.
.
I'm just ONE voice in this crowd, and though I've listened hard (...out loud!) ...beneath contempt: these petty men, who'd counsel we're *alone*, my friend! Shermer, Nickell, Nye, and Plait: reductionism's holy faith; McGaha, Randi, Penn and Teller: Cartesianistic Bible Sellers.
.
I have listened to these *learned*, grokked their books—aced my college—and they do NAUGHT but leave deep holes ... stunted thinking ... shallow goals. Grokking's more than one can bear where cowardice connives, mon frére, imagination's not respected—novelty is disrespected, and rejected beyond bounds the Multi-verse does glare and frown...
.
These portend reality, ...though "dissing" facts that won't "agree," and counterfeiting history, just resell old hypocrisy! They're beyond contempt I've found, in aggregate: most non-profound.
.
I look into a starry sky and see potential, depth and time. I realize that there's enough—of all the truly needed stuff—to sail passed imagination, leaping ANY protestation!
.
More than we'd believe we've sailed... forbidden fictions, legends—tales... has happened in those stellar reaches ... there to torment, stress, but teach us!
.
We'd believe "they" CAN'T be here, assigning them our limits, fears; pretending that they shan't surpass... achievements reached by human craft? Like we bejewel creation's crown, are not, in fact, creation's clown; and that at best. We could do worse. Existence could—well be—that curse!
.
Yes, we pronounce imagined "laws"—tell "others" where their line is drawn! ...Squirty guffaws messing pants at such hubristic arrogance!
.
We pronounce our flawing physics airily like fools not "with it." We ignore new paradigms if they don't fit tradition's rhymes, and we don't care to spend the time to re-do work—a likely crime.
.
We're a bunch of sad pretenders, charlatans and glad offenders living in a noxious past which gloats obscenely, failing tasks! No one finds the facts they need all mixed with "misdirection's" feed, which keeps their status quo alive so they can *live* while WE "survive."
.
Something's hidden well, inside, and wrapped within a gauze of lies, and we can't put our finger ON our *strange* discomfort—though clear and strong. We're tied or mated to our fear in ways to make control more *clear*, and so won't question "pretty lies" to weave their phony web—disguised.
.
We are wives and husbands—children ... mothers, fathers, other brethren ... needing forecasts we can trust to plan a future as we must!
.
We would have things solid, useful, realistic, substantial—truthful!
.
I don't have the "facts", I'm told, by churlish goons and shallow scolds. I'm the liar, I'm accused, when I would point where we're abused, or offer that we can't get *facts* from cyber-thugs who grind an "axe"!
.
Something not admitted slinks behind facades of fishy-stinks! Yes, it would change the way we feel to know, at last, what's true and real! Someone knows the real deal, will take what they can grab and steal, and make their judgement (if unreal!) as to, then, how YOU should feel!
.
Trouble is, I heard your zipper, know the "smirk" and see your whisper, smell ammonia, (used asparagus?)—you should drink more water, "Careless"!
.
I can't believe what you propose; it's blown from Aristotle's nose—that saucers shan't command our skies, that time and space won't prove you* lie, that we are "hidden, unobserved, so quite alone, and undisturbed."
.
I don't believe your mechanisms, I don't go in for your religion, I don't "buy" your evening news, believing cops should never lose. I'm akimbo as regards the manner of your "manner," pard. You betray our every trust, and I protest this very much!
.
You have earned my piqued disgust. It grows as you provoke mistrust. Insult (try!) provokes me further, infuriates—increases ardor—and I, at last, regard our sky ... those tiny points of light described, feel space—a living thing—and know you* for the "shit" you sling!
.
...And then you'll feel a righteous blade composed of words (yes, be afraid!) to whisper "anxious incantations," to live forever, be contagious—to be hard lyrics in a song... how wrong you'd been and all along! You'll atone with every verse, you psychopaths will lift your curse, and we will know the efficacious, each of us be perspicacious... each of us... self-actualized! Accreditation! Satisfied!
.
Peak experience. Life's fulfillment. Happiness that's circumfluent!
alienview@roadrunner.com
http://www.alienview.net/
Klasskurtxianism: It's a word I coined in a mash-up of the names Klass and Kurtz—two CSI heavyweights—to put a name to aspects of their anthropomorphic, arrogant, reductionist, hubristic, Cartesianistic, and cowardly philosophy. "Klasskurtxia" is, I submit, a graceful co-mingling of Onomatopoeia and self-definition clattering concussively if effortlessly off the tongue and palate like a big porcelain urn of live snakes dropped in the CSI Commissary. The shattered sound of the commission of an intellectual crime like I said.
.
I have listened to these *learned*, grokked their books—aced my college—and they do NAUGHT but leave deep holes ... stunted thinking ... shallow goals. Grokking's more than one can bear where cowardice connives, mon frére, imagination's not respected—novelty is disrespected, and rejected beyond bounds the Multi-verse does glare and frown...
.
These portend reality, ...though "dissing" facts that won't "agree," and counterfeiting history, just resell old hypocrisy! They're beyond contempt I've found, in aggregate: most non-profound.
.
I look into a starry sky and see potential, depth and time. I realize that there's enough—of all the truly needed stuff—to sail passed imagination, leaping ANY protestation!
.
More than we'd believe we've sailed... forbidden fictions, legends—tales... has happened in those stellar reaches ... there to torment, stress, but teach us!
.
Lost in time and dusty space
could live the creatures of some race
who'd solved the problems that we face
or vanished there without a trace...
.
.
Angels, monsters, neither... both...
things beyond the wholly loathed...
A paradise... an anxious hell,
where we would stay or dread to dwell,
but existing and extant
beyond conjectured... callous cant.
.We'd believe "they" CAN'T be here, assigning them our limits, fears; pretending that they shan't surpass... achievements reached by human craft? Like we bejewel creation's crown, are not, in fact, creation's clown; and that at best. We could do worse. Existence could—well be—that curse!
.
Yes, we pronounce imagined "laws"—tell "others" where their line is drawn! ...Squirty guffaws messing pants at such hubristic arrogance!
.
We pronounce our flawing physics airily like fools not "with it." We ignore new paradigms if they don't fit tradition's rhymes, and we don't care to spend the time to re-do work—a likely crime.
.
We're a bunch of sad pretenders, charlatans and glad offenders living in a noxious past which gloats obscenely, failing tasks! No one finds the facts they need all mixed with "misdirection's" feed, which keeps their status quo alive so they can *live* while WE "survive."
.
Hear them tell you "no free lunch"
propounding concepts you can't crunch.
Complacent, they're a feckless bunch;
plus they're unbrave. That's more than hunch.
No free lunch? Tell that to Walmart...
they're on the "public dole," and stalwart!
.Something's hidden well, inside, and wrapped within a gauze of lies, and we can't put our finger ON our *strange* discomfort—though clear and strong. We're tied or mated to our fear in ways to make control more *clear*, and so won't question "pretty lies" to weave their phony web—disguised.
.
We are wives and husbands—children ... mothers, fathers, other brethren ... needing forecasts we can trust to plan a future as we must!
.
We would have things solid, useful, realistic, substantial—truthful!
.
...We'll grow tired of your "usual,"
grow cynical—then resentful!
Riots in the streets, at last,
when we discover what's gone passed!
That time just may be coming fast,
when you're* the one confused—harassed!
.I don't have the "facts", I'm told, by churlish goons and shallow scolds. I'm the liar, I'm accused, when I would point where we're abused, or offer that we can't get *facts* from cyber-thugs who grind an "axe"!
.
Something not admitted slinks behind facades of fishy-stinks! Yes, it would change the way we feel to know, at last, what's true and real! Someone knows the real deal, will take what they can grab and steal, and make their judgement (if unreal!) as to, then, how YOU should feel!
.
I'm standing here, my leg is damp;
you're saying that it's *raining*, champ!
.Trouble is, I heard your zipper, know the "smirk" and see your whisper, smell ammonia, (used asparagus?)—you should drink more water, "Careless"!
.
I can't believe what you propose; it's blown from Aristotle's nose—that saucers shan't command our skies, that time and space won't prove you* lie, that we are "hidden, unobserved, so quite alone, and undisturbed."
.
I don't believe your mechanisms, I don't go in for your religion, I don't "buy" your evening news, believing cops should never lose. I'm akimbo as regards the manner of your "manner," pard. You betray our every trust, and I protest this very much!
.
You have earned my piqued disgust. It grows as you provoke mistrust. Insult (try!) provokes me further, infuriates—increases ardor—and I, at last, regard our sky ... those tiny points of light described, feel space—a living thing—and know you* for the "shit" you sling!
.
...And then you'll feel a righteous blade composed of words (yes, be afraid!) to whisper "anxious incantations," to live forever, be contagious—to be hard lyrics in a song... how wrong you'd been and all along! You'll atone with every verse, you psychopaths will lift your curse, and we will know the efficacious, each of us be perspicacious... each of us... self-actualized! Accreditation! Satisfied!
.
Peak experience. Life's fulfillment. Happiness that's circumfluent!
alienview@roadrunner.com
http://www.alienview.net/
Klasskurtxianism: It's a word I coined in a mash-up of the names Klass and Kurtz—two CSI heavyweights—to put a name to aspects of their anthropomorphic, arrogant, reductionist, hubristic, Cartesianistic, and cowardly philosophy. "Klasskurtxia" is, I submit, a graceful co-mingling of Onomatopoeia and self-definition clattering concussively if effortlessly off the tongue and palate like a big porcelain urn of live snakes dropped in the CSI Commissary. The shattered sound of the commission of an intellectual crime like I said.
Restore John Ford!
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