...Obnoxious Conscience...

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Oh, I know that I'm obnoxious. 

Sentience sometimes is. 

Seven-0, I've drawn conclusions 

the "invested" would dismiss.  

Though not a bleeding liberal, mind, 

but progressive to be sure... 

...I feel the "game's" unfairly played 

and gravid with manure!

See, a corporate's "individual," 

and very self-involved; 

it is, in fact, a personage, 

and treated such I'm told.  

A corporate will has further reach; 

immortal, it endures!  

Evolving to self-regulate, 

it stands apart assured.  

See, there's no one on the blame line.  

Nobody takes "the fall."  

Rampant reptiles rule the roost 

to write self-serving law.

I accept that these are "criminals."  

I accept they should be blamed 

for a lack of real innocence 

that the rest of us might claim. 

Though, mine's a sword that cuts two ways, 

and just as well for both. 

Who IS the primal criminal, 

and then we see the joke!

See, the *system* goes beyond its pale 

and trifles with the LIVES (!) 

of those who *inconvenience* them... 

I've learned we could despise. 

These men don't walk among us... 

abide like you and me. 

They do not fly the same blue sky 

that's free for them, you see?

They tally up their ill-got gain 

they've stolen from your children; 

ne'er hesitate to obfuscate enigma that's been building. 

THIRTY THOUSAND starve each day 

to lube these privileged lives. 

These are the length and breadth and depth— 

the substance, I despise. 

Point them out as you can find them—

they're the ones you should deplore! 

They've sealed the fate of one who "asked" 

...You guessed it, friend! John Ford!

You want to hear real foolishness 

you're expected to believe? 

The strangest thing that anyone 

could think of or conceive? 

Bad enough for one man's madness—

..."Ray" emitting toothpaste!?!

 But we're to buy that THREE conspired; 

that's madness in a royal state!

THREE men were that stupid? 

Three men "thought" that way? 

Three men left their brains at home, 

then thought they'd get away? 

Nonsense is my proffer! 

Nonsense! I decry! 

Three engaged this foolishness? 

Then pigs and monkeys fly!

I've said it since 

and I've pled in cantabile: 

the whole of this mess 

just defines new banality! 

I suspect it's a "...put up...," 

... elitist skulduggery, 

the facts of this case are insane;

 its check's rubbery!

It's a dog that won't hunt! 

It's a brick... shy a load. 

It’s a mire of "old boys," 

torpedoes, and toads! 

Who are these *doctors* 

who claimed John "unfit"? 

Where is their consult, 

did they make it up quick? 

Let's ALL hear the TAPE 

of the "STING" operation. 

Let's ALL hear John laugh 

at the "show" they were making!

John—just keep your head; 

maintain a control. 

You'll, yet, be released 

from their cruel, unjust hole. 

You'll once again walk 

on your "canvass of streets" (!), 

stitching dark evidence into cloth from deceit? 

You'll campaign, a warrior, banishing night... 

...once again my friend; it's your honor ... your right!

• lehmberg2002@gmail.com
• http://www.alienview.net/

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Folks, we celebrate the protagonists of Miguel de Cervantes—or used to! John Ford, you are a grand bastard even as you tilted at the real dragons neatly camouflaged as those same windmills! You're not to be blamed for your victimization in any way.  You knew they were dragons all along.
+
Too, you thought you lived in America! We've all discovered it is not. Lately, John, even the illusion of it wears thin... Trumps casts America in an entirely new light... even if that light is a lurid green as in Steven King's Tommyknockers!
+
One would prefer, of course, to believe that these "machines" of local government generally act in ethical, inclusive, and evenhanded ways—but, like the infamous Suffolk County of  New York, too often they do not.  Many individuals get ground up in the Polis's gears of cruel mechanization to fuel short-term elitist goals of self-made monsters—mammals reverting back to the reptilian!  These aforementioned and caustic goals readily detract from the ethical behavior of all concerned! 
+
...But who does what to whom, first?
+
We've heard all the cloying tales of "cold fusion," "zero-point" energy capture, the "over-unity" engines, and like devices. We hear rumors of miraculous cures for incurable disease from endangered plants, or simple paints that stop all electromagnetic radiation. These enigmas are never adequately discredited, and they reappear from time to time with tantalizing and teasing regularity. All of these anomalies—UFOs and ancillaries of same—we hear about, but never quite realize? They share a characteristic, perhaps, that dooms the aforementioned elitist.
+
See? The aforementioned anomalies all point back to the potential for an actualization of individual autonomy and constructively dissolved, if errant, cultural boundaries. Let me say that again; they all point back to a potential actualization of more individual autonomy!
+
That's the key point. Punch in.
+
Individual autonomy is, and always has been, dangerous to the man who must keep you on his meter to keep you in control. What he'd call his daily bread. An autonomous person is not a controlled person. Does "the man" ever try to reward the use of his meter or encourage same. No. He abuses his monopoly, every time, and must be legislated to fairness. The reader remembers what's said about power corrupting...
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You say individual subjugation can't happen in America? Where is America lately, reader?  Consider, a corporate leaning Supreme Court has recently assured, 5 to 4, that Corporations without equal responsibility, equal accountability, equal dependability, equal blame-ability or equal liability, can elect our leadership down to the lowest levels... to serve them. There's no lipstick for that pig.
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Consequently, I don't think it likely it can happen efficiently anywhere else, anymore. Washington, Hamilton, and Jefferson et. al. wrote the rules like that from the very beginning. Take a turn through Jefferson's Federalist Papers #10, if you don't believe me. Find out the real reasons for Shay's Rebellion.
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Didn't we have in 2004 a first appointed then fraudulently re-elected United States President declare that the Constitution was "...just a Goddamned piece of paper"? Yes. Yes we did. Later on we'd elect an abject life-failure, common criminal, and self-admitted sex criminal to the Nation's highest office. 
+
"America's spirit" has always been about protecting the 'haves' from the 'have nots'," says Dr. Michael Parenti of Harvard University. Left wing wacko? Perhaps. ....But, one with six books crammed full of primary citations determined over many years to be true in fact. Do the math, reader, and follow your heart.
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Back at the ranch, John Ford would have what he does not now have: freedom, a government of fidelity, straight answers—"though heavens fall"—to the intriguing questions of our time, and the restoration of his good and honorable name! The "man" will work hard to keep these things from him, and us. ...but specifically you, reader.
+
And any one of our number who points a finger at John Ford in desultory, insulting, or titillating criticism points THREE fingers back at themselves. Be ashamed!  Ford's politics, manner, priority, or appearance are not the issue in this matter. His circumstances (he's cleaner than ANY of the Bushes, I'm betting, forgetting one Pee-pee Dondi), and extremely suspect incarceration, ARE.
+
RESTORE John Ford!
+

Alternative ET

I'm 70 today, so, officially,
no one can tell me anything.

Alternative ET
by Alfred Lehmberg


...And, go!

Proudly portentous paranormal pundits propitiously self-placed and proclaiming their pompous and wholly impacted pretensions—not entirely unlike myself I'll allow—lately practice (...otherwise!) the very antithesis of what they'd preach or would seem to be preaching! This is an alliteration meant to assign the point, reader. Don't embarrass yourself not going along. Walk with me. ...Or don't.

They do this, my friend, to stop the thrust of a serious ufological penetration into that which unavoidably IS, in and of itself (the UFO), so these work to deter that penetration with "mechanisms of a new duplicity" ...fend off that same thrust. Create new dodges, only! ...Foment new misdirections, verily... ...while presuming to be doing anything but, ...even to the cruel antithesis, reader, as I've written before!

Now—now, everything is on the table. This is understood. Time runs short in an ironic cosmological sense. The Kingdom is at hand for all. No, really. That's this writer's intuition. 

Onward, even beginning to go "heavy-handed" into the discussion, I tire more and more of just "pussy-footing" around, eh? You know ...masking intent and assertion in words of consideration and affable collegiality... pearls before swine? Mostly.

"Bull in a china shop" becomes increasingly more justified, it appears. On the horizon, one sees the raised flags of cut-throats and other persons otherwise opposed by the likes of a wholly lucid Russell Brand. 

Brand has a point. We could do a lot better. No apologies here. That guy's spot on.

Are the "cutthroats" closer than the horizon? I feel the need to inspect my own judicious collection of edged literary weaponry...  ...But back at the Uforia ranch...

So... be it resolved and "Considered," then, but that we have Chrono-terrestrials, Dimensio-terrestrials, Intra-terrestrials, Extra-terrestrials, Crypto-terrestrials, Inter-terrestrials, Intel-terrestrials, Outré-terrestrials... (smoke break) jinns, affrites, and water-nixies... trolls, faeries, and gnomes... angels and demons: on and on and into a veritable smorgasbord of fuzzy choices in... "speculative indistinctness" ...fore and aft on a fractal paranormal line, without regard to what the "other" could be... so, neatly masking or avoiding the "dreaded concept" that there is an "other" there, at all, by virtue of that indistinctness!  Plausible deniability. Presto and the other can be dismissed to a "discredited incredible." ...Nothing to see here. ...Move along. Wait? What?

We are cowards, in the aggregate, in this regard! When we make something conceptually dismissable by virtue of a fog we produce ourselves, we begin to allow too easily for a balm of pervading dismissal, at all. "Slippery slopes" and all that. We assume blinders, gladly, so as to not have to re-do work errantly thought done. Lazy. Complacent. This writer could add fat, drunk, and stupid for cultural reference. That we've work to do is clear. Russell gets it.

Cue the hopeful music...

One is all you need...

There is hope, eh? Given seven strong categories of compelling evidence. How could there not be? Harsh honesty with self and the smallest humility with regard to same allow for humble subordination to the potentialities of all of space/time. Then we have cake.

The increasingly accepted fractal reality empowering historic "smart money" makes clear that we're likely not the center jewel in creation's crown, either reader, and certainly not the sharpest knife in the cosmic drawer! We're somewhere in a smear of universal entelechy and well-to-avoid any hubris as to our position on that smear... 

Could our complacent ambivalence to this fact be fueled by the indisputable knowledge of ourselves at our worst, and dread the more powerful *other* for that reason? Could they ...would they... be as bad as we have been? [shudder!]

By way of example and on the subject of this "avoidance" of the other (some might say "denial") alluded to, it is similarly performed when some of these aforementioned pundits celebrate the term "UAP," prefer it to the term "UFO." The "UAP," revealed here as just another fractious noise distracting from the perceivable signal, illustrates a case in point.

"Unidentified Aerial Phenomena," or its simulacrum, replacing "Unidentified Flying Object" is, at root I suspect, only that "coward's concept" alluded to earlier... allowing—surreptitiously and fallaciously, reader—for essential "human singularity" in the vast universe... and "plausible deniability" of the ufological... in one swell foop (sic)! We're consolingly alone in the vastness.

How? Solid *objects* decidedly trump an ephemeral *Phenomena*, you see? ...Can't have that!

Consider, a "UAP" is something that does not have to be physically there at all, in the first place, and if there in the second? Well, it can be written off easily as "ball-lightning" and "sleep paralysis" dismissed with all the other birds, bursts, bolides, boosters, and balloons of your garden-variety intellectual coward suggested, awash in his unjustified hubris' cognitive dodge! Hands washed! Cognitive dissonances all accounted for! Psychological adjustments made! Suffocating "Stasis" preserved. Deep breath!

Now, a UFO, as an OBJECT, on the other hand, suggests something may actually be there (the *other*!), and that idea must be discarded, with its acronym, as intellectually *scary*... psychologically aberrant and pathologically abhorrent... out of hand! Not to suit! "There are no UFOs, because there CAN'T be UFOs." Neatly tied, that knot. Not.

As a consequence of this strange cognitive dissonance not allowing for more than "one frog" in a pretty vast pond, one vastly vast and exceeding all vastness... vastnesses more vast than one can even imagine a vast vastness of vastnesses... to be... We can embrace a heat-death and beyond? Hope. Imagination. Ascent.

Well, these already mentioned pundits faux-propitiously proclaim their strained hubris, gladly! Everything stops in entropy's heatlessness. All consciousness ceases. Even God dies. 

Perhaps. Only, this old writer's experience is that all that is but pride, pride yet to fall.

In an unbrave scientistic (sic) wallow they become irrelevant, self-sustaining, and self-rationalizing paradigms enthralled by their own code-worded insentience. They are busily, gleefully, and gladly prosecuting same... in abstruse extremis... like discredited Ptolemaics trying to make their ignorantly twisted if observed mechanics of an Earth-centered universe work on paper, and succeeding far too long... to our dysfunction and defeat, right now! 

Moreover, many of these pundits, thereby, only seem to be about providing reasons to stop looking for an *other* altogether... and get on with their business as usual: shallow scientistic (sic) sensibilities setting themselves up as the default arbiter of precepts and observations admittedly outside their scope, purview, or review! Out-of-the-box precepts and obvious observations are ignored by science even by its own gleeful admission! Precepts and observations denied the most cursory evaluation! WTF! 

Glibly pronouncing on what they refuse to honestly investigate, in a nutshell. Rupert Sheldrake gets it.

How is an institution of servant science even allowed this unscientific attitude? See, scattering attention on a plethora of contrived potential *others* can be used, reader, as a device facilitating an errantly forced admission, eventually, that the *other* must not exist at all, perhaps, producing the opportunity for continued denial and even dismissal of same. I suspect this is the case.

Verily, after one eliminates the demons and angels... the gnomes, faeries, and trolls... the water-nixies, affrites, outré-terrestrials, and jinns... in turn wades the sucking mire of Chrono-terrestrials, Dimensio-terrestrials, Intel-terrestrials, Intra-terrestrials, and inter-terrestrials... why... is there any investigative moxie remotely left for crypto-terrestrials and Extra-terrestrials? Does the reader see this Meme death by purposed diffusion? There are no UFOs because there are no demons and angels... gnomes, faeries, and trolls... water-nixies, affrites, outré-terrestrials, and jinns... Chrono-terrestrials, Dimensio-terrestrials, Intel-terrestrials, Intra-terrestrials, and Inter-terrestrials... That's science?

I submit that this mechanism of Meme Diffusion is just a more current flavor of "klasskurtxianism," merely—every bit a misdirecting acquiescence to the "open-minded" side of the aisle (so to speak)—and a loss leader, reader... ...a pretense that the "end of ufological denial"—and other iterated cognitive dis-associations too assiduously prosecuted by these self-same pundits—are taken into account! They are not. They. Are. Not!

No, these retreat to a niggard's institutional defilade if their heavens start to fall... and fall their heavens must. Our species' future is pinned to it, is this writer's intuition!

Columbus was a lie. Still waffling on the existence of the *other* is a lie too, and resented just as much.

The *other* remains, whatever its provenance, genesis, Gnosis, or manifestation—or howsomever these are argued and discarded and then argued again making issues even more indistinct. This "other" is in no way obviated or dissolved with our contrived and interpretive (inventive!) distractions regarding class driven speculations on how it interprets its own existence in what is very naively called—and with zero practical experience but unwarranted hubris—the "real world." It exists, I suspect, apart from all that, a truth in a cowardly fog we continue to unbravely produce, ourselves. We can do better than that. 

We will do better than that, or perish squealing like Ned Beatty's pig... ...but let's enjoy the holidays.

Karmic Impact

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For a moment the clouds were an unsullied white, 

even shadows... a silver brightness.  

Too, the smell of sweet Earth promised looming rebirth—

if rushed, so before, "Karmic rightness."* 

These too early timings of scents and Earth colors... 

...bespeaks to an arduous future discovered? 

A "physical" non-mystical?  Some "impermissible" statistical? 

...Made worse by self-interested—importuning—egotisticals?

Still, birds fly in twos all a' squabble, absolved—

What's real for them is enough.
On the strength of their genes,

they don't find it obscene 

to revel their feelings. Real *stuff*.

The sky is a veil, the deepest of blues; 

washboard-like clouds are as harp strings. 

Strum these for deep chords that the whales can hear; 

they're listening now as these clouds moan and sing. 

This song of the Earth who has watched come and go 

many traces of life—truly more than we know! 

...A song with its "treble" so deep in our "bass"? 

It's as "over your head" as it's "up in your face"!

This is the world some pretend *understood*. 

This is the world that we're "taught" is not *good*. 

This is the planet we sully in ignorance; 

this is a planet we treat with belligerence. 

Why... this is a planet infested with parasite; 

ignorant memes with an odorous blight! 

Small in all memory, ever shorter in mind, 

contriving to cheat hapless folk it's consigned?

Call me crazy, lacking relevance ... but there's "stuff" in our skies 

that the man is disposed from! He demures; wonder why!
Consider the man who officiates "muckery"
and sense a salvation well-masked by his ƒüÇk€®ý!

Whenever that's happened? ...From our dimmest hoary past? 

Then there's something he's been hiding, and we find out at the last! 

...Like "fossil fuels" to help him keep your neck beneath his foot? 

See, forget the "better battery," it's preferred you're "underfoot."

It's the corporate boys at Burger King, 

in need of fresh lucre—to live like old kings— 

though millions will suffer producing the beef... 

that are "burgers and fries" for your Friday night's *treat*.

These are the guys, then, befouling the temples 

they've built from the sweat of your brow. 

These are the guys who've hidden real secrets 

recovered at last, about now?

These are the guys who can look in their skies 

and *know* they're the "favorite of God" to survive! 

These are the guys who are living sweet lives 

while producing their jealous God's nod I despise!

These are the guys, I entreat, I implore! 

These are those threatened ...by our own Johnny Ford!

***

...And the sky gives up no warning of a coming time of strife 

for those who think John rabble... ...bet your money—bet your life! 

John Ford is not the charlatan; he's a "straight-up dude" instead, 

and in truth, he's lost just everything …likely wishing he was dead.

• lehmberg2002@gmail.com
• http://www.alienview.net/

"Heat a frog in water…"
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They miscalculated with John—John started to hop before the water got too hot! They had to spank him. This is an easy accomplishment for those without a conscience, those too conveniently conflicted by a misunderstood Machiavelli or misinterpreted Darwin... ...those at the receiving end of a cultural largess they become accustomed to as a right. An errantly justified imposition of the divine right of kings... wrong then, wrong now.
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See, "Devine Right" is bat cack! Devine right is by no means a right! This is because it is NOT right, bunky—shallow klasskurtxian swine! Beslubbering cant-monger. Infectious ill-breeder. Clown of intellectuality! Stop any internal dialogue. Don't dare to defend a divine right to me! 
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I'd live to see the last *priest* twitching at the end of a long rope made from the entrails of the last *king*! Precious little hyperbole there, reader.
.
...See, you just don't get to live in a manner enjoyed by the *nobility* when there is just one person you have to impose upon, unasked and mal-informed, to maintain your *lifestyle*. Who pays so you can play? 
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The heeded answer to that question will get your mind right again, pilgrim. Hell, it's all evil from bananas to soccer balls—through running shoes and a bogus food pyramid. It doesn't have to be that way. It matters. It all matters. You should have to pay to play.
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Living a lie takes its toll, doesn't it. Physically, mentally, spiritually... "Satisfactually" (sic). Don't pretend to argue.
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Unappreciated tolls of extreme insentience include the obligatory "driving away" (the reader would be driven away!) of *those* who are suggested by Dr. Drake's completely shocking, but illuminating equation. That equation makes us suspect! That equation suggests it's us so repellent. That equation implies we're quarantine-able? 
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Truly, our complacent denial of that equation makes us unworthy of the tiniest concern or remotest consideration by *those suggested*... What would we do with regard to a confrontation with ourselves, one wonders. Our history as regards our encountering one another is something less than optimum.
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Finally, our complacency will most certainly lead to an eventual despair as we are reviled and left alone to stew in our own toxic, ironically self-inflicted, juices... ...you know? That hell on Earth we seem hell-bent upon legislating for ourselves?! Verily, we won't be ALLOWED off-planet given our psychopathic monkey-behaviors! 
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Truth revealed? Sarcastic circuitry meltdown is narrowly averted, at last?
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"Bother," said Pooh... ...they may even steer a big asteroid down the throat of our greedy gravity well just to put us out of our obnoxious misery!
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Restore John Ford! It'll lessen Karmic impact later on, I suspect.

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*Spring came early, and it was unsettling for that... like it feared the coming summer...

Frank Feschino: The Incident At Strange Creek!

"Almost heaven, West Virginia,
Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River."

The Incident At Strange Creek!
by Alfred Lehmberg


A new year looms. I'm reminded that the now long passed 2014 iteration of the New Year got off to a fast start for "Saucer Summer of '52" researcher, Frank Feschino, Jr! Engage!
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See, he'd received a phone call from still another witness in West Virginia who claimed, and convincingly so, that he had perhaps been an additional person to see the so-called "Flatwoods Monster" in Braxton County, way back in that very mid-century and non-apocryphal September! Verily, and some meat appears to be on that bone! 

.

For Feschino, it was the latest first-hand witness to personally come forward and speak to him in several years. Feschino had called me almost immediately to communicate the bird's-eye on the low-down. Buckle snugly!

.

He began that this current "Monster" sighting report, according to the eyewitness, did not occur in Flatwoods. Moreover, it did not even occur on the night of September 12 in 1952 as had the well-regarded May's!

.

Foreshadowing the story, Feschino said the witness claims to have seen a, now familiar, tall "metallic-looking" figure in an atypically small town of "Strange Creek" during the early morning hours of... September 13, 1952, the day after Friday! This was about 3:00 am EST the day subsequent to the day history now knows only too well... when it cares to! ...Care warns of other days... I digress.

.

Strange Creek, West Virginia in 1952. A town named for the stream running through it, and the stream named for one William Strange, a renowned hunter of fox, buffalo, and bear, who became lost, or otherwise FUBARed, in the forest, and died at the foot of a large beech tree, it's said, 1792 or 1793 or thereabouts. A few years later his skeleton and gun are found, the man to be seen again, some hyde and trace of hair... Carved on the tree, it is reported, was the bizarre ditty, "Strange is my name and strange the ground, and strange that I cannot be found." This then explains the aforementioned atypicality. ...Weirdest town lore for provenance this writer has ever heard.
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Here was where our witness is a small boy in a tiny unincorporated little township located just southwest of Frametown and Glendon, West (...by God!) Virginia. These are quaint little towns nestled along Route 4 and the Elk River in southern Braxton County, near the Clay County border. This Strange Creek townlet is about 21 miles southwest of the somewhat larger Flatwoods. 

From Flatwoods (Upper Right) To Strange Creek (Lower Left)...

Feschino went on, "At first, as with any stranger or witness, I was cautious and apprehensive about the man and his testimony. There are a lot of hoaxers, pranksters, and skeptics out there who would try to put one over on a guy, so as to ruin hard-won reputations." 
.
Feschino is informed of the caller's name from the caller ID. It comfortably matched who the caller said he was. 
.
Feschino reports, "...After the first few minutes of shaking hands in our conversation, I bombarded him with a lot of additional questions to flesh or flush him out." There's a nice turn of phrase.

.

Feschino then said, 

"The man told me that he grew up in Strange Creek and went to elementary school in Frametown. I questioned him pointedly about the Frametown area, nearby territories, several small landmarks in the mountains, and assorted territorial what-nots. I also had questions with regard to some of the people from the area, past and present residents—their historical lore—that sort of thing. I really grilled this guy and as it turned out, he knew many of the same people I did! He actually dated one woman I knew of when he was young man. Additionally, he also worked for a guy I met in Flatwoods, who has since passed away, as well." 

.
Cutting to the chase, did this witness know a lot of personal stuff that an outsider or stranger wouldn't likely have known! Yes, this guy seemed to be genuine and he really knew the area better than Feschino did, Feschino would report. Bona Fides seemed to pan out and musters passed! Due diligence was given its obligatory nod, reader.

.

Encouraged by the seeming legitimacy, Feschino took some copious notes during their subsequent conversation, asking many questions about this remarkable encounter one early morning back in that strange September of 1952, checking and back-checking. We won't cover all that here.

.

Rather, and buckled as noted earlier? Now for a distillation of the encounter, itself. 
.
The witness, who was a young boy at the time of the sighting, remember, had disclosed his ID, location, and experience to Feschino, but asked him not to reveal his name. He said that even his own family didn't believe him, and he had been ridiculed by his friends and classmates for decades about what he saw on that early Indian Summer morning. He didn't want to stir, inordinately, all that up for another unpleasant go with friends and family... but he had to "self-actualize," for himself, eh? Nice twist, near the end of a conjectured highly ordinary life, to find out you might be wrapped up in the history of momentous events. I'm reminded of Earl Fulford , and myself, frankly.

.

The witness exclaimed to Feschino, 

"It was frustrating to know that I saw 'it' and no one believed me. After all of these years, they joked about it and poked fun at me! I don't want to go through that again!" 

.
Feschino respected the man's wishes, of course, but asked if we couldn't retell the story publicly without putting him off. The witness said he didn't mind if Feschino told the tale... as long as his name wasn't used. Posted.
.
Feschino reports to me that his conversation with the man lasted for nearly 2 hours and the guy was sincere to the high nines about what he said... 
.
...Hold up a moment... A digression called for.
.
Let me take a moment to qualify these assertions. I've known Feschino for over 20 years, myself, and never observed an untruth or an uncalled for "stretch to truth" from him. He's been straight and discounted or poo-pooed by no one serious in the field currently living, this writer says true, and his few detractors at any time were ill-informed a result of a publishing betrayal and deliberate cost-cutting cock-up... completely apart from Feschino. 
.
...Or imagine if you will, reader, the book that you laboriously researched and then painstakingly wrote was torpedoed by your own named West Virginia publisher, a publisher you'd chosen largely, anyway, to keep the investment in a needy West Virginia... ...is not the book submitted that is published, oh no, but is instead a book replete to FUBAR with well over a hundred disqualifying errors nearly ruining a decade's work, forgetting reputation...
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This writer watched it happen, encountered the persons concerned,  and did his own due diligence. Feschino was sorely wounded, a torpedo amidships below the waterline from a ship in his own fleet! One would presume the literal end of Frank Feschino, Jr. and the Flatwoods Monster.
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To the contrary, Sir and Madam. Feschino would struggle back to legitimacy and reputation buoyed by the facts of history as witnessed and recorded. He would be redeemed. For reference, his luminary celebrators now include Dolan, Friedman, Hastings, Robbins, Strieber, Schmidt, Birnes N & Birnes B, Salas, Guiley, Andrews... and a list goes on...  I've no reputation as a liar, for my part. One can do the math. Feschino has his bona fides, and he can bestow them. 
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We come to the end of this qualifying digression. ...Back at the ranch...

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...Feschino observes, "The guy was a little kid at the time of the sighting but he actually described a true likeness of the so-called Monster, regardless." Feschino added, "It never made sense to him, of course, because the "thing" he saw was in Strange Creek, not Flatwoods, and he saw it about seven hours after May and the boys saw their (?) monster."

What Was Seen In Flatwoods

Feschino added, "To complicate matters for the witness, the 'thing' he saw in Strange Creek didn't look much like the original drawing depicted by the days later television coverage via the We the People artist's rendering... which was, of course, drawn all wrong."

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Feschino said, "To this witness, the odds were stacked up against him, he felt; the location of his sighting wasn't in Flatwoods, the time of his sighting didn't fit the timeline, and the description of the huge 'thing' that he saw wasn't exactly the same as the one people saw on TV..." Ironically, all this would support and not detract from the witness' credibility. 

Feschino added, "...See, nobody believed him because his sighting in Strange Creek didn't fit the pattern or report of what was publicly known at that time."

Inaccurate "We The People"
rendering for TV...

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Years later, the witness was given a copy of Feschino's book by a family member, which he had read voraciously, not-to-be-put-down, over the holiday season. After the reading his experience started to make sense to him. He began to connect the dots within Braxton County like Feschino had, and he soon realized that his terrifying encounter in Strange Creek WAS perhaps linked to the "Flatwoods Monster" incident!

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Subsequently, the witness was excited about his newly discovered findings. He decided then to come forward and contact Feschino about his own affair occurring that early morning in 1952. 

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Let me explain, briefly. During Feschino's exhaustive research, he used several documented sources and plotted numerous location points of the "Flatwoods Monster" craft after it departed the Fisher Farm in Flatwoods on September 12, 1952, as has been pointed out in previous treatments. 
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From Flatwoods, Feschino was able to establish the craft's flight path trajectory as it flew southwest over Braxton County, flew along the Elk River and eventually crashed in Frametown, about 17 miles away, atop of James Knob Hill ["Flatwoods to Strange Creek" map view above].

Snitowsky Affair In Frametown...

Now, reader, like most people in 1952 Braxton County, this "Strange Creek" witness was totally unaware of the George Snitowsky incident occurring in Frametown on the already noted night of September 13. Snitowsky's story was not revealed until 1955, when it appeared in the July issue of MALE Magazine written by Paul Lieb. 

Upon reading this article years ago, Feschino located, phoned, and then talked extensively to George Snitowsky, himself. Feschino tells the entire story about George's own alien encounter in his Braxton County Monster book. Feschino states, "The Snitowsky incident was a lost part of the aggregate Ufology and was forgotten by most. The story was told one time in Lieb's article and only edited pieces of it appeared in print later... until I wrote about it in 2004."

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Here, Feschino's research into the September 12 and 13, 1952 Braxton County UFO incidents revealed a solid timeline and tighter story-line showing how the so-called "Monsters," sighted in each of the Flatwoods and Frametown incidents, were actually the same entity, it can be reasoned. Yes, friends and neighbors; there is a plausible connection! The new witness, moreover, would seem to firm that connection up, somewhat.

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After the "Flatwoods Monster" landed on James Knob Hill in Frametown on Friday night, September 12, George Snitowsky, his wife and baby... encountered the hovering "Monster" in the same Frametown area on the following night—about 23 hours later! 
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According to Feschino, during the September 13, 1952 Snitowsky encounter, the being was also only partially clad in its hovering metallic-like mechanical spacesuit, the upper torso portion and helmet conjectured as removed.

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Feschino informs, "Now Alfred, we have this new witness who saw something in Strange Creek, which is only about four miles southwest of Frametown along the same Elk River and only about two and a half to three miles from James Knob Hill." Feschino goes on, "After my initial questioning and grilling, I talked to this new witness for nearly two hours and he was hugely excited about a possible three-way connection involving his encounter in Strange Creek, the James Knob crash, and the Snitowsky incident in Frametown!
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Feschino said, "He'd wanted to talk to me to see if I might have the same takeaway as he did, which is that some connection concerning the new witness' encounter was falling into the timeline of events as those other Braxton County UFO cases." It's no real stretch and a reasonable one, if so.

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Feschino then explained what occurred in Strange Creek at about 3:00 am on September 13, 1952, according to the witness. Feschino states, "I gave this guy my word that I would not disclose his name or even a partial name. He has a very unusual name, you see." He wouldn't even tell this writer.

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Feschino adds, "The encounter occurred on a property of this man's family, and, because he wants to remain anonymous, I even chose to leave out some of the explicit details of the land's layout. It would easily pinpoint the location or the name of the family in Strange Creek." Feschino then narrated the incident as told to him: 

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"The witness said the family house was a two-story affair set far off of the road from the Elk River. There was a long driveway leading up to the house which was bordered by trees on the left side but cleared on the other. A wood fence bordered the right of way, and there was a car-port at the end of the driveway, near the house."

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Feschino adds, "The witness, a young boy, reported that his bedroom was located on the second floor of the house and situated over the entrance of the front porch overlooking the driveway. He said the front porch was enclosed as well." 
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Feschino continues, "The guy told me that he was suddenly awakened about 3:00 am in the morning. He didn't know what stirred him out of his sleep. He quickly got out of bed, went directly to his window and looked out. To his horror, he saw a 'huge figure' he described as being 'about eight or nine feet tall, floating' up the driveway toward the house.' He also added, the driveway was 'gravel.' " There was no sound.

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"The startled witness told me, 'It was coming up the center of the driveway and heading to the house! It was about 40-50 feet away when I first saw it.' "

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Feschino asked for a description and was told, "The overall impression of it was that it was cone-shaped and it flared out at the bottom." 
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Subject reports, "It looked like a machine—it was metallic-looking." He also said it was, "gray in color, like metal." Feschino asked, "What makes you think it was a machine?" The subject answered, "It's like seeing a car, you just know it was something that was made or manufactured, and it looked like some type of metal." 
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Subject reports that the upper torso area was cylindrical and fluted, "...like a garbage can, but the lower area flared out." Subject reports that the bottom, "Had to be at least four feet across."

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Feschino said to this writer, "Alfred, the witness was very adamant in telling me that the thing was floating. It was floating a few inches above the ground... the driveway. It was raised over the ground and coming straight at the house." All this certainly rings a bell regarding similarity with the other cases...
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Feschino asked the witness, "How did you see it so clearly at night?" Subject answered, "'The front porch light was on and I could see it pretty good, but the thing was also luminous. It was glowing and had an aura of light around it." As an adult, he explained how he had worked in the electrical field. He fully understood what an "aura" was. 
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Feschino asked the guy if he'd been scared and inquired how long it was that he'd watched it. Subject reports, "A few minutes... I was looking down on it from above the porch and I felt safe being on the second floor of the house... but as it got closer to the house, I got more scared." The witness told Feschino, "I saw it float and move up the driveway for about 15 more feet before I stepped back from the window."

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The witness went on, "When I looked back out the window a few moments later, it was gone." Feschino asked where he thought it went, subject reports, "It must have moved toward the carport near the house. That's the only place it could have gone. It disappeared that fast." 
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So, in other words, it continued up the driveway and was getting closer to the house when the subject stepped back away for a few moments, to which subject replied "yes." 
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He also said, "It wasn't moving that fast and I would have seen it moving away from the house. The way our property was laid out, I would have seen it moving away in the other directions." Then he said, "I ran out of my room and into my parent's room and yelled and woke them up. I told them what I saw and they said, You must be dreaming—go back to bed." Heavy sigh, eh?

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Feschino then asked the witness if he saw the head area of the floating subject. This was to be key.

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The witness reports that he did not see a distinct head shape but he said the body of the "thing" looked like Feschino's book cover illustration and interior drawings, otherwise. Subject reports that he did not see the red round head and black exterior helmet as correctly portrayed in Feschino's illustrations. Feschino observed, "The subject would have noticed that big black ace-of-spades covering above it." ...Interesting to note that the witness, less than earnest I think, would have confabulated that well known big hood and red face... 

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The witness offered, "Maybe the helmet was taken off at the time I saw it." He'd add, "The body of the figure was glowing and that is what I was fixed on—the aura around it... but it was metal-looking." 

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At this point, Feschino told me he was impressed with the Strange Creek incident and its corroborative value.  He chatted with the witness about other points of the incident... and then rehashed the story, over and over again looking for confabulation. Throughout the conversation; however, the guy stayed true and repeatedly stated, "Thank you Frank, for writing your book and vindicating my story."

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Feschino agrees with the Strange Creek witness. He probably had seen the "Flatwoods Monster" about seven hours after its craft crashed in Frametown at James Knob the night before. Moreover, if this scenario is correct, then this indicates that the "Monster" was moving throughout the Frametown, Glendale and Strange Creek areas, escaping and evading, for nearly a full day before Snitowsky encountered it, and perhaps an alien rescue ship, in his affair on the night of September 13, 1952. 
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In closing, Feschino told me the witness stated to him, "Frank, you nailed it—you are right on!" He's kept me interested, this writer reports. Verily, unlike some other UFO events which tend to evaporate the closer one gets to same or farther away in time from same, Flatwoods only gets more substantial and fleshed out. No flush. here.

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A teasing buttress, then, to a startling conjecture, and the ETH just a little further up one's nose, am I right? Something highly strange, which shouldn't be there at all, if you listened to the mal-informed naysayer, but that it is right where it would need to be if it was going to be there at all! From a reluctant first-hand witness, reader, and fewer and fewer of those all the time, eh?  
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What's the bird's eye lowdown on this caper... Feschino's still looking and will keep us informed. Read on!

HistoryStrange Creek:
 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Creek,_West_Virginia

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Don't Call It Obsession

Left or right... choose.

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I digress to observe—don't call it obsession—I have few regrets, and I make few concessions... but I'm leery of those—unconstrained and contrary—who hide in a blind, then define... arbitrary.

These are men from your shadows that you don't know to fear. Their lives are a secret; they have the reins, clear? Wielding keys to the kingdom ... no concessions to guilt; they're the *man*, understand, and these *own* what you've built!

They obfuscate due process, put "fairness" on the run, and they "know" our jurisprudence as the means to use a "gun." They're traffic cops for bad guys—they maintain that "status quo." They have written all the laws for their convenience... ...don't you know?

They write the laws to favor only ways they'd make their call, so we find laws written, plainly, saying nothing much at all. Justice is illusion for the mass's rank and file—sneers their patronizing message fairly dripping smirking guile!

See, Ford now sits, sedated, in a washed-out, pink-walled room. A victim of indifference, he's remanded and entombed. He's living in a hell on Earth for those who wish him quiet. They say that he's a killer, friend, but don't believe; decry it!

It's true John Ford asked questions. It's true that he would write. It's true that he got up your nose; it's true he'd "fight the fight"! He made the toughest queries, and he squeezed the "story" close, so facts aren't clear on why the *man* has got him mal-disposed!

Near incommunicado... if he "speaks" he's barely heard; this man is in a silenced cage—the "man's" captive silenced bird.

It's true he may be guilty of this thing they've said he's done... but I'd lay you odds it's bat-squeeze, friend, and I'd bet the summer sun!

• lehmberg2002@gmail.com
• http://www.alienview.net/

Maybe someone in our tres-honorable community can explain why that self-same community is so ominously quiet on the subject of John Ford. No?

Do you think he's guilty? Really? ...How? Why? When? Where? If the minimally interested person tries to fill in these gaping holes of alleged guilt? It doesn't happen... verily reader! It just doesn't happen! The suspect "man's" strident admonitions with regard to Ford's guilt... dissolve like a night-fog in the light of summer's sun...

Moreover, the facts of the Ford case do not strike you, Sir and Madam, as ridiculously contrived and smolderingly convenient for known criminals with long traditions of systemic corruption? True enough, these were Ford's opposition.  Official Criminals and Miscreants in a New York county famous for official criminals and miscreants!  Such is Suffolk County. Look it up.

You don't think Ford got so far up someone's powerful nose that they surgically removed him to a place where they could casually but inevitably, and then thoroughly ... discredit him or, in other words, snuff him out like a guttering candle without killing him? Their way was worse.

...You're next, pal, or pal-ette! Search your heart; don't take my word for it. I say true. Even if you're a good Nazi; there's no fair play with that lot. There is only "weak" and "strong."

Throw me a bone of concern if, suddenly, I become quiet, reader... appreciating, well, the reverence to which I would not be held. John Ford is in demonstrably worse straights... endured now for well over 2 decades...

Know this: I love life; I'm having a ball; depression and failure as reasons for my *alleged* suicide...? They will be completely ludicrous.

The same applies if I am accused of putting radium in an imagined adversary's recreational enema bag or if I end up on Pee-pee Dondi's puddin' & pie's, very punitively prosecuted, "...no fly..." list!

Know that John Ford loves his own life, as I do mine, somehow believing still that he will be vindicated... You can hear that in his voice... More on that later.

If I become quiet? Begin to wonder; begin to be more afraid. But, get mad ... now. It's time.

Write some letters, make some noise, talk to friends... ...stay within the confines of our *laws* and *constitution*, as useless as that advise appears to be... ...at present.  Read from the forbidden index.  It writes factually where opposition only insults its, pretty sterling, astonishingly and ironically, character.  We all know what THAT means...

Consider... playing by the rules didn't seem to provide John Ford any protection. Real irony there.

Verily, Ford stood exponentially taller as an innocent grassroots American than have his prosecuting persecutors! His persecutors are scurvy knaves and psychopathic cads. They are, one begins to discover, irresponsibly rich and injudiciously free after committing egregious crimes. Ford rots so that this criminal rabble can breath... ...unconstrained... non-restricted, and well off their well-appointed knees!

Nothing is safe from the powerful arbitrary when he perceives a need to reach out and crush you like a bug in a bit of soiled tissue. Search your heart.  You concur. Power corrupts absolutely, always. 

Oh—by the way as the crow flies? I noticed a peculiar light low on the eastern horizon one predawn morning. 

It traversed a soundless single line flying due north, jet fast, off the usual airway (recall that I was a master military aviator of 23 years). It flashed like a bright white strobe-light, but in a random fashion, though I saw it flash, once, a bright bluish RED strobe, then back to random frequency white. It appeared to jerk back and forth in a thumb's thickness as it traversed this single line, even accounting for false auto-kinetic movements, atmospheric refraction, or optical physiologies.

After traversing this single line for about forty-five degrees in my field of view? The light, inexplicably, blinked out...

There have been other revelations, reader... It's all a matter of putting in time watching the sky and doing a little of the old non-imaginational heavy lifting... you know?

Yeah. On my honor as a deacon in my own church of "It Ain't What You Think...", the same as any elected, pointedly non-installed President, trusted friend, honored relative, Principal, or holy person?  Well, maybe not holy...

Read "ordinary"? Yeah, that's right. I am ...who I am... saying what I see while you're seeing what I say... ...like so many, many others as overproduced, overexposed, and even overweening as I am seen to be by some... meh.

Yeah yeah yeah... I hear the internal dialogue.  Restore John Ford!  Then we can talk.

Read on.