UFO's are history. Too, they're non-admission's misery... ...as *airships* span the mists of time that I would paint with words in rhyme. Our dissonance, transparent—plain, confounds the issue that remains ... that we are NOT alone, at last, in present time OR in the past!
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Written down, but then ignored, it didn't *square* and was "deplored." Folk from space might do to US what *we* have done? We're scared! Nonplussed!
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The *plans* of some would be derailed if we but copped to where we've failed? There can be no honest freedom if there is "privilege" there to bleed 'em. Privilege means the "private law," and that's against the rule of law. See, we err hugely to pretend that man's above the law, my friend.
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We have closed our misled minds to what has filled our ancient eyes—visions of a cosmic texture far beyond its crass conjecture. What follows is the record—written!—words THEY used as they were smitten with a wonder they beheld ... without its like or parallel!
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*¥es*
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Matthew writes, as we begin, of "stars like torches" (bright and dim) that move around the sky with purpose. He wrote it down. They made him... nervous.
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"The air was clear, serene, and shining." Lights within it coasted — blinding!
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He described in words he knew—what flew that day... ...was strange and new!
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A few years later, about 1250, Matthew writes again—not iffy. A ship appears, "well shaped" he wrote, in colors that would catch his throat. It floated in the nighttime sky; the monks all saw—it CAUGHT their eye!
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William writes at century end, a "discus" thrown by "giant men" would fly across his abbey's spire, flashing silver—fear inspired. "Utmost terror" was described; "flat and round," it ruled the sky!
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Honest William—just like us, but buried back in timeless dust? Did he see what some have seen, beyond the need or call for dreams?
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Robert writes, as time goes on, of "fire pillars" flying 'round! "...Livid color..." painting clouds—a "pillar" lofting ... grand and proud ...
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Crimson flames did issue forth as flashing beams like "swords," it coursed. It cleaved the heavens "slow and grave", and North it flew like skies were paved?
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Now, what then "soared" at speeds like that? He swore it truth—and that was that!
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"In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Columbus sails" his "ocean blue." We're not told that he's a skunk; if greed was beer than he was drunk. If avarice was not his suit than Jesus NEVER told the truth...
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...But he was seeing pulsing lights—"at great distance", "glimmers," bright! They'd vanish and then reappear—"move up and down"; it WAS quite queer...
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Another witness, Pedro, deems... they'd fly in "sudden passing gleams." This from the deck of the Santa Maria, which lands in few hours to expel an excreta!
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1528 comes 'round: a fight in Utrecht most profound ... a meeting with continued fate as we wade time and list strange dates?
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A golden "X" invades the sky, and overhead it coasts on by. The battle stops to watch it go; some take it as a "sign", but no—it travels past without a care to humans fighting ... on ... down there.
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In 1554 in France, at night without a moon to dance, "emitting [some] great noise it seems." A "sky-born lance" that flew, was seen! It flopped around from side to side; it cast out flames in truth they cried! From East to West—traversing stars, a meteor (?), or men from Mars?
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Evelyn was writing, see (?), (in sixteen hundred and forty-three) that Englishmen were NOT immune from "sightings" we cannot impugn.
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"[I'll] not forget," he writes in awe, "[what men perceived but women saw]—a "shining cloud was in the air," and "like a sword" it hovered there. "[It pointed North for all to see, and brighter than the moon would be...]". It floated there, two hours long, then vanished as he wrote its song.
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An English *Fellow* walked his park in idle contemplation, hark! The middle 18th century, a time when most would scar their knees ... Some *construction* cleared his roof and rose into the sky, aloof.
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Lofting over trees so grandly, north by east above his lowlands. In view, for but a half a mile—he saw its "framework" all the while... ...and watched it burn a bright light flame that bent the way a "curl" is named. This thing was big, four fingers long; he gaped in awe; it flew along.
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It burned a bit like "blown on charcoal", then disappeared within the dark-fall.
In the *States* about this time, the Natives told us cosmic rhymes—about a *star folk* coming down and landing on the Earth! Profound!
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Not like men, they glowed with light and married into what they might. They found the earthly women fair, and mixed their blood with them—mon frere. They'd "machines" that they would use; denial might be disabused.
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Who's to say what happened where. Don't write it off as myth! Beware!
*¥*
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It's time to stop... ...with more to tell. We'll save it for another spell...
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But don't pretend you KNOW the truth. Don't trust the "man" to fix this *roof*. The lights we see we've always seen. This isn't legend, myth, or dream! We just choose to look away from what our record has to say!
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They've been here, we're not alone; it just may BE this ain't our home... That we're mere tenants, at the whim, of those who came here—"way back when"?
lehmberg2002@gmail.com
http://www.alienview.net/
Part One
Part Three
Part Four
Realizing entirely that this is a blade cutting both ways (I search my conscience while the criticized search their convenience regarding these issues), there's nothing wholly real that can't be "debunked" by the reflex denier... look at the debate regarding climate change.
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Admit that there is little to combat the reflex denier, at all, remembering society's very well-facilitated lack of aggregate consciousness and culturally nurtured cognitive dissonance regarding known cultural atrocities...fostered by that same "faux-sceptic," knowingly and unknowingly. ...And why? Fear, loathing, inconvenience, perhaps only not wanting to re-do work thought done.
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This is an observation to spite any rabid misdirection provided to a readership by locked-stepped juice-suckers like those above... ...My use of language is just another box of paint to me, communicates what is meant to be communicated, and does it at a 99.9 degree of efficiency and efficacy. That's the whole of my aspiration. This writer won't apologize for being moved to aspire to style.
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This is forgetting that my language and style are adequate enough when it is in one's service. It is my ready and unswerving opposition, presently, to a baseless hubris or flawed anthropomorphism causing those "gripes" and "hurt pouties..." in these critics, I offer... At the end of the day the language and style used is the same in both critique and congratulation.
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See, the fervid emphasis and emotional intensity of this misdirecting and obsessive coterie regarding said language use... ...says more about that coterie than about me, is my suspicion. I'm sincere, and I suspect that the aforementioned are not.
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See, the fervid emphasis and emotional intensity of this misdirecting and obsessive coterie regarding said language use... ...says more about that coterie than about me, is my suspicion. I'm sincere, and I suspect that the aforementioned are not.
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I'll make the occasional even frequent error. I endeavor not to repeat them, eh? Get over it. I do.
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Besides ... style and grammar is not really what we're talking about is it? This gets hard to remember in a heady (but empty) atmosphere of crossed t's, dotted i's, subject-verb agreements, and proper contractions, I know, but you err and err hugely to trifle me there... constipated klasskurtxians, portentous pelicanists, and insipid CSIcopians.
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...I reject you; I abhor you; I even loathe you... I'll swing as you raise your scurvy head and feel strongly that I'm performing a service of best practice. Sincerity always trumps a sneer. Sneer, then, at your peril.
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...And if I may break in here a moment to remind everyone that skeptics are (as I've written before) not the issue, are in comparison persons to be revered above all others, be welcome company ...honored team members... boon companions... ...the most interesting of us, the most knowledgeable of us, and the ones to instruct us the most! Skeptics by their very definition do not have their minds rigidly locked up. They are not to be confused with scurrilous skepti-bunkies, ponderous pelicanists, and insipid CSIcopians, the antagonist klasskurtxians otherwise regarded, and those beneath my personal concern, consideration, and contempt ... I know skeptics... skeptics are friends of mine, I aspire to a sceptic's ethics... those reviled in this essay are not true skeptics...
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...And y'all can just step the "f " off, sans all apology, with my thanks.
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