein... you know, like any good parasite.

    Individuals are, or can be, as much anathema as they are authoritative. They're not authoritarian, those who are, and righteously so? These are degraded and ablated to kiss my shiny metal ass!

    These latter use slimy tricks, yea and verily... fearsome bags of dirty deeds. They strike at secular foundations they've MADE vulnerable in their campaigns of corrosive control, religious bigotry, and authoritarian government. Would that the secular community attack the religious community the way the religious community attacks the secular one, eh? Can you hear their whining objection, then, done unto as they have done to others... and since their inception?

    Fear, censure, and intimidation are their tools! These tools are used without regard to the rules they demand everyone else follows... even as they don't follow these laws themselves. These giggle at your credulity... laugh at you behind your back.

    These are amused by your faith. Covetous of your success. Angered by your happiness. Jealous of your contribution... ironically it is these, not Moslems, "hating us for our freedoms."

    There is no "fair play" on a "level playing field." If there was? They'd disappear. It's why a vote is rigged, at all!

    Society, as it stands, is an illusion maintained by each individual in it. All I'm saying is we could have better illusions—better dreams. Dreams that look out... and in—never down. Reasonable Dreams, finally, that don't cost one efficacious and valued friends.

    I'll miss your charm, wit, and courage, buddy, even as I hate that which provokes your pragmatic cowardice. Moreover, I'll keep a light on for ya'...

    Restore John Ford.


Quadrature --

Wendy's Song --

Rudiak Rides Again --

HyperSpace --

Taken --

Always Searching --

SkyLights --

Saturday, June 05, 2021

Flatwoods, Sandbagged By MonsterQuest


Flatwoods, Sandbagged By MonsterQuest

by Alfred Lehmberg

Folks, regarding the recently You-tubed History Channel (old) MonsterQuest episode of March 10th featuring Fred May, Frank Feschino, the late Stanton Friedman, and other witnesses from the town of Flatwoods, West Virginia: I was the bearded fellow, the only one apart from Friedman, I think, associated with the Flatwoods segment exclusively. I wore the UFO Magazine hat. I was working with the Helium Balloon and assisting Feschino vis a vis the sighting at the hunter's camp in the deep forest beside the spring-fed stream. My one spoken line used apart from where I actually said it was, "Frank, there's a hot spot up there...," or some such... all that said:

Folks? You can quote me!

I have no idea what that program was about! Why, apart from Joe Nickell who was decidedly true to form, I didn't even recognize who was involved in it!

This is real irony, reader, given I was at Flatwoods for a week during the shooting—and I do mean "shooting"—of the MQ program. Moreover, I have an appropriate intimacy with all the principals shown on the Flatwoods segment and have better than a layman's understanding of just what occurred in and around Flatwoods that Indian summer night in 1952.

Ladies and Gentleman, let me digress to say that, entirely apart from what the Reader saw on a "flawed" MonsterQuest, THIS is what occurred on that one night in Flatwoods in Flatwoods! 

I remind the HONEST reader that this referenced map data is supported by Project Bluebook, named Newspaper reportage, and first-person witnesses in that order of numeracy.

The History Channel, one finds, had the time, opportunity, and all the requisite data to produce a stunning program about the infamous Flatwoods affair. What the History channel did instead, reader, was to contrive to manufacture a senseless "mash-up" of two entirely unrelated (if responsible) cases from what could be most easily be "faux-discredited" in either of them. Suggesting this bogus relationship, one not even remotely tenuous, is the program's kiss of less-than-mediocre death.

Sincerely, none but those entirely honest with themselves dare call this naught but very poor, contrived, and inauspicious telling of the Flatwoods story a blithering incompetence, a fatuous cluelessness, or a distorted propaganda! More irony is revealed given Feschino, Friedman, and I had to sign sworn statements indicating our contribution to the program was true as we knew it to be true. The History Channel reportage of same, paradoxically, was not.

See? Flatwoods was the tail end of the biggest UFO Flap in US History: The 1952 "Summer Of Saucers" chronicled by Frank Feschino, Wendy Connors, various other authors, and an un-sifted Project Bluebook. Reader! It was not about "Lizard Monsters" allegedly lurking the woods for 60 plus years, and to this day. Good Christ! This was the distortion prosecuted by the History Channel.

And this! The intrepid MonsterQuest documentarians wrongly called the more honest Stanton Friedman a "doctor" and made the dissembling (to be kind) Dr. (degree immaterial) Nickell look "reasonable" in contrived comparison! Talk about the equivocation of unflawed with FUBAR! 

Glowing eyes? Not before or since. Ground miasma? Not before or since! Mass hysteria? Not before or since! Noxious weeds? Not before or since! Roc-sized barn owls? Not before or since! How the "History" Channel have gotten things so wrong? 

I'm sick at heart and really ticked off... Feschino, who deserves better than this, was fit to be tied. See, he's telling the culture-changing real story. Nickell and company shill for the guys insulting the reader's intelligence and obscuring real history. Case in point "Mass Hysteria" as touted by Dr. Nickell... is a clueless dodge.

Why? The witnesses at Flatwoods, a gang of playing children and a couple of young adults, presupposed a meteor, predominantly, on the Fisher farm in the hills above the school that evening. They'd heard about them recently in school. Nickell dissembled when he reported they expected "monsters"... They did not run up a hill armed with only a flashlight to look for "monsters," Reader! That only happens in the movies and Joe Nickell's facile imagination! They went up the hill to pick up pieces of a meteorite!

No, the Flatwoods story was not remotely told. The historical facts regarding the "Flatwoods Monster" incident are distorted, once again, by a soap-selling TV show.

Tune in to the actual story, cited above, to tune up, sincerely. See, it's not a story about a giant lizard in a "hover-round" "attacking" a group of Flatwoods residents with a harmful gas. The gas, remember, was actually an exhaust emitted from pipes surrounding the lower torso of the body. The lower torso was part of the propulsion system of this giant "metallic" structure propelling it and causing it to hover. Moreover, apart from the gas, the "Flatwoods Monster" never made any aggressive or threatening maneuvers towards the witnesses during the encounter!

More crass inaccuracies?

The nearly 60-years of "sightings" reported by the MQ show were not all "monster" sightings, as the over-edited Feschino and Friedman footage seemed to intimate, but were UFO sightings! This is what the two researchers reported on. _UFOs_, reader! Not monsters!

The "Flatwoods Monster" incident, the Snitowsky "Frametown Monster" incident, and the Frametown "Hunter" incident are the documented entity sightings, reader. These, and other "monster" sightings... never occurred again! It's the UFO sightings that are ongoing! This was the actual report and testimony of Friedman and Feschino!

Other "real" entities documented on record in the Flatwoods area are as follows:

Dec. 30, 1960. Hickory Flats, WV, Located in Webster County and just across the southern Braxton County border - Witness Charles Slover, 35 years old, was driving a delivery truck and sighted a 6-foot tall hairy biped, man-like creature near the road. This was unreported by the History Channel.

Dec. 7, 2005. Braxton County, 7-8 miles from Flatwoods. A wildlife trap camera took a photograph of an unknown entity that has been called the "Braxton Beast." This was unreported by the History Channel. Meager and unrepeated stuff!

UFO sightings abound, reader, on the other hand... not "monster" sightings! A UFO sighting that occurred in Holly, Braxton County on Nov. 8, 1957, was documented by Jacques Vallee in his book "Passport To Magonia."

Holly is located near Flatwoods. In Case #437, Vallee reports that Hank Mollohan and eight other local witnesses saw an elongated object that was 12-metres long.

More UFOs! Frametown Area, 1990: A Frametown couple saw several UFOs over the area of the Middle Ridge area southeast of Frametown. When one of the witnesses walked outside of the house to get a closer look, one of the UFOs flew into the backyard and shot a bright beam of light down towards the witness. This Frametown incident was documented and broadcast in 1990 by a national TV show of the time, Current Affair With Maury Povich.

In 1991, Feschino documented crop circle rings in Frametown, WV., which were recorded by Colin Andrews. Throughout the early 1990s, Feschino also photographed and videotaped UFOs in the same area of Middle Ridge southeast of James Knob.


The Sept. 12, 1952 "Master Map" of UFO locations was not shown. The flight-path trajectory of the "Flatwoods Monster" UFO was not shown or mentioned. This was the Washington DC. to Flatwoods, WV UFO flight-path. Check the included link for same.

The Colonel Leavitt Interview was not shown or mentioned, nor was there any mention of the sizable West Virginia National Guard involvement in and around Flatwoods.

There was no reference that the USAF had heavily documented the Flatwoods incident.

The First-person witness-journalist John Barker interview was not mentioned.

Well respected reporter and first-person responder A. Lee Stewart, Jr., who broke the national story, was not mentioned. The drawings of the metal piece that he found on the farm were not shown.

There was no mention or reference that there were strange metal and black plastic-like pieces found on the Fisher Farm by the locals, shortly after the incident.

The five known drawings made by five of the boy witnesses who saw the "Flatwoods Monster" were not shown." Despite being separated by Stewart the drawings are astonishingly similar!

The "Flatwoods Monster" color illustrations painted by Feschino from eyewitness descriptions were not shown.

The 1996 Fred May pencil drawing of the "Monster" was not shown. It depicted the figure as "mechanical." This was a point errantly avoided by MonsterQuest!

The Flatwoods reenactment segment did not show the actual "mechanical" figure as described by Mrs. May and Fred May. The incorrect 1952 "We The People" mock-up, which depicted the arms and claws was shown instead... and then senselessly compared to the "Frametown Monster."

Finally, the Star child skull and the entities in Flatwoods/Frametown were errantly compared. These cases have no relationship to each other, whatsoever, all respect to the memory of Lloyd Pye! I'm sure he would've agreed.

I'd hoped for the best regarding the History Channel. What happened?

"Hollywood" happened, reader... corporate manipulations apart from, and not interested in, telling the real story... These contrive a mash-up between two unrelated cases and, "highlighting" what was "explainable," work to "faux-discredit" both... actually, to sell boner pills and reverse mortgages. We were sand-bagged, imo.

The only good thing... the Flatwoods story was broached, at all, in a no-nonsense manner by Frank Feschino, Freddy May, John Barker, and Stanton Friedman! People are eventually going to wonder where the "lizard monster" (sheesh!) came from and how it came to be in Flatwoods at all. That story? Again, right here:

I personally apologize to the people of Braxton County, Frametown, and the town of Flatwoods specifically, that the story was not portrayed as it was related to the production company. We regret their time was wasted. It's not Frank Feschino's fault that the creative control was well out of his capable hands... as it will be on all these programs. "Ya pays yer money and takes yer chances." We all got burned. All the credible stuff went to the cutting room floor.

Rest assured, though, MonsterQuest at least showed enough to get interest kindled in other quarters. There's a lot of life left to tell the story, still! You can bet Frank Feschino will be banging the Flatwoods drum, verily!

I remain firmly in his corner! There are many rounds left in this fight. Frank is strong and as focused as he ever was!

Closing, Flatwoods and Frametown residents write to tell me that the James Knob site east of Frametown is still ufologically active. Right now reader.

Well, I suspect that if ET had swooped in and landed on the pasture that night while Friedman, Feschino, and myself were all up there on James Knob—and the Monster Quest people had shot miles of film of it? THAT footage would have languished on the cutting room floor with all the other pertinent material, too.

The MonsterQuest program regarding Flatwoods was a dissembling hypocrisy... and a shame!

One last point, in the dodgy MonsterQuest "cooked" portrayal, Fred May, Stanton Friedman, and Frank Feschino seem to indicate that Big Lizards in "hover-rounds," plus other monsters, still lurk dangerously in the West Virginia mountains around Flatwoods. No reader. They are not. Nothing these men actually reported to the film crew made that indication.

Sincerely, be disabused of the notion that dangerous monsters haunt your hills and forests! Fred, Frank, and Stan made no such intimation. I was there. I know.