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!

Sunday, November 08, 2009

Mushrooms In The Dark

We are power we don't use. I've said it many times. Our reach is exponential and our grasp the gold we find.

...And it won't matter, not at all, those distractions we endure... ...we're mushrooms, to the dark, consigned, and fed a thin manure. Yet we have minds with eyes that see, complete with ears to hear. Our voices swell in righteous song! We can vanquish *any* fear!

Our feelings have sincerity, we're alive, in touch, aware... and we would have some answers to the questions we must, bravely, dare!

Yes! We, by right, will think *those* thoughts and question our *beliefs*! Shared misery's diminished. Shared joy, of needs, increased!

Why, if folks are just a little brave? Then no one's scared or suffers. The "slings and arrows" now endured? ...They fold as culture stutters!

No, it's not to *God* we owe success. "Success" was made despite! *Religion* has done all it can... to filter out our light.

See, don't thank "Gods" who are contrived to do the will of men, who use that cloak of godhood to promote their pestilence? Thank instead your force of will that makes a life more real! It's a quantum leap! Enlightened step! You live a better deal!

We're, perforce, a plucky bunch! We'd -dare- to wrestle truth. ...Though "heaven" was the real "hell," and "hell" a clever ruse!

Though black was something paler, and white a charcoal gray! If dawn were dusk and dusk were dawn, with night mistook for day! Though beauty was an ugliness making cowards of the bold, and plainness was a loveliness more precious than the purest gold!

If everything we knew was wrong? If profits proved a loss? Would we, still, practice foolishly and value what's, indeed, pure dross?

Most would hate the aliens who'd inhabit outer space. They'd hate for specious reasons always used in such a case. The aliens are... well, alien! We hate what we don't know! We project our fears on that... which threatens "status quo."

Though "no man is an island," I've ever heard it said, and change is a necessity or we're moldy, month-old, bread; we hate ourselves and so hate *them*, assign to *them* our faults; moreover, we're duplicitous, so less than the, complete, adult!

Most think the aliens evil... of a lesser stripe than we. On *them* we hang a minus sign, for *us* pretense we're "free." They're the "spawn of Satan," but do halos light our brow?! What have we wrought down here on Earth? What grace do we show... now?

First: we are, then, that which we hate! It's us apes "crooks" and "thieves"! It's us that's starving children by the millions every week! It's us declaring wars we wage for corporate human greed. It's us that's causing misery, and it's us ignoring, ardent, need!

We vilify the aliens! We paint them worse than us! We *divine* their *motivation* as betrayal of our trust. We do this knowing nothing but the crap on which we're fed, the *news* from "Fox" (insulting us)... denial dipped in well earned dread...

Agents making war they've caused... support corrupted states, and religious fervor's gas on fire, regenerating hate! The Earth cries out her warning; new diseases cause their blight! And we do less than nothing... we cower in our, hapless, fright!

We're lucky we're *approached* at all! We're lucky if they try! We are damned repellant, folks! We're lucky we don't fry!

We're lucky they don't aim at us some stellar cosmic weapon and wipe us from the cosmos like some bug that they could step on! We're lucky they don't act like us, and roar in guns all blazing! We're lucky they don't slap us down like freshman at a hazing. We're lucky for a lot of things, as we don't act our part. It's us requires change, not "them" ... (of mind, or hand... but heart)!
Is the Alien a rule-breaking villain, a black agent in the nameless dark? Is it an intellectual rapist, a serial abuser on a massive scale, or a singularly bizarre kidnapper criminally exacting an unknown ransom?

Is the Alien a being with no respect for humanity, only raw disgust for humanity's sensibilities? Has it naught but disconnected indifference for humanity's creative attributes or individual quality of life?

Does the Alien use humanity as its lowly subordinate and reviled minimum wager; does it squander our savings, inflict disease and pestilence upon us; does it put us out, homeless, onto the streets?

Does it shortchange and abuse our women, manufacture non-effective and dangerous drugs, equipment, and consumables; does it pollute the groundwater and needlessly despoil the environment with toxic waste and planned obsolescence?

Does the Alien spin our history (...cook the very books of it!) or corrupt accurate institutional memory for unjust advantage (to the "textbook producing" class)? Does it pasteurize, homogenize, and sterilize the accounting of history into boring, unrealistic, and untrue accounts of unjustified heroification... intimidate, manipulate, and depreciate the inventive minds of trusting school children?

Does it punish the critical thinker and reward the malleable "employee"?

Read more in an upcoming UFO Magazine...

Thursday, November 05, 2009


I've written "it comes down to you," how YOU perceive YOUR stars. ...As tiny points of distant light, or *them* more near than far?

It's what YOU think that matters as you make your feelings known. Would you accept a lot in life believing you're alone?

Alone in all the cosmos? Alone to contemplate? Alone to go un-witnessed as you seek some pointless fate? Alone in sad indifference? Alone to count your beads, alone to be ... oh, good or bad — or something in between?

Alone to count your blessings? Alone to feel cursed? Alone to be respected, glad, or disrespected — hurt? Alone in satisfaction, or alone to be without? Alone in suffered silence... ...alone to scream and shout?

Alone in yawning vastnesses, we'd BE anomaly. We'd be mere freaks of nature in some grand futility. Alone —in matchless time— our candle sputters in a wind we shall not know the source of, though we make some sad pretense.

No, alone we have no measure. Alone we make no sense. Alone we are a bubble set to pop in sad pretence. Alone we've no authority. Alone we come up short. Alone, there is temptation to believe our own reports.

See, alone we have no reason to behave as would be best. Alone's the lower standard, so we fail every test! Alone, it's like we have no point. Alone, we are forlorn. Alone, we are as good as dead. Alone?  Then, why be born?

It just won't make a shred of sense, pretending we're alone. It staggers ones credulity if that's what you condone.

Life, it seems, must find some way; that's what it does on Earth! It's found in fiery fumaroles, or upon some snowy perch. It somehow lives through ANY strife, be it asteroid or ice. It finds its way, and it survives by paying ANY price!

Given all its grand success, right here on planet Earth, I've reasoned that it's just no stretch that, elsewhere? There's no dearth.

Life, if NOT space faring, is as thick as fleas on dogs — vermin gassed indifferently by their errant *human* gods. Life will find a way, it seems, through all which comes undone, and will then sense, at last, the sky... ...beyond this "song just sung." Time is just so damned immense, and bigger every DAY is the space that would enclose it — all the egg-heads write and say...

I find it too damned reasonable, when I understand its depth — that if, in fact, we ARE alone? We'll die a slow-rot death.

I've said it before, I know, but even if we WERE alone (...forgetting that this is bereft of certainty given the historical, anecdotal, physical, and photographic evidence...) it would make much more sense to conduct our affairs... as if... we were NOT alone.

We'd treat each other better, I'm betting. There would be more open toleration and cooperation. We'd SEED the asteroid belt, and make it a living ring around its star? The Earth becomes a respected garden instead of a squandered gift? Mars, and perhaps a few moons of Jupiter and Saturn support an efficacious, inspired, and creative humankind? We'd be happier?

I suspect so.  Whatever the result, we wouldn't have our eggs in one basket.  We need to spread out.  Presently one grenade would get us all, eh?

Read on!