.
.
I spread my arms, beseech the sky, and wonder why we even try to elevate our species' place if much we touch is soon disgraced. We've potential we've ignored; we fall short, I'd bet? Deplored.
.
...And what of saucers flying there... perhaps with *people* filled—mon frère? Perhaps we're under observation, taken for an infestation! Waiting for some swift correction from those *persons* "passed detection"?
.
We don't know! The best response! Yet, we're in—unearned—pride ensconced. Bad enough—won't you agree—that one's compelled to calloused knee!
.
We aren't careful in the void; we won't make a sentient choice. Hearing what we want to hear, we're wasteful as regards what's dear: ...Life and children we respect, so give them more than sad neglect. Be our planet's steward—friend—and not a life-force we offend!
.
Are we wasteful... loathsome beings with nothing but our gall and spleen... to keep us from complete disaster—groveling for some gloating master?
.
These *leaders* will short-change your schooling, contrive it to be harsh and grueling. School so bad it hurts the soul, so, to it, you are loath to go. See, there they keep you stupid, friend, to reproduce what they contend... is *best* for hapless feebs and peeps... alive to keep THEM warm, you see?
.
Keep art and music out of schools? Then, sing the new tea-bagger's blues as soulless drudges leave those halls to empty lives devoid—appalled. Art and Music elevates... provoking questions changing fate, and we find out what's planned for us: our trust betrayed... psychotic thugs...
.
Muzak's soothing what you think, but then we smell its fishy stink. Music is constructive feeling; it's art at best and THEN we're dealing! Save a buck on art and music—lose your soul, I think, abusing—all that you might somehow be... if you should KEEP your sanity!
.
Once in school, a teacher's paid: teach damaged kids a damaged trade—standard English, small respect, some life beyond that child's neglect. Teaching nothing as it happens, they just suit sad circumstances... They're among our disrespected, with some malice they're objected, paid small pittance, little mind, and no respect one comes to find.
.
Their public school's a shell shocked hole: no programs, futures, books or soul! We've no money we could spend... providing what this needs to mend? "School" is so much bilious crap. We just don't care and that's a fact.
.
...A few more teachers, good surroundings—make the learning valued, charming. Perchance to make kids LOVE their school? Have them grasp this golden rule? Make their learning real enough to TRULY make them better off!
.
Pull them from their squalid holes, give them chances yours would know; too, empty prisons you have made to counter disrespects now paid! You know, that mechanism you maintain to keep REAL slavery legal bane!
.
I know there's more than what we see: a quantum relativity! A marriage of the macro space with causal subatomic grace! Tiny strings in humming loops to vibrate out our hand-held truths... in ways we can't perceive at all... from space and time and MORE this calls.
.
I contest our frame of reference. Aristotle's lost my deference. We don't hold a "center spot! To think we should? Hubristic rot!
.
See, we are still conflicted by... those "crystal spheres" old Greeks contrive!
.
Aristotle WAS quite wrong, but Christian churches played along. They would keep the lie alive, that they the chosen, favored—thrived! That they should wear creation's crown, and not be labeled as its clown. That they were always God's proud chosen, *masters* of all space emboldened... in all their faith or shallow dreams that they're not—at the LAST—obscene.
.
Saucers flit and dance or flicker as our sordid games got sicker; we don't ask ourselves the questions curing, likely, mad obsessions...
.
People suffer every day so others can pretend they're prey... while sitting in the tallest cotton with souls corrupted—grace forgotten!
.
People starve, and rot or stink while others sip exotic drinks. People fret in misery, but faithful, kiss their rosaries...
.
Trained to put their faith in God, these folks presume they need his nod... to ask, at last, the honest questions—real answers—sans rejection! Though they're remiss if they believe untested faith provides relief, a life has value if examined... reconsidered... then re-examined!
.
Some of us ARE good as gold! Some of us are hard and cold. Most are kept in shifting shadows, ignorant, misguided—callow.
.
These, the ones who do the work, are kept in debt like foolish jerks, so some can have their crystal fixtures, autumn homes—expensive pictures...
.
This "attitude," so mis-configured, serves us up our dung, I figure...
.
Those on "top" would stay the same, and *write* their rules—insure the game. They would stay their harmful course so unconcerned—without remorse... blithely building "grand estates" which sprawl behind their iron gates. Outside the gates it's hand to mouth and mortgages are headed south. Health insurance is denied; the working poor are criminalized. The gulf between them getting wider, elites contrive like cunning spiders...
.
We are—merely—bugs to them; we work and bleed as they condemn. We lubricate their grand existence... in—unbalanced—coexistence as they mock our harsh travail that they've imposed and where we flail...
.
Plus they keep the secrets, plainly—clasp them to their breasts insanely. They won't give us what we need, as we are here to work and breed to make more hands for them to use, souls that they corrupt, abuse...
.
...And still our questions raise soiled hands, beseech the heavens as they stand... and ask, "please, what is going on..." ...as we're used up or preyed upon.
alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net
...And what of saucers flying there... perhaps with *people* filled—mon frère? Perhaps we're under observation, taken for an infestation! Waiting for some swift correction from those *persons* "passed detection"?
.
We don't know! The best response! Yet, we're in—unearned—pride ensconced. Bad enough—won't you agree—that one's compelled to calloused knee!
.
We aren't careful in the void; we won't make a sentient choice. Hearing what we want to hear, we're wasteful as regards what's dear: ...Life and children we respect, so give them more than sad neglect. Be our planet's steward—friend—and not a life-force we offend!
.
Are we wasteful... loathsome beings with nothing but our gall and spleen... to keep us from complete disaster—groveling for some gloating master?
.
These *leaders* will short-change your schooling, contrive it to be harsh and grueling. School so bad it hurts the soul, so, to it, you are loath to go. See, there they keep you stupid, friend, to reproduce what they contend... is *best* for hapless feebs and peeps... alive to keep THEM warm, you see?
.
Keep art and music out of schools? Then, sing the new tea-bagger's blues as soulless drudges leave those halls to empty lives devoid—appalled. Art and Music elevates... provoking questions changing fate, and we find out what's planned for us: our trust betrayed... psychotic thugs...
.
Muzak's soothing what you think, but then we smell its fishy stink. Music is constructive feeling; it's art at best and THEN we're dealing! Save a buck on art and music—lose your soul, I think, abusing—all that you might somehow be... if you should KEEP your sanity!
.
Once in school, a teacher's paid: teach damaged kids a damaged trade—standard English, small respect, some life beyond that child's neglect. Teaching nothing as it happens, they just suit sad circumstances... They're among our disrespected, with some malice they're objected, paid small pittance, little mind, and no respect one comes to find.
.
Their public school's a shell shocked hole: no programs, futures, books or soul! We've no money we could spend... providing what this needs to mend? "School" is so much bilious crap. We just don't care and that's a fact.
.
...A few more teachers, good surroundings—make the learning valued, charming. Perchance to make kids LOVE their school? Have them grasp this golden rule? Make their learning real enough to TRULY make them better off!
.
Pull them from their squalid holes, give them chances yours would know; too, empty prisons you have made to counter disrespects now paid! You know, that mechanism you maintain to keep REAL slavery legal bane!
.
I know there's more than what we see: a quantum relativity! A marriage of the macro space with causal subatomic grace! Tiny strings in humming loops to vibrate out our hand-held truths... in ways we can't perceive at all... from space and time and MORE this calls.
.
I contest our frame of reference. Aristotle's lost my deference. We don't hold a "center spot! To think we should? Hubristic rot!
.
See, we are still conflicted by... those "crystal spheres" old Greeks contrive!
.
Aristotle WAS quite wrong, but Christian churches played along. They would keep the lie alive, that they the chosen, favored—thrived! That they should wear creation's crown, and not be labeled as its clown. That they were always God's proud chosen, *masters* of all space emboldened... in all their faith or shallow dreams that they're not—at the LAST—obscene.
.
Saucers flit and dance or flicker as our sordid games got sicker; we don't ask ourselves the questions curing, likely, mad obsessions...
.
People suffer every day so others can pretend they're prey... while sitting in the tallest cotton with souls corrupted—grace forgotten!
.
People starve, and rot or stink while others sip exotic drinks. People fret in misery, but faithful, kiss their rosaries...
.
Trained to put their faith in God, these folks presume they need his nod... to ask, at last, the honest questions—real answers—sans rejection! Though they're remiss if they believe untested faith provides relief, a life has value if examined... reconsidered... then re-examined!
.
Some of us ARE good as gold! Some of us are hard and cold. Most are kept in shifting shadows, ignorant, misguided—callow.
.
These, the ones who do the work, are kept in debt like foolish jerks, so some can have their crystal fixtures, autumn homes—expensive pictures...
.
This "attitude," so mis-configured, serves us up our dung, I figure...
.
Those on "top" would stay the same, and *write* their rules—insure the game. They would stay their harmful course so unconcerned—without remorse... blithely building "grand estates" which sprawl behind their iron gates. Outside the gates it's hand to mouth and mortgages are headed south. Health insurance is denied; the working poor are criminalized. The gulf between them getting wider, elites contrive like cunning spiders...
.
We are—merely—bugs to them; we work and bleed as they condemn. We lubricate their grand existence... in—unbalanced—coexistence as they mock our harsh travail that they've imposed and where we flail...
.
Plus they keep the secrets, plainly—clasp them to their breasts insanely. They won't give us what we need, as we are here to work and breed to make more hands for them to use, souls that they corrupt, abuse...
.
...And still our questions raise soiled hands, beseech the heavens as they stand... and ask, "please, what is going on..." ...as we're used up or preyed upon.
alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net
Restore John Ford... read on.
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