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

Thursday, January 05, 2023

Psychopathic Percussions

You may hear the *strangest* music, 
but its syncopated beat 
will absolve you of all fearfulness. 
When you're fearless, you're complete
The tunes are self-evolving 
and appear at once sublime, 
Remembered, then, they are such 
as brought from Terry's* mind.
M's "land" has no locality
it's everywhere at once; 
see, everything's connected, and once "there"?  
There is "free lunch."
...Elevation's certain 
if one's open to his song 
in our universe of ...wonder... 
far from want or rage or wrong!  
Time is its vibration 
and "vibration" is a "music";
 Too? That music is a blessing sent 
since all sense dances to it!
Though... if one then listens closely 
for the notes to fall their way?  
Discordant songs of psychopaths 
prove the order of the day! 
Know its "concert of collusion" 
for the "chords" that they will stroke... 
with their "self-invested orchestras": 
Jealous Corporates! The "Anti-woke."
Their music is self-serving, 
duplicitous—a lie.  
It's all about a "bottom line" 
to serve too few, is why.  
It's all about a "trickle up"
—the gulf's divide is plain—
so some can live apart and dry 
while we endure hard rain.
See? Their music's badly written. 
It's not using all its notes. 
Songs disrespecting happiness?  
Music smashing all your hopes?!  
...Likely, not the way its 'sposed to be. 
Better music is well-known! 
...But we're beset by psychopaths 
who conduct the cruelest tone.
...Pray listen to their voices, though, 
for they blend in ways unplanned
A glimmer of some truth portends—
it's music, understand!? 
Music has an inner voice, 
transcending any lie. 
Too, music leads to everything! 
That "math's the path" is why...
...And, it's music that will always work, 
will always proffer truth; 
"told to be then, understood
it's then believed"—of use!
Finally, it is beautiful!  
It transcends all obfuscation.  
Above concerns considered?  
It has the right vibration!
So we "listen," then; 
who plays bad tunes
Yes, all we have—a pity—
conducted by sure psychopaths 
who express a shadow's bidding... 
These conduct an "orchestra" 
to buttress status quos; 
the musicians, then, are in the tank... 
...and bought.  That's on the nose.
Let's grok alluded orchestras 
and parse them out real fine.  
Let's analyze their music, friend, 
before that's made a crime!
Let's examine pitch and tone 
re-tuning errant strings, 
and make a better music 
than a "one percent" would sing.
...The HORNS, then: played by News folk, 
though their key is flat and dull; 
aggrandizing solos 
are the "focus" they'd extol.
At best, "whores of shallow aspect," 
reporting not... (the bastards!)
Betraying public trusts, one finds, 
they're serving other masters!
They move a tune along alright, 
you'd almost think they care
though it comes up short of climax—
denouement is never "there."  
Mythic Swinton blew the clearer note; 
he had to drink to do it—
he knew that they had all sold out... 
and blew that tune!  All knew it.
He hit the righteous high notes! 
His music sweet and clear, 
he should have been a frontman, 
he sang so hard and dear. 
Though, we just rolled our "blind eyes" up, 
pretended a mistake... 
awaited safer *music* 
which we lapped up for our fate.
The STRINGS are plucked by charmless "priests" 
who moan their shallow dirge. 
They play upon the guilt produced 
on harps that but discourage
They whip us with their hair shirt bows 
and guilt us with their strings. 
Then, fleecing their respective flocks, 
become religious kings.
Theists pluck "dour movements" 
from their strings composed of gut, 
thus provoking ardent churchsters' weeping wail! 
...and that's just nuts!
They whimper hopeless harmonies 
of meaningless dichotomies 
insuring only futures where 
We fall into their traps! Their snares!
They don't police their ranks at all, 
and do us ALL so wrong. 
Their songs are rank extortion 
built to string us all along! 
These songs are self-enriching 
and produce no pangs of guilt... 
for the many who just cash on in
eroding mental health!
The REEDS? They're paid politicos 
who must whistle from their stumps... 
...just exactly what a "public" wants to hear
the facile chumps! 
They listen to their horns and strings, 
then harshly hum their spins on things: 
a beatified corpocracy... 
they but pump!
On gravy trains, they'd rather be, 
they laugh at you and promise—tease! 
They keep their hand within your pocket, 
lifting cash and keys or lockets... 
looting from your stuff they'll buy 
that music for their comfort's eye!
Some reeds split off like missiles! 
"Truth at last"(!), you cheer and whistle! 
But these are reeds soon locked away 
if they refuse "their" piece to play! 
...Johnny Ford was such a "reed" 
(I hope that, soon, he might be freed...)!
An unpleasant cacophony, 
this mixture of strings—
of brass or of reeds 
and more *curious* things. 
The movement is hollow; 
it is tuneless—discordant; 
it settles for short term 
and forgets long importance. 
It limps through its song 
like it's missing the notes. 
Forbidden to play them? 
Songs sound like a joke.
...And who's this *Forbidder*? 
Who "conducts" from the shadows? 
Who's the arranger—
this snake without glasnost? 
What is his end, 
and how is that measured. 
Who wins again (?); 
whose nest has it feathered?
Good music it's not, 
but your *beat* is still good—
and the notes they don't play 
ARE a symphony, dude! 
...And that's your paid ticket! 
You hear what's NOT there! 
That music is better 
(...trades Clem for Astaire)!
See? It's you who adds percussion! 
It's you producing heat! 
It's you producing rhythm... 
Individuals tapping feet. 
It's you distilling truth from fear. 
It's you to play and croon. 
It's you providing heart and soul—
who keeps that beat in tune!
...So, hear your own music! 
Refuse their contrived! 
Look for those sweet notes! 
Be on guard for their jive. 
Make new connections 
and wake up, refreshed! 
Tolerate more that the 
Concrescence is looming, 
and what do we find? 
That their music's awful
but your music's fine!

*Terence McKenna's Land

  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-pish...

  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-pash...

  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Tink! Tink!
  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Ta Tink! Tink!
  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Pa-tinkity! Tink! 
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-posh... 

  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada... 
(wait for it...)

...Taditity boom!

Restore John Ford!

Tuesday, December 13, 2022

Well... Would You?

Well... Would You?
by Alfred Lehmberg

UFOs (and remember, we don't use that duplicitous and disingenuous "other" term UAP in these parts)... ...UFOs [pausing to meaningfully glare at the reader] continue to dance and spin on the peripheries of human consciousness even as we wade the base externalities of human tragedies like war, poverty, plague, and nonsensical Republican governance. Walk with me.

With the attention spans of gnats manipulatively attenuated by psychopathic persons profiting from their lusty perfidy, we won't ask the simple question. Simply: why the alien's "hide and seek"? Why don't they just go ahead and land? They almost DID in 1952, we suspect, and were ordered shot down by President Truman for their trouble... 

So... "land," and all that that must imply. Would you? Especially when you might have a little more responsibility than the reprogrammable meat bags you regard, below you, staying true to the self-evaluation we'll explore in this piece. 

Responsibility? Even we have observed the lesson in ethics of a "prime directive." 

...And think about all that while trying to use a balanced perspective on our aggregate humanity. Take pains not to be too kind to us. Err on the too-critical side. We earn it as we have earned it.

Consider, for a moment. "Mammals" have to trump "reptiles"—essential psychopathy—because reptiles are limited by their internal programming to the entirely self-concerned, exclusively. Self-interest is supreme, sporting goals both short-term and socially non-adaptive. At birth, hardwired, reptiles are all they'll ever be. The point, forgetting that "sometimes" we "need" the reptile (another story)? 

Have we aggregate humans been any more than self-interested and conscienceless reptiles, by and large, virtually defecating in bed and pushing it down with our "feet" (read, disrespected people) essentially, belying our mammalian live births, milk production, and skin hair... to ape a lesser being or life expression? Could we be better? 

Verily, our unwashed and unspun behaviors among ourselves, over time and even that suspicious history composed by winning psychopaths, speak for themselves in lurid volumes! Reptiles? That's kind

We humans express, rather, as sometimes clever if still self-consuming cancers, as a mass, always multiplying beyond our needs and expectations... to cruel extinctions of ourselves... and our other planet-mates. Sentient Elephants, whales, and dolphins (oh my!). We've few saving graces, then, and a recognition of that may be one of them.

So then, in observation of the preceding, what is an alien's upside to their landing? What's in it for them, to be clear? One is reminded, obliquely, of pearls cast before swine, humanity being far from the pearlish in that observation. 

...We were warned not to be kind, remember. Sure, it could be the wholesale inverse of what's considered, but how likely is that, you know, being honest with self?

...But any honesty is obliviated by the ubiquitous FOGS we manufacture to obscure those unsettling and inconclusive lights in the sky we regard, and admitted sporadically, now and again, by duplicitous officialdom—the abortion fogs, flag-burning smokes, same-sex marriage smogs, the cruelly baseless miasmas of antitrans-persecution... this from a grabbag of social sex/race-centric betrayals and hypocritical cultural infidelities, every one of these toxic items suspiciously and peculiarly unsupported by fact, and touted only by the well-monied "extremist suspicious" (read, Republicans) ... all to keeping otherwise harried persons thinking with their glands instead of their brains...

There will, eventually, be dire consequences. There always are where the short-sighted stupid are preferred and celebrated to the good sense and far-sighted sentient folk! Faux-moralistic Rightists are going to pay heavily for their uber-moral campaigns of misdirection and hypocrisy, of course, but the sane, sensible, and secular will suffer too, for their grievous sins! That sin? The toleration of another's mal-based and toxic intolerance.

The immediate former, incidentally, may even actually earn the "persecutions" they whine falsely and disingenuously about now when the latter, and justifiably, have had enough of their unblinking mendaciousness, social insentience, and bald hypocrisy! The hyper-Religulous will pay heavy freight for putting their stock into the untested faiths demanded by Gods they'd invented themselves to do their bidding... encouraging valueless and shallow, so unexamined lives. There's a sin not admitted to.

Verily, they make us ALL pay for their trouble... for their crimes! Again! Always! So!

Resolved! The last "King" must strangle the last "Priest" with the king's own steaming entrails as has been outlined in history!

Which reminds me, to digress from home!

It's constantly been said that the "Conservative" never forgets... hence the apt and overtly lard-assed pachyderm as the GOP's ponderous and pedantic symbol. Elephants are legendary with regard to their long memories (it's why they're people, but that's a story for another time). ...But, you know? I think the inverse must be true with Present Day Republicans, remembering of course that "both sides" being equally at fault for equal blame is a craven lie of but one "projecting" and "gaslighting" side...

When one recognizes the historical, logical, sequential, and inevitable results of authoritarian oppression, rank tyranny, legislated morality, and an applied and very energetic double standard profitably employed—every freaking time by the illiberal autocrat (!) ... one is compelled to consider, reader, that the Conservative never REMEMBERS! They are either without efficacious memory or they are fulsome and full-blown psychopaths and hypocrites as regarded above, and lying about it, all for power and influence. Maybe that's the same thing...

It's a fool's errand trying to get them to admit what they were saying and thinking yesterday, forget last week! Living in a bubble provides for its own toxicity, it seems plain. Memories get short in the pursuit of listening to the voice giving you permission to be your worst self, even at the cost of your own best interests. We spoke of bed defecation earlier...

On reflection, then, the elephant is ill-served, if not insulted outright, regarding its association with the so-called Grand Old Party, neither grand, nor old, or a "Party." This provokes the admonition that Republicans might consider the assumption of a new symbol more in keeping with their record, their morality, their ethics, and their self-serving mal-production. ...The river lamprey or E-bola virus springs readily to mind!

Yeah-yeah-yeah... Clinton may have been the ASS (donkey) who fronted his party, AND the liar that he's painted out to be... ...but, reader! His motivation, compassion, and priority—forgetting that his trumping record, morality, even ethics, and production—are SAINT-LIKE when compared with the fulsome sins of his trickle-downing, supply-siding, and Constitution-evading predecessors and successors! Obama? He's f'n Christ risen, virtually, and walking the Earth for a little old-school hyperbole; this is especially galling to many.

If Clinton spent a weekend in a county lockup for his one faithless transgression by way of lyin' 'bout a BJ... Shrubs, Bush Sr, Reagan, Nixon, and the orange scourge should get life in prison with no hope of parole for theirs!

They didn't (or won't?), and it is that which wholly invalidates the chest-beating, lurid moaning, and the sorry teeth-gnashing of those who would have an "Obama" summarily removed from office, right now, out of naught but bigoted pique. ...And so "righteously," too... for wearing a tan suit, that one time...

Our short-falls are legion. Only admitting to them will begin to ameliorate them! Hard cheese, but the only chance we might have as a species, come to it...

So... in well-deserved conclusion... give in, not to virtual reptilianism's psychopathic autocracy and the stark lawlessness of the senseless and nonsensical unrepresentative, but to rationality, not rightist rationalization, and the rule of sensible law! It'll bring the saucers down... to bring us home, again. That's this person's intuition.

Restore John Ford! (...oddly, a Republican, though that matters not at all.)

Read on.

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

"I'm Your Huckleberry"

For Ron Mon... if that is his real name...
So you DARE to call me crazy? 
I'll debate that point's contention, 
best prepare to pay a "freight" conjectured fair! 
See, I'll snap your weak derision 
(born of fatuous pretension!), 
and return it with three folds—
One best beware!
We'll see who's sane when it's explored
the assumptions bigots make,
make "light" unsettled darknesses 
light's loathe to mask or fake.
Prepare for self-disclosures, then
Offended folk? Be free!
"I'm not locked up in here with you;
You're locked in here, with me."
See, your "insult's": insufficient! 
They define your small pretension—
and they frame you out, so plain, 
for one to see. 
Friend? Your reductionism's facile; 
Though, I'm shoved upon its "edge" 
...but I've resolved you're sans control; 
of you I would be free!
See? You're not remotely "free," dim-bulb... 
you're befettered by "restriction," 
impeded by that cold wet fish 
of *class*... its "bitch," *tradition*!  
See, "Tradition's" over-mechanized 
to shore-up jealous means. 
Most "ceremony" shackles us 
and keeps us from our dreams.
Then? Who lives where 
you'd know terror, friend; 
who knows your secret deals? 
Who knows what kids are thinking 
(and that from them you shall steal!)?
...Who knows if washboard clouds must mean 
a sound—so low—is heard; 
only whales hear this music 
so should live free, undeterred...
...For me, I'd freely die out on 
the edge of airless space... 
before I'd give an inch to such as you
Your *righteous* soporific's 
flatly specious in its whining... 
what we've come to find 
is blatantly untrue!
Why, it's you who's plainly crazy—
self-defined—and then what's next
Why, it's you, a mawkish blue-nose, 
who contrives some "failed test." 
It's you, your foul "activity", 
and your *righteousness* pretended—
to you of course that can't apply... 
as hypocrites suspend it!
As for you, you'll get comeuppance 
when the truths you hide are known. 
Who, then, climbs your walls in anger, 
and, then, who drags you from your home? 
Who will ask those questions 
which are answered from the heart? 
...You shall not have your "lawyer" there 
to play his scabrous part!
You'll stand alone, uncovered. 
Who's then calling on the phone? 
Who makes you pay for disrespect... 
Who's taking back your bone?
Who's had enough of *secrets*? 
Who'll make you rue your day... 
that you hitch good folks to servitude
and then make them pay your way?
You don't deserve the secrets 
which should rain from starry skies. 
You don't deserve that bounty, 
and you shouldn't wonder why!

You're "content" to stumble blindly 
in the shadows of your *Fathers*, 
you fletch them out as heroes
and won't listen or be bothered 
if we later find them ill-advised, 
aligned by specious *sight*, 
a shackle on our freedoms
as obstructers of our light!
You contrive your *little* secret 
in the hopes that you slide by—
are absolved for your indifference 
so we gulp your bigger lie. 
I point this out, flat mad as hell, 
as I am off my knees! 
My play'd be "pay the piper," 
so our children could be free!
For this you mock/deride me, 
that I see you wear no "clothes"—
that I mock your lack of "balance," 
and your ethic's full of "holes." 
That the 'man' would squeeze your gonads,
 and you'd toe his unjust line 
to spew unjust derisiveness, 
abusing all you find!
You'd encourage new divisiveness 
while the world slowly dies. 
You'd abrogate "decisiveness" 
to feed your fat despised!
Giving in to their malignity, 
you are the true depraved! 
You have given in to devils! 
You are wrong, unjustunbrave!  
You prosecute the innocent 
to suit depraved elites; 
you undercut our values 
and then push us to the streets!
I bite an unwashed thumb at you! 
I give the "secret" sign! 
I hoist my middle finger 
in the hopes that you're confined! 
I continue my rude gestures—
I intimate contempt
Your outrage and annoyance, 
I portend, is heaven sent!
See, your lack of "face" emboldens me, 
I am DRIVEN by your spite! 
Encouraged by your bitter bile 
I fight a better fight!
Your jeers, they must embolden me.
I've seen what makes you cheer!
My self-respect goes up a notch
Any time you smirk or sneer! 
Your taunts? My ammunition! 
Your jeers? My hand grenades! 
See? Your petty—facile—comments 
fuel poetic fusillades!
I've strength where you have weakness 
'cause I understand your plight
I hate your jealous shadows! 
You hate I want more light!
So I fester in your kill file! 
I shall not go away. 
Like Jefferson's black progeny? 
I'll shout the truth one day!  
'Till then? I'll be so "up your nose," 
your pea-brained head distends!  
Your lips will feel my scrubbing knees 
and my boot heels feel your chin.


    "I'm Your Huckleberry"

  • Yeah—too!  Those you'd criticize—for all their competencies, talents, and integrities—may have feet of clay as all do. Their mistakes have been made. Their credulities have been strained. Their assumptions have been prosecuted. Their confidences have been betrayed.  These are significant still if only for their consistent sincerity... even as I can't agree with them in all cases...
  • ...Yet they are as GODS of absolute HUMILITY and perfect certification when compared with your boundless, if groundless hubris, tedious self-promotion, and abundant lack of wit...
  • "You grovel at the feet of these, a piss-wit's toad on scabby knees..."
  • See?  You are especially obnoxious given that the "fruit" from your metaphoric "trees" screams "dolt," "lack-wit," "troll," "fatuous bore," and "coward"! Your production is laughably homocentric, hopelessly narcissistic—larded with pathetic arrogance and baseless hubris, and your anxious explication is only evidence of rank cowardice, intellectual and otherwise, full stop!
  • Now... that's an exposing exposé worthy of an exposed exposure, eh? Still, entirely lost on you, I suspect.  That's what reflex reductionism will do for you: enslave you to a misapplied Occam... See, it remains that sometimes it is required to "complicate the hypothesis," you klasskurtxian swine!  Occam never ruled that out contrary to what you might have believed. He said, "not without necessity"!  Necessity commands!
  • Step off, there's a lad!  Then pound cement past a prolapsed pore. There, that's better.  Know too: "I'll be your huckleberry...," and strike the sun were it to provide your offense!  It's.  My.  Job!
  • You know who you are.  Bunched up, hopelessly inbred, and mutually supporting, one metaphoric or literary grenade gets you all! Read on.

Tuesday, October 25, 2022

Good News, Plus...

Good News, Plus...
by Alfred Lehmberg

It had seemed a propitious day, if tense and ominous... if filled with dread. Reality, looming. Existentiality in meatspace. That bell tolling for thee. Well, me... this time. The inexorable singularity remains to loom for us all. That may be good news, whoever you are. Read on.

Unfortunately, my very fearful, now-late Mother made the nonplussing disclosure to the first internet buddy calling me on the telephone. I'd had a stroke, you see. There was concern. We won't bury the lead.

She did it out of concern and fear for what she knew was a sympathetic ear, but it was "disclosure" nonetheless. I'd have sooner if we kept it to ourselves. The reader can suspect why.

Why? Think about it... I didn't want a reader to have any "excuses" to employ against me, thinking they could confidently answer questions about me, or the like, and it was largely my own damn business, anyway! I was the one payin' the f'n freight... and besides. It's not like I'm an airline pilot or a neurosurgeon... well, maybe a neurosurgeon, remembering Ben Carson...

She didn't know, was the point. "Otherwise distracted," myself? I didn't think to tell her not to. It's what people do.

The result was that I hadn't remotely felt like she'd blabbed. Her heart was in the right place, yea and verily. She's gone now... 1996...

It remained that the "news" was out, though, so I'd endeavor to turn it into a disclosure of my own... and a good thing, too! For reasons I'll go into, it was good news for you too, reader, even as you might perceive that it was bad news for me. It was good news; however, for me, though, tooOpportunity had presented itself!

Seriously! I mean that. See, the bell was rung, and hard... ...just, not shattered. This would be a bell taking the lesson! I was well served as it turned out...

See? As part of the new mammalian internet consciousness and aware of (unabashedly woke to?) an initiative combating the reptilian consciousness which had preceded it... and in the spirit of same? I was compelled to make a full report of that good news to you, reader. Listen up.

It was good news, remaining so years later, surprisingly, and I would be laughing, laughing in the pleasure of that news, sincerely, even as I first typed these words, now so long ago. Why, I'm laughing, now!

There were some grateful tears mixed in with all the eventual laughter. I was extremely grateful that I still had the capacity for both... 

One anxious Tuesday, many years ago, at about eight o'clock in the morning... and during some news report about the aggregate egregiousness that our then-current United States government had committed (...but that story only at the tip of the iceberg, [right ?!]), I'd had that stroke to which we allude...

Yeah... sincerely committed to the idea that I just may live forever? I had a stroke. It was an attention-getter, yea, and verily!

Not a bad one, mind you, and not one requiring me to bang this essay out with my forehead, now, by any means... even as it's slowed me down... but a stroke nonetheless. A "Bell" rung as indicated, and I was shaken to my stackin' swivels!

I was left unsure on my feet, later making a lot more mistakes as I typed, and I couldn't chord my guitar for a long time... but hey... it could have been a lot worse. A lot worse. Moreover, recovery continues. Lucky stars are well-counted!

Oh, I'd had it comin'. We all do. Close to fifty pounds overweight, no real regular exercise in the preceding decade, and wrapped a little too tight (one might argue?) than is good for anybody? I'd been skatin' a tad too close to the edge of the f'n abyss for a while, at that point! The aforementioned bell tolled, finally, for... me. Sucker gut-punch!

I got a "wake-up call," to cut to the chase. Moreover, that new mammalian consciousness I'd alluded to earlier can transfer! Make it a wake-up call for yourself, too, if you choose! A 'freebie' "Lehmberg's Good News Plus" call! ...Costs you nothing but the time to read this essay. You could be pointed in a whole new, and more efficacious, direction.

...But outed? I owe it to you, reader, to start the, alluded to, transfer... apply the appropriately efficacious, inspired, and aspiring spin... tell the true story. See, I'm not to be pitied, or eased-up-on, or considered infirm... I'm not to be immediately considered dotty, disrupted, disordered, or disturbed. I'm still me, if a little slower version at present. Moreover, I flatly refused and wouldn't (won't!) tolerate reflexive sympathy. ...Wouldn't own it. ...Didn't stand for it! 

An abutting illustration, does the honored reader remember Rich Reynolds of the very suspiciously spurious and specious "RRR Group" out of Fort Wayne, Indiana... He was circa an Internet of yesteryear and from decades past (last century, in fact)? You can read his homocentric, hubris-filled, and arrogantly mewling "pule-expulsion," still. I won't link to it.

Well, he'd had a light stroke earlier and I backed way off his expositional case, as a result, treated him with toleration he did not deserve... extended to him an idiosyncratic credit he did not earn! ...And, as a, one would suppose, predictable result of a subsequent "pointed discussion on ethics, credibility, and fair or balanced ufological reporting, unrelated to him, where no good deed goes unpunished"? ...He plunged an unearned blade of bogus manufacture deeply into my very innocent back... right around kidney level... for my trouble and earnest consideration! 

Even if that trouble was senseless, un-based, and unfounded, still, it was serious and sincere! It was an unconscionable fabrication to wound! One is faulted to remember the headline ACCUSATION (!) before one remembers the below-the-fold exoneration! An accusation is always above the fold and the exoneration ever below.

This twat, this psychotic scourge, this toadie net-weasel circuitously suggested by way of a guy on his writing team, to our shared community at large (in a very public forum, the late Errol Bruce Knapp's UFO UpDates) that this writer was a pedophile...


See how this is gonna function? Mr. Reynolds dies periodically on the journalistic cross and continues to die at every opportunity presenting itself, for whatever provoked concern, concerning anxiety, or needless apprehension this writer feels the need to periodically express correcting a distorted record... 

See how this might work? I've no reflexive respect for the dead, and the reader might consider their own even as I contemplate my own. Too often that "respect" only provides for a continuation of the unconscionable and egregious. Respect should be earned in death as it was in life. Consider Christopher Columbus. Sometimes history has been made to lie... and that just sickens the soul.

The reader was better advised to feel about me... exactly as the reader felt about me before my, actually fortuitous, episode, good, bad, or indifferently ugly. I had not changed, so the reader would have less of an excuse of such. Moreover? My character remained undamaged!

Be silently ambivalent, wish me well, or even ill. Then move on, with my thanks. I'll eat your literary face for anything less or more. I may eat it anyway; we must first come to that bridge.

Still, and now, a "fortuitous episode"? Yes. Proceeds now, the good news. 

You see, for the better part of two years, previously, I had co-written a series of information papers with a former longtime friend and fellow military retiree Alan Graham. We collaborated about diet, nutrition, and the aggregate disservice done to all of us by a disingenuous American Medical health system and its "evil pharmacological ancillaries." Yeah... there's some nuanced if dicey shiznit afoot, medically, shiznit in large part obscured by your du jour conspiracy crazies and their monied corporate backers who most aren't woke (see above) to, but that's a dive for another time! 

Back at "the ranch," Alan is the fellow who 'cured' himself of the 'incurable' ailment called Crohn's Disease, 'hereditary' arthritis, and some other diseases of the 20th Century. By all evidence of same, he vastly improved my extremely ill mother's last-years quality of life and assisted many others (why even "UFO abductee fake" Jim Mortellaro and his alleged wife [allegedly stricken with MS] among them, allegedly!), this writer had witnessed same. 

A quality of life they had thought gone from them forever was returned. True stories all. Encouraging stories. Instructive stories. Stories of hope and a better quality of life. 

Like many of you currently reading, I thought I was one of those immune to the diseases of the 21st Century. Not so. As a result, I wasn't really practicing what I'd helped preach. 

Back at that original ranch, the circle-bar-stroke, I had survived what amounts to my second wake-up call... or, at least, that 2nd "wake-up" requiring a 911 buzz, an ambulance,  and a subsequent 3-day hospitalization. The first episode was very brief, quickly recovered from, and a result of sleeping in a funny position... ...I "thought." 

This had happened about 5 weeks previously... about the time that Rich Reynolds was twisting his contrived, fallacious, and libelous knife in my back... hmm? An interesting coincidence!

Back to me, I was just lying to myself about my physical condition. I knew what it was. I just willingly self-deceived. We do that, don't we...

No more. It's the third strike for which you have to walk (or be carried) away from the plate, after all. If I can't hit a home run with my efforts, I'd still, at least, like to get on base. 

I still intend to get a 'hit', reader. That said, I'd ended my self-abuse at a bone dry 225 pounds (should be about 170, tops, soaking wet), blood pressure averaging 170 over 110 or thereabouts (should be about 120 over 85)... and was rendered unsteady on my feet if of sound mind... I lost for a time the coordination to play my guitar. That was especially and ominously crushing. 

I was hoping I could report to you later that I'd dropped the meds and gotten my guitar-playing ability back. I did the latter. Still burdened with the former... but the numbers get better with every doctor visit!

I had hoped to make a full recovery, reader. A complete one. I aspired to be better than before. I aspire still to that goal. Progress was made.

Additionally, I'd hoped I could give the reader more time at-bat, themselves, as a result of some small attention the reader might pay to the evolved saga, here. What I intended to do is described very well at the indicated location (Google 'Graham Lehmberg' on the Alienview website), so I don't have to be tedious about it here in the essay. The reader can go have a look as the reader wishes. Or, e-mail me. I'll direct her to the sun source! North of any politics, you'll do fine.

The site is not the B's knees & end-all. It remains; however, to establish a path! Osteopathic trumps the allopathic!

It's not required to pay attention or follow along in any way, of course. It's just that the new mammalian internet I've referenced a couple of times now makes it possible for me to effortlessly share this "good" news! I shall, indeed, share. 

It's my duty, I suppose, forgetting I'd as soon have kept it to myself. I have a system. I have a plan. I have hope.

I've good people around who care about me. Good news like I said. For me and, as I said, for you too...

But what does all this have to do with UFOs? It's this. 

When I was lieing in the bed at the hospital that Tuesday evening after midnight, in the 2nd deepest dark of the blackest night I have ever known—even requiring help to urinate, reader—I was compelled to wonder if this was not the end of all things for me. Depression... 

The end of physical love? The end of mobility? The end of the complete satisfaction I had taken for granted concerning wife, family, friends, and my little pound puppy dog, the late Sheiba? The abrupt end of a thousand and one other pleasurable things, wounds of slings and arrows dismissed as immaterial

Perhaps not surprisingly to the reader? The loss of UFOs and the earnest consideration of their ancillaries figured closely after my concerns for the just iterated items... that I was being taken out of the game, you know? Everyone understands that. Bad enough to die... but to linger incapacitated and a burden.

I got released from the hospital late Wednesday morning. I was responding favorably to treatment and got a lot of mobility back as a result. After checking in with family and friends, still, my thoughts were on the night sky and her accouterments. 

Thursday morning came with the usual alarm at 02:30 hours, and I was, apparently, to be given another chance to stare, at least once again, into her matchless depths and deeper reaches. Honestly, I lusted for that night sky... another gift I had taken for granted, I discovered. I won't make that mistake again. 

At about 05:15 hours Central Time that day, with a temperature around 30 degrees Fahrenheit, I was looking to the west at the best Star-field I'd seen in quite a while. Winter always has the best... 


The object appeared over the South South-West tree line, brighter than Venus, at about 50 degrees elevation, and preceded to travel Northerly at a rate of about 5 degrees in 15 seconds until it disappeared, also at about 50 degrees elevation, in the tree line to the North! The sighting happened between 05:15 and 05:20 hours, or thereabouts. It traveled with such unvarying regularity and brightness that I took it for the Space Station or an especially bright satellite. Checking the NASA java application for satellite prediction; however, at a NASA site for satellite observation and setting the application for ALL satellites and ALL passes, showed that there were NO satellites between 03:40 hours and 11:28 hours of 'any' type or at 'any' magnitude of brightness for my location (ZIP code 36330). 

A UFO, friends and neighbors! With any other name? It would smell as sweet! I was well and truly served. Gladdened even. The reader may understand why—brushes with death always make a person appreciate the 'little' things. 

I was still in the game! I'm in the game still! I'll keep you posted? Read on!

Plastic is silver to a person sans flatware...

Thursday, October 06, 2022

Seditious Sky...


So... glamoured, I gaze into endless dark skies. 
Skies, so pro-capable of spinning vast lies.* 
The kind of a sky that snatches your breath; 
a beautiful sky that all must regret... 
remains it's alive with an uncommon light 
to question "contentment" or query what's "right."
...Then it appears so abruptly I'm startled
A CRAFT (?)—or A LIGHT (?) 
...but, you call it, Ronald!  
It assaults my cognition
and assails one's senses...
it batters perception...
I'm rendered quite senseless!
...I shall not be sorry for bearing such witness; 
dismissals are facile, sans courage, and witless!
...And it swayed (!) and was pulsing 
across the dark sky! 
Its speed was inconstant
I'm seeing this, Clyde!
...And, I know it sounds crazy... 
Yes, I know it's obverse; 
what I can't tell you outright
I'll express it in verse!
See, the verse is a transcript 
of what has been seen
"disclaimer" provided 
as verse is demeaned?  
Still, happening in fact
all it takes is one time; 
then, self-honesty dictates 
a change in one's mind!
...It *wafted* along
—its purpose a mystery—
Too? Doing away with those tales we're told;
to deify "fathers" who make us less bold!
Hear epics of "heroes" 
to which you're compared... 
when they never existed!  
...And you're "unworthy," Mon frère?
Rather... I propose our history's lies 
are toxic cloth we should despise... 
a damned and thread-bare tapestry! 
 A cloth of artless sophistry... 
contriving that which holds us down
supports too few—sports errant crowns! 
...For I've—so—seen "them" flying 
in the glittering above! 
It was certainly not an airplane
or a seagull or a dove
This... thing was not an airship
or a storm cloud, or a finch
It wasn't Hynek's' "swamp gas,
then, you smirking son of a bitch!
...And then at once it brightened, 
and I thought it must explode! 
It dead-stopped in the star field and then, 
flickered, burned, and glowed
I held my breath to wait and see 
what this might be about, 
then, it did the damnedest thing
It but flickered... and went out!
Awestruck—I stared, befuddled, 
into empty star-filled space, 
my chin a'bounce from buckling knees—
I'm so gobsmacked and amazed; 
...then *daughter* lights came out to play 
...along "meanders" traced (!), 
and flashing red and white they're GONE
departing in all haste!?!
All the stars are laughing then, 
or it seems so on reflection, 
that I was there to process 
this anomalous projection.  
A common man without "Doc's" letters, 
"without portfolio"
—inconsequential... unimportant, 
...Sans braggadocio!
That I could be the one to see 
this para-normal light... 
which was visible to thousands, 
maybe millions, am I right?
That I would see this strangeness 
so belittled by "the news"—
that I'd... more clearly fathom... 
all the wonder it imbues!  
The "greatest story never told
and what it just might mean... 
the actualizing of oneself ...
to better "hopes" and "dreams"!
...Though, we have had our "trust" betrayed
been thieved from "fair and square"; 
our air and food are poisonous—
water's getting rare!  
So, I'll not then be buying 
what our "ruling gentry's" said, 
as they've clearly been untruthful, cousin! 
I would do this then, instead!
...I'd Cop to "living" skies, my friends! 
They're not an errant joke! 
Too, they're in no way beholden 
to those persons blowing smoke!
...To me at least, it makes no sense... 
this entropy of common sense; 
this desolation of the self; 
this final loss of mental health? 
The losses 'twixt your "hawks" and "doves"... 
The deaths of wholesome care and love...
You so choose, at cost
so stow it
then, cheated and alone... 
...you blow it?
...Though, STILL be optimistic 
in this blackened Winter night! 
Lights will still move strangely
but they won't increase our fright.  
They are, instead, strange "alternates"—
alternatives—new voice! 
They do not pay observance to the "man"!  
They offer CHOICE!
See, that's the real problem 
with what "serves" us as "Officials."  
We're offered an "alternative" 
which, then, could be beneficial.  
"Kings" just as soon have none of that; 
they'd keep you on your knees—
they'd introduce reductionists 
and substitute "disease"!
UFOs? A comfort 
when compared to our own kind... 
who'd let their own just starve to death... 
driven crazy, sick, and blind
The lights can be, then, much preferred (!), 
compared to me and you 
or the fulsomeness of anger 
'twixt the Christian/Moslem/Jew! 
Their lights are then more favored, friend, 
than governments of hatred
"governments" down primrose paths... 
to "hells" for which we're fated?
...And me? Well, I'll be watching 
for those "lighted cosmic ships" 
... entities thought sailing in an ocean sky eclipsed? 
...And I won't await "consensus," 
or a "scientific" nod, 
or the words of fulsome "ministers," 
or the mewling of some mob!
I've seen them fly—goddamnit
 How worthy, then, your sneer 
...I've come to understand, my friend, 
just masks a coward's fear!
You think that I'm affected 
by your lies and obfuscation; 
you think that I'm controlled or led 
by vast prevarications; 
you're thinking I'm a hapless clone 
to listen and obey—your drone?
Get a grip, you're almost through...
our times are fast a changin'... ...true!
You miss the train and won't perceive
you're standing on its tracks, you see. 

      • *If our sun, at *this* moment, exploded... we wouldn't know about it for eight and a third minutes.  Further away Betelgeuse—a monster sun swollen to the size of Jupiter's orbit and glaring balefully from the constellation Orion's right shoulder (and still tiny, by the way!)—provides for a colossal explosion we wouldn't know about... for another 640 years!  Further away than that is the truth, farther away.
      • *The lying skies lie as the sky must lie.  What you "see" is not... "what you get," you see?  To the contrary! One looks at the obfuscating night sky and shall not perceive what "is" but rather, at best, what "was."  The sky is not current events, the reader discovers; it is a grudging "history," and history, remember, further back the farther we gaze out into it. Their unguessable futures have already occurred. ...Can there even be a "now" for everyone and everything, there we're all an operation of likely probabilities, and we take that for reality?
      • See the "sliding scale" of truth provoked by distance?   Consider, we really do advance into the future perceiving only the misinterpreted and so distorted reflections from a crazed and indistinct rear-view mirror!  The point?
      •  I suspect that this is the draw of a SETI program or simulacrum.  Fixed myopically on what happened "long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away," one can then use their cognitive dissonance to excuse their cowardice, reader, and pretend that a truth measured only as light-nano-seconds removed from fact—of the clock—is not there at all.
      • It remains; we really do perceive only a grudging and after-the-fact forthrightness from the duplicitous sky with regard to the truth, reader, because, facilitated as it is by a glacial "speed of light," it has not yet made TIME—to tell us the truth. Maybe that's its apology. 
      • It remains that this lie becomes only grander and progressively unknowable as one moves one's perception further away, and is a tangential reminder that at center?  The only truth one can really aspire to is oneself.
      • When you "look," you "find"! To start? Perhaps, yourself! See, the skies may lie, but not about what's in them. It's YOU, after all, in something else's sky... and how true are you?

      Restore John Ford!

      "Shoot Them Down"! --

      Quadrature --

      Wendy's Song --

      Rudiak Rides Again --

      HyperSpace --

      Taken --

      Always Searching --

      SkyLights --

      Grok In Fullness


      Errol Bruce-Knapp, of UFO UpDates, Strange Days — Indeed, the Virtually Strange Network... ...and the coiner of the expression &qu...