Sunday, January 16, 2011

...We Are Not Alone...



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They flit and they skip and they dodge behind mesas. They drop behind roofs of a neighbor's dark home. They cross the night skies like a star that "detaches," their flying is soundless... ...and we're not alone.

We're not alone as we covet *possessions*; we're not alone as we squander our trust. We're not alone as we punish the innocence; thinking that we have to, convinced, somehow, we must!

We're not alone while the rain forest's burning. We're not alone as we falter and cry. We're not alone; we have seen them all flying in disparate countries — festooning those skies!

We're not alone as we torment ourselves. We're not alone; we are fragile ... new born! We're not alone, and affixed with the blinders I'd tear from our faces with pleasure and scorn!

We're not alone! They're in all geograhics! They hover for shuttles, we've seen them in space! They've neutered our nukes at the drop of their *hat* ...  somebody knows; we're put in our place!

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Somebody knows what the ancients were "knowing" and shared in their tablets of clay! Somebody knows where the secrets are buried that elevates humankind... precluding the slave!

Somebody knows why we suffer and die when the best of all times could be had! Somebody knows why we hate to look up; why we're shamed, why we're cowards, why... at best we're so sad...

Somebody knows what it is we'd be knowing. Somebody knows if the ET's are here. Somebody knows surely more than we're getting when circumstance is passing strange — with things so god-damned queer!

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They land and they leave all the strangest of traces! They clutter and clog at the sweep of the sky! We find them in ads that insult our cognition for all of the stuff that we "lust" for and "buy."

...Why, we find them on our candy; we find them shilling cars — machines that do our washing, from the toy box to the stars. They gloat in all our magazines; they sell us toxic food? They're all around; they're surely here; they exist; we must construe!

It's us confuses consciousness! It's us well left alone! It's us inflicts agendas! It's us with hearts of stone!

They intrude where "we won't have them" in our sullen white-bread world. They intrude into our clueless-ness and they prove they shall not yield.

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They intrude in sullen closets where we think we keep our secrets,
and they make their strange notations in their *book*.
Knowing *bodies* we've been hiding, they can dig up *moldy bones*,
and they know just where you'd, likely, never look.
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As days go by... they're closer still; they shall not be denied! They'll solve our crass *indifference*; they'll expose what's been contrived.

...And you better have your center. You best expand your mind. You better open up the box in which you keep your soul confined!

The future is a freight train, and we're tied on humming tracks; the bonds we feel we've tied ourselves! C'mon! You know it,  "Jack"!

Ain't it? If not here, certainly somewhere in the grand expanse of "multiverse"... a vast tableau of that which we cannot even *know* how to know... as yet, for all our scientific pretense and baseless hubris —  our arrogance without the remotest justification... ...apart from our art ...
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Our thoughts happen somewhere, remember, oh not because they're our thoughts... that's a laugh sincerely, but because our thoughts are so mundane and facile in general. Easy to materialize. Ain't it the truth?  Yes! 
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Still, it's heaven in reach if presently denying grasp!
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Perhaps.
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Though sincerely, there is that much... space. There is that much... time. There is that much... surface area involved... to facilitate...to facilitate ...anything, reader. Anything! A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.!
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"Anything" with an exponent of a googleplex. Those implications are huge. The reader better be humbled by them.
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Seriously, all the reader has ever thought of, admitted and not, in the most whacked out and disturbed fever dream or idle whimsy... alone on a coffee break at work... sitting on the can... explosive recognition in acrimonious debate... has happened *somewhere*, reader.
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...Even here.  Even here it is at your elbow as it is a trillion light years away.
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There really is a... "long, long ago... in a galaxy far, far away...". It's just "X" rated for language, sex, and violence far beyond the capacity of that garden variety dirty movie too reflexively thought of. Such is reality: more than mere spin, rate, and charge, reader, even if powered by those things.
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Consider the preceding an understatement.
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Given the productive potentialities of copping to this larger reality, one would think that some investigation, into UFOs say, would be pursued more greedily. That's the history of our prosecuted sociopathic ethic to date, after all. Yet, we do not.
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...And to the contrary!  The "genuine" remains heavily marginalized and discounted while the "woo-woo" —whatever that is—gets the heavy publication... subsequent to derision later on... ...in an effort to discredit the whole of a ufological milieu... so, what, a "baby" can more easily be thrown out with "bathwater"?  I suspect so.
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Moreover, I think *we* avoid looking for this kind of stuff because *we* know if *we* do, actually, look? Why, we will *find*, reader!!!  Everything changes—I suspect for the better—which makes those in their cat-bird seats—and in an aggregate chagrin, too— perk up and say "howdy," verily.
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See, a general finding of this type suggested by Rich Dolan and Bryce Zabel is not complimentary to those occupying conjectured cat-bird seats, I surmise, because disclosure and the fruits of same, I submit, provides a measure of personal autonomy to the individual so informed... ...making her/him less socially manipulable with this subsequent assumption of a desired new efficacy of the "self-provided by" that may, perhaps, result of that conjectured disclosure... THEN what teams we shall make!
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See, in other words, it might be that that which is kept from us "for our own good," is good!  Ouch! What does that make the better-heeled secret keeping cat-bird seater?  What is a "psychopathic monster," Mr. Trebek?
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Maybe truth does set you free, even if it pisses you off first. It remains preferable; however, because now you have real stuff with which to work... forgetting that stuff alluded to is brand new and fresh out of the freaking box!  We make our own reality, see; why not make a better one?  What could stand in our way?
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New *findings* are uncomfortable for the reader because experience dictates that the *devil* "known" is usually preferable. But consider, reader. The *devil* we know is pretty damn bad, already, and getting worse.  This is provoking that consideration of alternate *devils* to begin with, according to Richard Dolan, via a host of well cited and credible others, in his history of the National Security State...
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...Though... we had better *find*, regardless. Our survival as individuals producing "better" individuals depends on it.
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Anything else is arbitrary control by a sneering elite, reader. Anything else is farming the Manor Lord's three-field rotation, in ignorance, and letting his sons sport-boink our compromised if comely daughters...
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That's a good implication regarding our continued ignorance, don't you think? Moreover, Heisenberg propounds, it seems, that if we observe a surface area's time in space for an occurrence of *something*... a finding, why ...it comes to pass that we will have an occurrence... a finding!  Ding!  Things are spring-loaded to happen the way we observe them to happen... ...go through the formality of actually occurring recalling there's space/time and surface area enough for that formality.
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What encourages this formality of "actually occurring." Clearly, reader, there is a mind over matter?
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Yes!
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Our whole existence is a demonstration of our mind over matter. We thought it... and it was so. We've had allies of this conjectured mentality... we're rediscovering those allies right now, and in the nick of time, reader. In the nick of time.  Good thing, too.
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Additionally, looking into the night sky—trying to step past the fear of what could be out there—ever attempting a search for a bona fide UFO yields some interesting results.
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Frankly? You see UFO's!  Uh-huh.
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Let's start there. Let's look. Let's actually look. We're not looking now, not really. Not remotely. Not so Dick Six-pack hears about the search between Spike Channel re-runs. Not so Wendy Wine-cooler hears about that search between "American Idol" commercials...
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...But there are too many sweaty palms and faux-rolled eyeballs... presently. Too many reflexively convenient dismissals... too many ready denials and suspect derisions—cast aspersions. Society is cast as a duplicitous prison warden in a prison we make ourselves. Moreover, betrayals by that entirely corrupt societal warden abound! 
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With wikileaks, that cat's altogether "sack-less," eh?
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Item:  Did the reader know that there are a few classes of disparaged and tabooed entheogen that would facilitate the cure of most all addictions or addictive behaviors and engages the previously addicted individual to a level of productive calmness, efficacious social worth, and intelligence they didn't before have? Fat people could be thin people. Sick people could be well people. Sad people could be glad people. Dissatisfied people could be satisfied people.
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Not so smart... to smart enough. Love could crowd hate instead of the inverse of that. And all of this for pennies on the dollar presently spent?  We could claim respect from the stars instead of enduring the antithesis of same.
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What? Yes... Known by the current civilization since the sixties, too, forgetting it is knowledge so old it dates back to our descent from the trees, eons ago on the savannas of a dark Continent. Graham Hancock is writing about this re-rediscovered knowledge. Ralph Metzgar. Andrew Weil. Rick Strassman. Terence McKenna. Daniel Pinchbeck. Ralph Abraham. Riane Eisler. Rupert Shelldrake. Et sig al. They write regarding an efficacious way of a Shamanic philosophy in Societies based not on competition so much but cooperation,  cooperation in a partnership served by further reaching mammalian corporations and not reptilian ones. The affect of same...
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These are names to be lionized in the quickly approaching future where infant religions and juvenile governments can hold no sway over the conscious individual... ...as if they ever did... or ever could over the "long haul." These are harbingers of the approaching time of singularity and concrescence.
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Batten hatches... buckle belts... gird intellectual loins. The kingdom is at hand and awaits. That's a good thing for all the battening, buckling, and girding. Verily. That's my suspicion... and I remain entirely optimistic.
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Restore John Ford!

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