Sunday, September 15, 2013

Remaining...


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I look into a starry sky... with length, and breadth and depth untried, and question—to perchance achieve—what these things ARE to soar and cleave.
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They are there, there IS no question... dismissing any protestation that I'm quite mad or just mistaking.  Or worse: that I've been lying... faking.
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Oh, I see them. No great feat! I've proved them to myself, at least! Should I respect what one might think... who ISN'T looking? Specious fink!
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...Sucking on our wounded sphere—mere parasites who breed in fear—our "specious finks" would make "pronouncements." They'd spout denial and denouncement!  These proclaim their "dead-lock nut," to prove in fact their minds are shut, that they are sans imagination... and must court their own damnation.
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Keeping council with their "favorites," pretending they're alone (the flavor!), they would turn their eyes away from that which haunts our skies today.  Oh, they're fearful. No mistake. They're throwing on their drags and brakes! See, new ideas threaten those who keep their process... undisclosed.
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They're braking to arrange "distraction," provide for our INSANE inaction, but keeps the subject tongue-in-cheek so they can sully errant leaks. ...Remaining is the ink and stonewhich they discount with heads of bone!
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...Remaining is the anecdotal: weighty, plain and calmly totaled. Remaining is the photographic: ponderous and enigmatic. Remaining, there's the evidence that one perceives with no pretence — no axe to grind, no bill to fill, but has a brain and knows the drill!
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And, yes, sometimes our *science* friends—those filled with same to length and brim—prefer their *method* and *assessment* to live *proud* lives of glad detachment ...
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*Light* shan't dance and caper FOR them, speaks a language MUCH too foreign, so safe beyond their instruments *it* charms and glitters its pretense. Stanton Friedman makes his case, but most who look will earn disgrace ... Science is not BAD—or friendly—science is a tool, comprende'? Though, it can—too fast—be misused to further evil ends abstruse!  Consider scalpels spreading butter, or cleaving bolts with paper cutters.  "All Science" dulls humanity provoking an insanity and we're the lesser for all that if science dictates tit for tat.
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Still, others think some ...won't... conspire to make their short term goals transpire, when survey says it's one in ten would do what they will DO, my friend!  If their gain can be attained they'll do the worstthey won't abstain!
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I've studied them, they know no bounds, to them "we" are as dumb as hounds; we're shackled to our rules and codes made ethics bound to bear their loads. We're mere *objects*—we're their CATTLE—they keep us buying, taxed, and addled while they write their tickets free and freeload from our pockets, see?
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What we lack's the "real deal" that psychos covet, grift or steal!
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What we lack's a base respect that we have lost for their neglect!
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What's we lack's the cop to truth that's been pretended, lost—refused!
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What's we lack's that money spent to educate our future, friends!
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Still we waffle and get lathered... endure elitist double standards—puling prayers that just PRETEND to hold the high ground we don't win!
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Look around, begin to *see*, and sense a new reality! Stealthy wizards find new ways to fleece their flocks and make Y O U pay. They would trade your soul for power; holding court, they build your towers on these special "clouds" they'd claim would keep you *whole* or *safe* and *sane*.
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TV Preachers whine and pray from billion dollar pulpits—crazed! They PRETEND their persecution (spewing saccharine elocution), all the while sowing hatreds they condone (to which we're fated!).
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See the *moral* politician, whining goals or mad positions, wearing mantles of correctness she contrives to cloak her excess? He fronts the "un-elected," sells YOUR soul (you're unprotected) ...lives a life of privileged power—cruising restrooms sans his trousers!
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Still, the sky's alive with lights (which act most strangely in my sight), and these belie pontification, discredit all the obfuscation, and keep in me alive the ...need... to ask hard questions, watch, and bleed.
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Finks pretend, "alleged weirdness... warrants 'special proof's' coherence!" Claims that are *incredible* demand that *proof's* infallible (?) ... but then RETREAT becomes the norm! It's cloaks like these are used or worn! The proof's horizon just recedes ahead of fear... we do not need!
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No, I see them—that's a fact. They don't conform to aircraft, Jack! See, I'm a flyer too well versed for wishful thinking, last and first!
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What I see will fly big circles, glitter like a flash bulb hurtled, then slowing to a crawl they'll glow... to bursts of speed—away they go! I'm out there with my Mother, friend, and I'll not lie, distort ... pretend... that they are there if not—you hear?
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I'll watch the skies. You face your fear.


alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net




Former Air Force "zoomie,"—one stunningly shallow nay-sayer, and default klasskurtxian cur-curmudgeon—James McGaha has exposed himself, recently, as the public face of an "on-the-run" CSIcopia. His current too-cautionary mewling—as regards an all but smashed Aristotelian crystal sphere of caustic cluelessness (or scientism as brittle as it is dull)—has been heard on numerous Larry King Live shows.

McGaha occupied the post previously held by Dr. [immaterial] Michael Shermer, an oilier, more smooth and practiced representative of the dying CSIcopian meme.  Shermer abdicated his position when it became obvious that he could not make his "case" to a public he wants to buy his skep-dick's (sic) books.

Shermer is to McGaha what Pat Riley is to Bobby Knight. Though, IMO, Shermer is much more the regrettably craven sum'bitch because he's smoother, more lettered, and seemingly derives a lot of personal comfort from his practiced duplicity.

Problem is: he can't make his case on this stuff to an audience getting a little more informed every day, and he risks his cottage industry of nay-saying literature, as I said above, to come on TV just to look like a fool—as McGaha seems only too willing to do... the zoomie gerbil!  He figures to sell his own book, I suppose. I'll lay odds it's published by Prometheus Press... waddaya-bet!

That's enough.  Read on.

Restore John Ford.

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