Sunday, February 21, 2010

...Heaven's Promise...


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Is it Earth-like in space as I travel vast distances? Can I breath the Earth's sweetness in transit twixt stars? Can I live in a "can" that retreats from the sun, or in rings that we built from the moons around Mars?

The answer is yes, is my own learnt opinion. The answer is yes, in all ways, shapes, and forms. The answer is yes; even frat boys are grudging, as they plan their dark business in churches and dorms.

We could push to light speed, or real close to it anyway... We could slow elapsed time to a glacial-like crawl. We could do in a moment what the eons were taking, and we'd seed our environs with life, after all.

It's all in the living the joys of continuance. It's all in a place you can stand safe, and watch. It's finding and knowing, and beating the nightmare that nibbles at your nether-mind, then bites you on your haunch!


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What's passed grows small in a rear view glass, retreating with the sun.
See, all you need is with you in your city on the run.
Not running from some consequence, or running on the lam,
but running to a future where one gives a tinker's damn.

This city's where you're living, then. Its travel spans the stars.
The Earth is carried with you; Earth you've coaxed to live in jars.
All the people you have with you, that you'll ever see again,
'cause time erased those left behind like, indeed, they'd never been.

...But... ten thousand years still passed on Earth, and these had found some way (!)
to obviate realities that we endure today!
Less is more, they had discovered, and could travel in a *wink*
what our ship in space had traveled, then, in all that time — just think!

...They meet you at your journey's end; they visit on the way.
They upgrade all your hardware, but they never judge or weigh.
They don't peer down their noses … don't insist upon new prayers.
It's rather like you meet nice folks while climbing cosmic stairs!

...You can go or you can stay; you can have it either way,
either one has heaven's promise — the attraction!
No one "pays," so you can "play"; you make it work; you save the day!
But for you? ...Why, living grace in satisfaction.

Return then to your night of dreams where, nestled in the stars,
are the fruits these satisfactions can provide... ...in rocks from Mars!
I metaphor ideas, we then take our precious breath,
and we live among our stars to cheat a grinning, leering death.



Though, you won't be engaging your garden variety anomaly... friends and neighbors, while hapless children starve anywhere in complacent aggregate neglect right here at home.  We have to earn more passage than that.

UFO's will never be accounted for when billions of your dollars are poured into the greedy coffers of non-accounting black ops shops — facilitating, good Christ patient reader, god-knows-what!

A handle on the abduction phenomenon will remain forever elusive until we can put to rest who the 'man' really is... ...and understand, more, the mechanisms of his sociopathic and disrespectfully hateful manipulations, manipulations held over, as it happens, from an arbitrary and absolutist time of the *divine rights* of priests and kings, still!

...I'm reminded Voltaire believed the last priest should be throttled by the last King with the King's own entrails...

A conservatively suggested alien presence, I submit, will not treat with us on any level we'd appreciate as long as we environmentally foul our bed clothes and then throw the dirty sheets into the faces of a hapless lot of ever increasing *never-haves*.

If we do such as that to our own? ...How would a stranger fare?

All the fronts of ufology are tied together into this heaving mass of almost was, and could have been with regard to UFOs and their ancillaries... ties ephemerally into the reality of an aggregate other. This other is composed of part and parcel and affected by its own nuance and suggestion. The seemingly "understood" remains filled with rampant surprise, so a deepening mystery is no surprise at all. The bigger the fire the more the shadows will be perceived, forgetting that what's revealed by the new light is unspeakable.  No closure... good news.  Anything else eventually bores, I suspect. 

Too, though composed of all these form-defying portions and components, the "other" is still a whole that is greater than the mere sum of all of its parts. It must be seen thus eventually... ...as this *whole* is easy to lose into an infinity of ones... contested compendium of ideas... cowardly hashing and rehashing moot details until they have lost all meaning, relevance, subjectivity and objectivity, eh?  Eh-heh!

The imposition into our consciousness by this *paranormal/UFO "other" thing* is a management of our perception of the whole by this *other*, I suspect in a way discrediting much of the validity of our *cherished* traditions and *fundamental* foundations.  One is reminded that these *traditions* and *foundations* have debated, even outdated, utility.   Too, they are only a few generations in length early in an intellectual adolescence as ignorant as it is arrogant. The other could be millions of generations in advance if not billions of same.

Unquestionably, UFOs are a knock at proud science's stuffy stacking swivels. They're an ongoing reminder of how little we know... ...how meager our pathetic little intellectual fires... ...how deep the shadows they only begin to illuminate. Still, I have to believe that there is something more to our aggregate reality than sifting desultory minutia, following *rules*, paying taxes, and dying finally... fertilizer for a rich man's flowers?

We are fed a thin gruel of religion, work ethic, incomplete intellectual development, or gross and prevaricating sexual titillations from a learned media —a media knowing better!— ...a media decidedly low-roading, reader... ...all clearly a tool of some shadowy control body of sociopathic high rollers and their pyramid of eager support weasels (...you and me too, actually, against our knowledge and outside our informed consent...).  All are the game pieces of weasels and as Frank Zappa pointed out: they rip your flesh!

We don't get the real deal, just a distorted mist of half truths — a lie in the fog. *Traditional* disrespect you could cut with a knife.

Cop to that, and the mists begin to dissipate, the lie becomes impossible to even tell... ...for all the truth being told, you see, displacing it... ...and WE stand sorrowfully revealed at last...

...But Improved...

Worthy!

Read on.

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