Sunday, December 27, 2009

Six Facets Of Preponderance

The sky reflects a lot of 'time' as measured presently. The 'space' is... unimaginable, beyond infinity... ! These are dwarfed by 'surfaces': places where we'd stand if we had imagination... were less facile—in command.

The question's begged who's there right now... and peering back at Earth! Consider plans to visit same... There is, I'd bet, no dearth. See, Drake's equation says they "are", and Fermi says they "will"... ...the evidence of UFOs enjoys denial, still.

Drake's equation says they 'are', in figures sans a lie. The numbers are conclusive, mirrored thoughtfulness, is why.

To the "angle of that dangle," add the square of Drake's potential, and smartly find, besides ourselves? The more than insubstantial!

Yes, we have, indeed, their photograph, we've raked their thousand traces, and some have looked upon them to behold non-human faces...

Now, Fermi says they 'will', of course! If they are 'there', they do so. If there, they have prerogatives we cannot guess or even know. But "they're not here 'cause we're not there" is not a valid answer...if "they were here, we'd know it," was Fermi's "tiny dancer."

Still, we'd vilify their fantasy, a homocentric dream, that they alone inhabit space... their arrogance supreme? Their hubris—bloated 'schism—is provoked by errant men who prosecute too passionately... ...what only profits them! These men are not concerned with 'truth', have abdicated 'trust', and shortchange those beneath them, then, with 'promises' of dust!

Evidentiary ufology is enormous and well vetted, but folks have lost home, love, and lives... while chasing their "detected." ...And hows that work, this travesty: to punish good behavior, reward instead its opposite, a point gone non-belabored...

Photographic physicality, it's passed time's acid test! History is larded with accounts not made in jest. Artists have recorded what ...'real people'... heard and saw... and they wrote in ink on parchment or in soot on cave-home walls.

I myself have seen such things as other pilots see... regarded them unflinchingly and not from bended knee.  One must, of needs, be true to self, or risk a cruel despair.  One must report the truth they've known: achieve their croix de guerre!

Six facets of an evidence borne out in guts some had... to qualify existence and to keep from going mad... Six facets of reality that some of needs deny, and this is proof that these are fools who might be vilified.

Six facets of preponderance... a glimmer of the deep... these shock the sensibilities of those not yet asleep. Six facets of near certainty foretell important news; that we are not, have never been, "alone"! Be disabused!

UFOs. Yes, the quality anecdotal evidence, compounded with the vetted photographic evidence, and then added to the documented historical evidence... every indication that a ufological contention regarding that phenomena must be more real than not... Yet, we tarry, mope, twitter, and futz.
Moreover, when the preceding is framed by the serious artistic evidence, qualified by the available physical evidence, and then compellingly buttressed by any conclusively personal evidence —if you have some... I do... thousands have— I can only be annoyingly astonished by the continued reluctance of some to face the highly strange music that just cannot be forever marginalized...
A seventh category is considered concerning a mathematical addition suggested by the Drake Equation but fleshed out by Amir D. Aczel (PhD) in his Probability One.  Simply put, the odds that we are not alone in the universe are so close to 100% that there is one chance in one that such is so. Certainty.
McKenna, Vallee, Strassman, and Hancock et sig al are quite clear that *Others* truly abound... without regard to where or how they manifested themselves and not for the reader's convenience. We're not alone in our little hubristic closets of that cultural squalidness—closets regarded as secret and unobserved. Ha!  These conjectured others are appalled witnesses as we socially defecate in our societal beds and push it down with our classless feet. Disabuse your nose of its less than valid elevation, eh? We are not alone. The suggestion is ludicrous. Can't that be seen?
Feel the acceleration?
Lightspeed and singularity of hyperspace around the end of 2012, friends and neighbors. Perchance to soar and cleave beyond the parameters of a mere dream... Don't fret that 2012 could come and go without a visit from hyperspace elves, the asymptotic curves remain to be what they are and a piercing of the existential veil seems imminent, still.
That's not entirely from the aggregate "woo-woo," eh? That's the feeling of the high-domes and prop-heads of a jealous mainstream *academentia* (sic), fellow droobers... and so this writer's considered suspicion.

 Buckle-up, fellow travellers!  All vetted measurements of rational prognostication are straight up and asymptotic as alluded to!  Medicine, technology, going small, and looking large are masses becoming infinite! The hyperspace gates swing open to, well, "infinity and beyond" if you'll pardon a prescient Buzz Lightyear—doesn't make it any less descriptive, but... don't take my word for it.

...Read on.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

...Cooking Frogs...

It comes to me, now, just all at once; I've been too nice with you! Please! Reiterate your "wounded" disrespect. You'd sneer your schadenfreude, then presume that you'd done penance. All you were, were frightened kiddies turning into your own parents!

Too,  this is not a good thing and quite apart from sane.  Some change, indeed's, required, nes't ce pas?  Just as toilets need their flushing, some "traditions" needs their pruning, a "changelessness" is static death! Extinction's ever looming!

See, the truthful gone ignored will grow too large to hide before you, though the hammers of your gods begin their swing? Remember, you had had your chance... if college was your luck, but you only wanted  "answers" so your "college" blew. It sucked.

For all pontifications of your harshest blithe conservative, for all those stuffy nose-up false pretenders: The class you so desire wouldn't have you on a bet! You see, if YOU were there, you'd take THEIR place; but you don't get that yet!

It's why the tree called Knowledge and her sister tree named Life, those trees in perfect Eden — out of bounds?  The "plural" Gods forbade them when they said as much themselves... we could "live" like them to "know" so be, then, Gods as well.

The rules, contrived, control "made gravid" masses — of which you are composed! The rules are, then, their servants ... do their bidding. So tell me you're OK with all their crass manipulation. Tell me that this feels good, this slowest strangulation...

Heat a frog in water, slowly inching up degrees… Heat too quick, the frog gets wise and hops! Heat the frog just slow enough…and watch it not get shook.  See, the frog will stay there floating 'til he croaks his last and cooks!

Abide the autocratic —at your peril— with indifference. It won't be long they've made their way to you. Where's respect/consideration then, when you're the one who needs it! That slope to hell is paved with oil, and still you lube and grease it!

Don't tell me that your church can see the truest demons clearly. Don't tell me that there's nothing in my sky! Don't tell me the police are even handed —non-diseased— when their records are completely filled with Sodom-sans-surcease!

...Yet, still we have potential... ...and a "better's" never been! We can talk out loud and clear ...until we're heard?  Will huge machines arrive perforce to grind us up to gristle... ...when one points out hypocrisies, rings a bell, or blows a whistle?

Advising intuition will ensure this not be so. Our masses are salvation we make, perforce, ourselves.  Looms, at last, concrescence and a yet unguessed on fate.  All "trends" straight up, we're rocket-borne, ourselves?  We recreate!

Some just won't want to hear it... ...that it all comes down to them. They just don't want to hear they're on the blame line! But there's payin' for their playin'... ...which comes due, I don't know when… and it may be that they're prayin' for... some chance... to try again?

God might be up for a do-over, as unlikely as that should be.

I'm asked, "If you think things are so much better now than they were then, why are you still bumping your gums"?

Simply? Because *things* could so EASILY be... so much BETTER ... still! But you have to give up, seriously give in—to get real.  See, we never get to the destinations of our imaginations... but we can still enjoy and be enlivened by "points of interest" along the way!  The only important thing? The quality of your associations on that path at hand.  A spot-on Robert Anton Wilson, on his deathbed, was not wrong on this point.  I say true.


...Wanna know what UFOs are really all about? Jacques Vallee and Terence McKenna shared an inside take on the matter. UFOs are real, but they are two astonishing things among other astonishing things, they say.

First, they disguise themselves as an alien invasion of sorts so we don't get needlessly upset with regard to what they ~really~ are, to start. Let that frost your short hairs!  Alien encounters "extant" are just not alien enough, it seems.  They're a lot weirder than they appear.

Secondly, UFOs exist to very convincingly demonstrate to us, from time to time, that Science—not mere scientists, mind you, flawed as they are, but the institution of science itself—has some very serious shortcomings that we human beings are reluctant to consider in the real world... and don't remotely cop to.

One is advised to know a tree by its fruit and if the fruit is ordinarily assessed as "nourishing" and "tasteful"... is it? Is it really?

Wanna know what's really dangerous about the boundary dissolving internet? It is that it is boundary dissolving.

Consider you had, and will have, LAPTOP, breast pocket , or headbandreal time full motion video and CD quality sound in a little *transmitting* station via your cell phone. Everyone is their own TV station with a worldwide reach.

It's hard for anything to threaten you in that kind of *personal* pervasive surveillance. Watchers *watched* and home a castle? UFOs witnessed as they appear in real time? Video records of crimes committed? What man in black visits you at your door or in a deserted parking lot... who would threaten you or harass you while being watched as much as they would presume to watch?

Stalin wouldn't have been allowed to starve millions of his people in a pissy fit of petulant pique, and we won't stand for it when our own starvation, spiritual and otherwise, is pushed up in our face sooner rather than later by the conflated corporate Cardinals of industry, government, and church.

China takes a lot of heat for its paltry surveillance by the rest of the world in the "T" Square incident… Rodney King burst a true cultural pustule when he exposed a very real and obligatory police brutality via HIS videotaping. More imagination: how much crack can be sold on a street corner when the transaction is being recorded seventy or eighty times? About the only place you will escape the passive and pervasive surveillance is in a place you have designated to be your own home (castle)—perhaps as it should be.

I want the bastard who pops me to be on somebody's film somewhere. Like it was at Waco.

Yeah, that's right ... Waco. Anybody should be able to live any way they want to —within very broad borders... don't insult yourself wallowing in the up-tight absurd— ANY WAY THEY WANT TO, as long as it is not forcing a "system" to make me, or any individual, live that way, TOO...'s fine! After that, a line is crossed.  Informed adult consent and protection under the law.

How bad can passive surveillance be if it must also, by definition, keep tabs on the man who makes his surveillance of me? Then, maybe we both stay off each other's ass a bit more.

Read on.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

...Transmissions At Night Speed...

Some time ago I sent a pulse; it's now so far from here… A sentient vibration — you'd think too faint to hear. A terse twelve lines of quatrain in an honest, heartfelt style ... Away now, friend, some five point nine... times ten to the twelfth odd miles...

Six trillion miles, then, it had flown... in inky —coal-black— space! Who knows what stuff it's rushed right passed... or touched upon its face. Chance comets of antiquity breathing star stuff as they fry; their tails growing longer as they—moth-like— sunward dive?

I can dream of gainful contact as this sphere grows ever larger. It octuples as the radius of it doubles, math empowered.  Eight times the space ...encompassed... at around this time that year. Some years from now ... and as things change? ...A change we must not fear.

One year from then... with challenged children, teaching long division? I'd presumed to be instructing... I digress regards attrition. Remains, that in some future time, *they'd* found a way to listen? Too, if understood, *these* seek me out... to clue me what I'm missing?

...Just what I need! A space-borne visit! ...My world put on notice! We're not alone, we've been observed... from way back they can quote us! Names are named and actions tallied! The hard facts top a list; a few have had their way too long — they're likely better missed!

...And still our message hurries at a strident speed of night. It is swimming passed new planets like a dolphin made of light. Composed of ordered pulses of some thinking I hold valid, it floods the sky with questions, and it undertakes the challenge.

This *vibration* in the ether, it's as true as bursting suns. It's for ending all the ignorance which has had its, too long, run. It's for holding up its end, by God, and taking on 'the man' ... for a truer view of that which is, a place in which to stand!

It swims with other messages of different kinds of stripe. In the late Van Flandren's ether it eschews the standard hype. It hooks and jabs, the gloves come off ... blows are aimed at throats! It needles and it bickers; it survives to get their goat.

The rage you feel, regards this ode, is a ratio of degree. It's pride before a fall, mayhap, when you skin unblemished knees? A measure of your pique is sure; you might even want to fight? The degree to which you're cross, perhaps… the degree to which I'm right!

...And it's not being "on the mark," as proffered, is the issue. Though, I suspect your ill got pride... is tough as toilet tissue. Remains a fairness lacking in what we should... by all means, trust! When synergy is lost, my friend? We're pierced by specious thrusts!

Our species then devolves, perhaps, and we lose a guiding light? We drown in fecal excess, friend, and are gelded by our fright! We lose the prouder gains we've made, as proffered in the history? We return to squalid, dirty caves, eating tree bark in our misery!

This is true while single persons could be turning it around? This is true while naked wealth is laying fallow on the ground? This is true as cosmic signals, then, conflate their globes in space? Yet, it remains, yea verily, we flirt with bald disgrace!

...On a chance CB rig once: "breaker... breaker..." followed by idle verse spoken some years ago — twelve lines on a cold and stormy night still rushing outward at the speed of light, time forever frozen for a thought quick dash performed by a tenuous globe of microwave RF ...

...5. 859 x 10 ^12 odd miles ...(almost 6 trillion miles a year!)... beaming away in an expanding bubble of ordered and vibrating electrical code. The volume of that bubble of space increases by a factor of eight every time the radius doubles if it survived at all. Conjectured, reader, and otherwise submitted for your approval: a huge globe of evidential sentience expanding at night speed in a bubble of energized ether.  Everyone is doing it.

What or whoever could have heard those lines ... as I don't think space has the sterility that some would have for it, do you? I remember that all my art, music, poetic commentary, and critical prose is transmitted in a similar fashion via micro-wave, and so is yours. That's comforting, somehow — self-affirming even, eh? 

We're, essentially, the first of us to vibrate into space in this manner! In effect leaving something of ourselves in the firmament of un-guessed —all but— eternity at our passing... something of us lasting forever in the unknowable ether. The sentience behind that vibration never, really, dies?

Other expressions I have made on the radio include, "Cease fire," ...and "...Chalk two... rockets in the tree-line... ...NOW." This was back in a simpler, but darker time when I was trying to stay sane in our ongoing and everlasting military pit of snakes. I'd had idle dreams of being a "star voyager..." ...

Others have made alternate transmissions over the years. Some of it is stupidity at the speed of light.  I'm not excluding some of my own. Some of it is heartfelt communication. Sadly, some of it paints a better picture of ourselves to a listening *other* than we would have remotely allowed from ourselves.

Too bad.

On the late Dr. Van Flandren:

"Dark Matter, Missing Planets, and New Comets: Paradoxes Resolved, Origins Illuminated." not so important because it challenges the conventional paradigm of the understanding of the universe. This book is important because it exposes the shortcomings of our current inductive system of model-building... and just how far some of these modelers will go to keep YOU worshiping at their particular alters of science!

Read on...

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Brush-strokes, Portraits, And Landscapes Of Sea, Land, And Sky...

The center of the universe? An angry place to be, and ironic it's the only place to get up off your knees. It's there within ones consciousness —still possible to share— that one is loose to "soar and cleave" where others fear to dare.

True — it's likely there without you, that universe you know, plus much, much more your senses miss, as senses miss the show. Though it likely works without you —while you never find that out— then you might as well embrace it, and so look, a bit, about.

You might question your CONVICTIONS, or aspire to test your FAITH. The former loves convenience, and the latter leads to hate. See, faith is not a lapdog to support your party line, and convictions could be sharpened sticks to poke you in the eye.

There's plenty to dissuade you if you think outside the *rules*, and the "systems" of coercion are the shame; you're just the tool.

It won't matter that their *rules* could bear the fruit of all injustice, or their *rule* absolve the holder of their shame. Expect no justice.

The "system's" just a lever that elitists blithely use for a purpose that must benefit the few! Whilst they pump our population ever higher making numbers that must mean much less respect for me and you...

Oh, they HATE the "individual," so they treat her like a witch. A man who's so afflicted is a similar son-of-a-bitch. See... ...and irony's so thick that you could chop it with a knife... but the BEST of ALL ideas come from single persons! Right!

Now, I'll not fault a team that makes "ideas" what they ARE! The difference found between the two's a nova to a star, but consider super novas and remember, FIRST, their seed. It's the STAR that marks her center. It's the "star" that we first need.

True, every meat-bag's not this star, irrelevant if fact. Don't leap to that absurdity, as I'm just not saying that. See?  Culture is a jealous beast that works too hard, it seems, to mark the individual as dismissed to be demeaned. This penalizes poor-folks, and will punish artful geeks. Homely kids must live in fear — unearned shame upon their cheeks.

These kids?  They're shoved around to suit a "crowd" we should decry, and will rise up, on occasion, when their spirits are despised. In our *SCHOOLS* they ARE discounted, and they're slapped around in line, so these might take their guns to class... remember Columbine? These are individuals who are pushed to their extremes... by the haughty —inbred— attitudes of that group that "makes the scene."

These behaviors are encouraged by a process —hand in glove— that demands the mediocrity it promotes from up above!  It's that "bottom half" of fractions they'd inflated, not reduced, and the larger that divisor means the more you're contused. It's a large denominator that they use to damp the breed! It's that large denominator which objectifies their greed!

Too, they pump that NUMERATOR to a number grown so great... individuals are made meaningless and consigned to graceless fate...

See, too damn many artless knobs *pronounce* on you and me. Enraged and therefore outraged, though, we'd leap from callused knees! We're the ones who like our thinking as a process of our own; see, we've been —too blithely— lied to from the "pulpit" and the "throne."

We're the ones without due process. We're the ones DENIED that due. We're misdirected, disrespected, and prefer a larger truth.

I'm at the center of my universe and I'm not surprised to see... a plethora of *centers* who are more or less... like me! And all prefer the base respect that you yourself would have... but denied —to too damn many— for the lawful thoughts we'd had.

We'd make our contribution but we're driven from our herd! We're dismissed from our society. We're discounted and deterred! All most of us had WANTED was a chance to tuck right in, and make our contribution where we saw *it* wearing thin, but based upon convenience of some *bless-ed* non-elected... we must suffer the indifference of our culture's piqued rejection!

It's their willful self-indulgence as they sell us down the river! It's their xenophobic attitudes assumed without a quiver! It's their penchant for discretion that supports their status quo — which is narrow and short sighted, and unjust; I think you know.

It's the lack of toleration that elitists would promote. It's the fascist way they dictate terms they shove right down our throats!

How are we to fare then, friend, where "birds" come home to "roost," and psychopaths presume their will to suck your blood for juice?  How are we at all best served, in reflex arbitration, to legislate morality embracing sick religions. 

I'll write what's writ, written as if to blow a righteous horn from the funnel I am levied, unasked.  Expect no apology, eh?

...Accused of having a rambling style, I assert that my only defense is that  words —to me— are but different color paints. Sentences are brush-strokes, paragraphs are portraits, and pages are the considered landscapes of our experiential sea — the immediate felt presence of the living land and an exciting sky...

If I didn't have decent credentials I wouldn't hang it all out like this INVITING society's favorite-playing track-shoes. Speaking contrarily UP, OUT, and HONESTLY is an occupation filled with uncalled for hazard, sincerely.  Additionally, a loose cannon is a lonely cannon, and all too often a slandered one.  Artless Arty, Richey Red Ridinghood , and one obnoxious little "bastid" from New Zealand know what I mean.  These are the craptastics of an inappropriate reaction to the stress of criticism.

John Ford knows what I'm talking about, too, by way of example. John Ford discovered that the world is infested with soulless serial psychopaths taking great pains to sharpen the archaic spikes on their old-world track-shoes. The grinding stone concerned, in Ford's particular instance, is Ford's obstinately individual backside. Years later Ford STILL rots in prison for a crime, I'd wager, existing only in his accuser's (et al) criminal mind... to facilitate his accuser's documented criminal agenda. 

They hone those smiting shoe spikes to the needle sharpness of a sociopathic shark's tooth... I've discovered personally, as Ford suffers an extreme first hand, but I'm an old soldier and what's an old soldier to do? Fade away?

I don't think so. Not this old soldier.

I was good enough for this country when I was killing people and destroying property and equipment for it as its convenient cannon fodder... I'm good enough NOW to teach its sons and daughters how to be compassionate leaders and critical followers of that which aspires to relevantly reasonable. I would teach them not to suffer tyrants! Or I would have ... likely it's too late for that now...

See?  Arbitrarily and unjustly mash me down "here"... I will only endeavor to pop up over "THERE," just meaner! Our culture never cops to that because it's a culture I suspect the non-elected, only, maintain and facilitate. Anything else hurts their corrosive bottom line.

As example, I was too arbitrarily ash-canned for lawful activities, ethical expressions, and rational positions... I want a righteous chunk of somebody's pecuniary ASS for it! See how it works? I have addressed an ignored grievance, and all I hear are crickets. That's with ALL respect to the crickets I have heard from, but let's not get too worked up by a metaphor. It's the ROACHES to chap my ass.

I was wronged! I want redress! This fault... this injustice... is not mine! Where does this all begin?

I remember high school. Graduating in 1967 I was too close to the forest to grasp the contrived enormity of some very suspicious trees. The individual trees of this parochial forest seemed so hungry for my attention, and, regretfully, it was so few of these trees that I had the wish to understand —more than superficially— and then it was, generally, the WRONG trees. I see that now.

It was a time to have the *right* haircut, wear the *right* clothes, be in the *right* clubs and associations, drive the *right* car, hang with the *right* people — a shamefully wasteful romp to curry the favor of —be accepted by— those who made the "official" scene and their adult facilitators.

Those elite... and non-elected even then...

I was on the periphery of that elite, never quite accepted, but never quite rejected either. I'm a little ashamed to admit that, both ways, but I have to make that painful disclosure to illustrate that I MIGHT know what I'm talking about when I say that the "marginalized majority" outside an "in" crowd are visible to that crowd only as sources of cheap-shot amusement — or as an out and out resource!  That ephemeral, indomitable,and irresistible elite are bred even in public schools — forgetting private ones.

Beyond that, they —a-hem... we, I came to find out— are valueless, expendable, and invisible. This is not what we *learned* in high school.

Being on the uncomfortable periphery of that treasured elite, some of the invisible marginalized (who *should* have been invisible to me) were not. These were the *geeks* with pocket protectors, the poets, splash artists, and underground thespians — the weird, whacked-out, and wild; the quirky stoners, dorks, and assorted nervous burn-outs or afflicted nut-rolls —those not associated with rally club and the football team— these were a MAJORITY.

They were the challenged and misshapen; they were sensitive and miserable. They were overweight or bosom-less — had acne so bad you could HEAR it sometimes, eh?  Chance-less motes, otherwise strangely colored rainbows of ethnic homeliness and unsettling diversity — all in stark contrast to the relative few of cherished all white Ken and Barbi elite-oids they (we)... were everyone ELSE.

Almost too late I would detect the very real cognitive magnificence of the marginalized group and realize that the seeds of a wondrous future potential —better or worse— were held in the fresh thinking hands of THEIR marvelous singularity! Bill Gates, Linus Torvalds, and Steven Jobs would have been worthwhile people to befriend, back in the day. They were individuals, ready examples of the garden-variety uber-geeken, circa 1967... or so I understand...

The in-crowd of my high school? Well, most of them PEAKED in high school, I'd bet. If they didn't crash on some privileged alcoholic shore, or inherit *daddy's* going concern, or end up as trophy wives for a descending succession of male in-crowders, they moved on to the shadow-lands of the few, the proud, but that non-elected and shadowy elite. THIS was my aspiration? I don't think so.

Luckily, I'd only gotten a taste of those *enviable* environs to see how ultimately dry as dust they truly are. So much for the very transitive value of a short sighted "IN" crowd. They are "IN" all right. They were (and still are I suspect) "in" — In self-absorbed, convenient, and perpetual DENIAL.

Why? For THEM, it pays.

That part of "them" surviving the drug addiction, decadence, and largely DESERVED psychological distress? That's the bunch to take their unearned turn to pronounce on the rest of us and decide our faiths, fortunes, and futures, it would seem. I'd surmise that that is the faceless bunch sniping originating orders from around corners, starting the whisper campaigns, or denying and complicating an individual's very livelihood for the purpose of having control over those individuals.

That's the bunch fronting the petty but articulate talking TV-heads in their busy campaign to fan the gonads and sensibilities —of your haplessly clueless brothers and sisters— into the frothy mob of pitchfork waving torch bearers they can too easily become! It's also the bunch that turns some of our kids into early suicides or bomb-making homicidal maniacs, but the point is getting pretty fine already...

We're all at the center of the universe and all those centers are packing together pretty tightly. The finite amount of non-polluted space that we are restricted to —by the shortsighted non-elected— DICTATES that that claustrophobic tightness can only increase as our numbers do.

It's no stretch that even the *best* self-interested social system prosecuting it's unchanging continuance will fail eventually. It always has.  Errant flashes of white hot irritation fly out of control in that flesh clogged human powder keg of ever increasing density... density precipitating the predictable explosion authoritarians would always forswear so not foresee. Too, we've FAR from the best social system... perhaps part of the plan, it excuses an ever inflating professional police force after all... presently near one in a hundred of us in prison.  Such is the police state thrust upon us.

I suspect it is the eventuality of a tolerant and rational, if minimal, liberalism born from the righteous outrage of the middle sixties that keeps those self-repeating instances down to the levels which presently occur! ANY increase in the prevailing level of autocratic authoritarianism would only make that violence occur with much more frequency than it already does. I can only judge how _I_ feel as a victim of that arbitrary and autocratic authoritarianism, a crass authoritarianism on the steady increase. See the link at (

My treatment makes ME angry! Angry enough for violence? No. But then I have a degree of articulation and can jettison pressure in that manner.

...Others do not, howsoever.

America's SON in every category except mindless obedience? I was turned out, turned down, and turned away from a needy billet in America's classrooms for specious, bigoted, uninformed, unenlightened, and finally inappropriate reasons, prosecuted under the guise of my interest in UFOs:


Reminiscent of the arbitrary autocratic unilateral leaping right out of high-school, I have to fight back! Anything else is default agreement with the social forces ignobly aligned against or truly persecuting me and individuals like me.

I'm eternally in a struggle to clear my good name, continue an interrupted substantive —but clearer— contribution to my society, and live a little closer to the truth. I'll use the Arts as my efficaciously ethical and individual weapon in that struggle. The pen IS mightier than the sword.

I will loudly protest a perceived injustice in just this kind of manner. Others similarly effected will fight back (I'm certain) in their own way using weapons of THEIR choice, but whatever the eventual weaponry, IF that outraged response is blithely and conveniently provoked by the corrupted arbitrary, THEN the consequences are, albeit tragically, richly deserved.

"[I'm] a rambler and a gambler and a sweet talkin' [thinking] man... and I love my lovin', but not like I love my freedom"!

Read on!


"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, scourged by the scurrilous.

Sunday, November 29, 2009


Are you getting all the answers that you'd like to think you have? Are you comfy where you think you'd like to be? Does a starry, starry sky begin to palpitate your conscience with dishonest guilty feelings you don't need?

Is your horror harsh and angry, are your demons moving closer; do you wallow in your morass... not content? Do you see a lack of fairness with a wrong bunch holding sway? Are you sensing the distention—why all sense has slipped away?

Are you *feeling* global warming, or the contrails in the sky, or the specious social politics, and begin to wonder "why!"?

...Do you wonder at the hatred that has swept through Palestine; are you seeing too much innocence locked in jail doing time?

Do *UFOs* perplex you? Are they "spirit"; are they "craft"?

Was JFK *conspiracy*? Is Sitchin clearly daft?

Do skeptibunkies sing their songs, "denial" and "deceit"? Does the mainstream pule a sneering scowl of arrogant conceit?

...Did saucers fly Rapuzzi's skies and land upon the ground? Did dwarfish beings dismount that craft ... a red glow all around? With greenish skin —black circled eyes— did they shoot him with a ray ... which left him "weak" and "paralyzed," and "almost dead," he'd say?

Are sane folk these "abducted"? Do *they* interact with us? Can folks commune with aliens, and contrive, somehow, a trust?

These questions go unanswered as we snatch away our eyes, refuse to LOOK: investigate, research, or analyze.

Why, all we HAVE are questions that we fear too much to ask! We feel a strained reluctance to what puts us to its task. We clothe ourselves in avarice while we smother our desire, and lie strait faced to children when they ask why we perspire!

We're all about continuance of convenient status quo ... all a *little* psychopathic when betraying children so.  Oh, I won't shine you on that I propose some euphemism! These SLOWLY die, in misery—while *we* just build more prisons!

We ARE waste of strained resources, and we rot in stinking ponds; we blithely dance with devils that we know are baldly wrong. We catalogue our errors in a history of lies, and we're too quick to pick or choose and label our *despised*.

We're petty and convenient, we pretend—avert our gaze! We MAKE the fog so pea-soup thick! We facilitate the haze!

...When most of us know better which would make the matter worse, we proffer commination, and so amplify our curse!

So ARE you *really* comfy that our "comet watching team" won't staff just ONE "McDonalds"? Are you comfy? ...In your dreams!

Think you're safe in YOUR fine house, with YOUR money in the bank, and YOUR beamer almost paid for ... are you really set?  Be frank...

Is the devil tucked behind you? Do you think you know your God?  Do you get the helpless feelings you unfairly wet his rod?

So why the hell's he beat you? Do you really have a clue? Or do you just deceive yourself, and nothing "real" is "true"?

Now we don't look for saucers, but we smirk up gilded sleeves. We won't answer questions which are cures for our disease.

We won't show our world respect. We treat her like a bitch. We don't care who has to pay so some can be so rich. We won't take the higher road and peer into the sky, and glare at the infinity that tasks us! We won't try.

The multi-verse is yawning and would swallow us down whole, yet we snipe at one another, fan a fire—curse and scold!

If a space folk were ADMITTED in any manner, shape, or form—they might as well be really close ... though it complicate our "norm"! We've, ourselves, perceived perhaps, the way that they get ... *here*... There is, perhaps, SOME paucity in our "grasp of physics"—clear?

...But I forget your Aristotle—what we're cursed to carry on. Essentially, that we're alone, that space and time's a wall? That our *supreme* intelligence is the center of its point ... when we're monkey's carnal footballs—our priorities out of joint.

Well, we might not have the center stage! We might not be supreme! We might not have that loving "God's concern for you and me." We might not hold the aces. We might not make the grade. We might be scuttling roaches to such folk as ...MIGHT... be made.

. . . We COULD be squalid vermin to a plethora of beings. Are you comfy with the centric song that we'd contrive to sing?

A decidedly non-friendly place, the multi-verse naturally conspires to mash us, collectively, like a senseless bug. We're the easy targets of cosmic bullets from prions to asteroids. Note, reader, the similarity across scale.

I've heard our ancestors—pushed naked and tool-less ahead of moving walls of ice 2 miles high—didn't drop the ball. They kept fed, nurtured their children, and respected their elders without any of the technologies we take for granted now. What will be our excuse for fumbling after all that preceding "against odds" success?

One good way to ensure a proposed immortality is to seed the asteroid bracelet around our sun with brave humanity! With that cornucopic planetary mass of raw material found in that enigmatic slot between Mars and Jupiter... known for many thousands of years now ...we could put a down payment on a billion years to explore an immortality we could give ourselves.

To stay HERE is to rot, unborn, in the belly of our suffering mother. You choose.

Try to choose before "infanticide" is necessary, eh?

The acceleration continues.  Comfy?

Read on...

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Aristotle As Prufrock

Once again I make refrains on Aristotle's crass remains, which would RETURN those crystal spheres enclosing our most strident fears. And all to fool... convince... ourselves that we must hold the highest ground of grace and strong integrity — "creation's crown"! Hypocrisy...

TAKE ARISTOTLE AT HIS WORD, as churches did—Aquinas hard—and push your woman to your heel; put her through your strange ordeal. Make her work the lion's share, but work for less—or be contraire—to OWN a hundredth for her toils as she reduces, makes, and boils.

Take dominion of your Earth, and treat her like the bitch you've cursed; beat her if she won't conform to arbitrary wills and norms. Throw your filth across her ground and foul her face but scar, confound ... too, mess with normal weather patterns—raging storms to flood and flatten ... then drop that polar shelf of ice and raise your wave of flood and fright? Scouring Earth from pole to pole, a cleansing facial harsh and cold!

Depending on a moon, they say, or "just so far from solar rays"; seasons placid, and "predictable," water, heat, and food — some victual. All of this must come together, blessed by God and *his* trite measure, plus some luck to mix right in—to make some spark for *smarter men*.

Likely, "RARE!" they have construed! "We're alone," these BALLYHOO (!), then, hustle back to do their "work"... ...sullenly, so less alert!

UFO's are scorned, ignored, or shut behind their screens and doors, so we can say that SCIENCE shows that their "concern" is predisposed.

"What we want's a waste of time," they're quick to say from strident shrines, though we have paid, and dearly too, for what they hold from me and you.

Locked beyond the common pale (and stuffed to tunnel, boom, and rail) there exists the covert record: secrets kept, purloined ... collected. Secrets signal strident change, and who gets hurt, friend; who gets blamed.

Power settles with new will, and change is rampant. Take your fill! This may be what's kept from us ... that *they* lose power, might, and thrust ... that we could be as them, to find ... that we're contrived, unbrave ... confined.

Meanwhile, we're a laugh (God's treasure?), that we INSIST we use OUR measure... holding to our hubris, meanly, so we can coddle fear obscenely. We would dote on Aristotle, sucking on his drying nipple, living at the charmless center he contrived to suit HIS temper, made SPECIAL when he's alone —to be God's favorite in His home—a "crowning jewel in cosmic crowns" of "loving gods"... ...with angry frowns?

We'd give space folk motivation? We'd tell 'em how to DO their mission ... paint their feelings, points of view, tell them how they'd pick and choose?

Then we'd dictate *understanding*, argue *physics* notwithstanding, tell them what their form should be, and how they'd speak like you and me? What a crock, hubristic wrong, we use to sing our centric song...

We'd dictate what we wished was true, forgetting what we always knew, that what we *know* is likely wrong ... that we might sing more humble songs.

We do these things, retreat from grace, and wallow in a pride disgraced! We forget the time and distance ... expanding as we speak ... for instance. We avoid the misty blackness, elude the depths that lead to vastness, retreating to our shallow minds ... in ignorance's grasp confined!

We doom OURSELVES to crass perdition. We MAKE confusion indecision. We won't see the bigger picture, look beyond a narrow stricture, or fund the courage we would need to validate our break-neck speed! We don't look into the sky, except to plant the reason why that puts us at the *point* of *things* — the universe revolves and swings ... around *mankind* so proud and haughty, but like J. Prufrock? A little dotty.

...And like a Prufrock, our Aristotle... ...figures in to "short" and "throttle", forcing us, yes, to a center we CONTRIVE, so are embittered.

We won't know what futures bring if we insist and falsely sing the jaundiced praises of a hubris ... we've contrived to bathe and soothe us.

We don't make consistent rules, we shortchange all our children's schools by feeding pap, a tasteless gruel that rots the gut and fouls the stool.

We won't make a lasting peace, we'll struggle where we're challenged least, and let the BIG chance slip away if we allow this glad decay!

Fail not to search your sky for that which they'd let slip on by. Challenge ALL your institutions, hold them close to constitutions. There is stuff they won't explain, and this is why one MUST complain!

Believing you're alone's un-brave, and makes you just a *tool* ... a slave. A larger fire only shows there're shadows still... ...but so it goes. You're obliged to make that light, though shadows rule, regardless. Right?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

...Bell Toll...

There's more to life than recreation —
more, perhaps, than procreation!
There's more completing ones whole life
that goes ignored in baseless fright!

Yet, we would cleave to old traditions,
suffering their impositions,
and clinging to the lies we're told,
we fool ourselves we're in control.

See, I don't mean to frighten you
with what I have to tell,
and if what I say is threatening (?),
then I don't mean to ring that bell...
...but not excused is ignorance of all that comes to play
forgotten in the quietness we need to end the day.

See, I observe these "pretty" lies
we've swallowed down through tides and times,
as we have been discounted, friend!
That's the sum of all pretense!
Distracted by mere liars —all—
bastards sans all sack and ball,
we succumb to their distractions
and condone their gross infractions!

There's more to life than hate and love.
There's balance, knowledge... ...skies above!
We would find that there's respect
that's been ignored and in neglect,
and in our rush to PAY their toll
we cannot hear the BELLS which toll...

These tolling bells? 
The UFOs which danced across our skies of old,
and they're behind a sullen curtain
cast across our eyes, be certain.
Shilled, the "mainstream's" obfuscations,
prosecuted obscurations.
They're the grease for our distraction —
the lens they use in their diffraction.

There's more to life that we're denied,
They're not "insuring safety," Clyde!
We endure manipulations,
foul disease — gross infestations,
all at the whim of those who *know*
the way the tortured winds must blow...

These tolling bells include our Earth,
abused and frankly dying, cursed,
and if one should listen carefully?
One hears her moan incessantly.
She's running out of patience, friend.
The planet's sick; yet, we pretend!

ALL her species lose distinction;
All must face the same extinction!
There is much we've LOST... ...forgotten
(cloaked by *science* spoiled and rotten!)...
...we might've used to elevate...
...our souls or spirits plus our fate!

These tolling bells include ourselves and power found within!
We're more than sacks of water held in bags of greasy skin!

...Though, produced like stock or cattle
we are treated just like slaves...
beneath concerned respect we've earned...
PRODUCING... ...but not paid!
We deserve a new respect,
a real deal "they" neglect...
valid info we can use
to stop the madness they've construed!

These tolling bells include religion corrupted and contrived,
that tool of fundamentalists who confuse our facile lives.
All the Jews or Christians... and the Moslems... are abusers.
Their faith has gone untested, their philosophies diffusers.

Yet, they are living indecision —
 manipulated in precision!
Too, they are way off balance, friend,
and stoke the failure they portend!

Who are "they"? One well might ask, to WHICH am I referring?
The question, asked, is presupposed. The answers are disturbing.

They exist, the ones referred, their affect has been plain!
So, WHEN one asks that question they infer that they've no "brain"!

These have ears but they don't hear
the cries of hungry people here;
they have eyes but they don't see
the horror of their specious creed.
They don't FEEL as we do,
we're WELL beneath contempt, it's true.

We're mere tools that they abuse,
we're "shined on" with a showy ruse.
"Them"? They are called the "SOCIOPATHIC,"
they are "them": the Psychopathic!