Monday, September 17, 2018

...Who...



"I have no idea why [one might] believe that sci-fi speculation is the same as reality. I certainly don't." - Stan Friedman


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It interests me, then; how pathetic we're painted: we who observe twitchy lights in the sky. We who admit that we don't have a clue as we watch this ...anomalous... caper and fly.

It's all sneering giggles from our crass "TV culture." The *college* of scholars—gone sullenly mute! The edge of hard science's forbidden the hard-look; if you look you're besmeared as a non-astute kook!

Religion admits that they're real... ...but evil!!! "They're stuff of the devil, for sure and so named"! These "agents of Devils have captured weak conscience... They've damned it with nonsense; it's Satan we've blamed."

Faux *news* is the worst, as it grins like a patron, then paints us in caps of aluminum foil! These front all the clutter from *skeptics* and *bunkies*, ignoring researchers: real work and hard toil!

Society works to distract from perception what "taxes" and "sanctions" must bind and confine! They do this to keep you from thinking too much. That upsets their lifestyles! They're living "refined"!

"Be fruitful; have a dozen kids"! ...these few make "culture" say, so they can, then, respect much less... that *single* soul who works and pays.

Please! Look upon an endless *night*—please grok its starry vastness... ...To think you might be all alone is monumental crassness! Regard instead "potential"; make this your soul's career! Too, ignore it at your peril, friend; *forewarned* it's best to steer!

You're, at best, disserved, good folk, to wait until tomorrow. The stuff of soul's imperiled, plain, facilitating sorrow. See? Eyes have been averted—to those questions made extant—by the "beads" of errant "eunuchs" who would mumble hateful chants!

"Lions, and tigers, and bears"?  Get a tissue! We'd get enough warning, of threat, were it them. No, the "meter man's" cash-cow is threatened, the issue … it's the root of confusion—its seed pod, and stem!

All shiftless injustice thus hides in their shadows! Reflexive denial must dull the best sword! Too, get in their faces, and ask them tough questions? They'll shut you in dungeons... as was done to John Ford.

So, who is the clown when the questions are answered? Who's then the clown, and so missing their screws? Who is that clown when the truth paints the picture? Then who, not that jester, will give us a clue?





I would. I'd sure make the aspiration... make no mistake.  Oh... not because I'm brave so much, but that the alternative is scarier, you know? 

What grinds my gears is that there are individuals, in position, who could disclose information going a long way towards providing a heaven—bereft of all hyperbole—on Earth, right now, and don't!  That's not naive, folks.  That's a conclusion reached in the summer of my winter.  I'll be 70 next December, a former Military Master Aviator, a Summa college grad, and not a complete fool.
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Moreover, if coal to Newcastle, one is compelled to internalize that these persons aforementioned are in a position to make efficacious and immediate use of the powerful zero-point energies attendant in the information alluded to here... ...and do not. Choice, if not ours.

No, all they are really interested in is pumping up the total population so they don't have to pay the individuals making up that population with a "too expensive" respect and then bask in the glow of the furious heat these provide. This, while our inflated population, I'm compelled to believe, provides the cash to let this few live the lives of GODS on Earth! The bastards. The swine. The monsters!
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The scurvy bastards. Elitist swine oozing hypocrisy to facilitate their insulting sociopathy. Monsters in fact, they exist, and in guilt or innocence... ...they would be legion.  At bare minimum, as you can read in the preceding link, 3 in one hundred persons... these bleed you out for shoelaces! More, understandably, in "tougher" times, eh?
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Another thought. It takes guts to give up some advantage so more can live with efficacy. We can have that kind of guts, we could give it to ourselves. Humans should, after all, be born to respect, then have an opportunity to lose same, don't you think... ?  Born, efficacious medicine and health care should be a right? Maslow's first tier, supplied by right of birth! Yes!
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I suspect so!
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...But to have never had any respect at all, as the movers and shaker's minions so manipulate their lap-dog culture to facilitate same... why ... that must be a hell on Earth!
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Restore John Ford.
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Read on.
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Sunday, September 09, 2018

My Hoax! ...Said The Grocery Clerk

The picture in question...


"My Hoax!" ...Said The Grocery Clerk
by Alfred Lehmberg


(Dedicated to Scott Santa, recovering from back surgery... one of the good guys and deserving a moment's thought.)



The 1952 Flatwoods Monster story was a hoax? That's the charge. 

On the 12th of September, the 66th anniversary of the stunning incident will arrive, but there remain those denying natterers and scurvy mumblers casting aspersion on the nearly seven decades of substantive history regarding the strange affair, and who would blithely maintain that the event had never occurred at all, still. How can we facilitate such butt-ugly cowardice?


Case in point: the late Bill Steorts, once of Sutton in West Virginia and one of the alleged Flatwoods "hoax" accomplices, "confessed" it all in 1977 in a newspaper article! This "confession" would be used to this day by those aforementioned natterers and mumblers—a device, a contrivance... somewhere for them to point away from their own cowardly inadequacies and intellectual failures—to Defame, Detract, and Deny what won't leap into a sterile test tube for a pompous science reductionist... the glad wearer of his largely empty triple "D" codpiece and herald of a baldly obtuse and too reflexively applied Occam:

"That evening in 1952, A. Lee Stewart and I went down to Heaters in Braxton County. On our way back to Sutton, we ran out of gas. We stopped at my father's store and gas station for gas. We noticed a disturbance across the road and went to investigate. There were small children all stirred up. Having a saw-off 12-gauge in the car, we went on the hill to see what was going on. The kids had been playing in the pasture field and some of Bailey's cows were in a nearby woods. Seeing that nothing had happened, we went on to Sutton."
"Being slightly intoxicated, we fabricated the story of the Braxton county monster. We called the Gazette from the Braxton Democrat office. (Stewart's dad owned that paper at the time.) The skid marks were made by Bailey's old Ford Tractor spinning its wheels - the grease was raked from under the tractor by tall grass. We drew the artist's picture of the monster."
"From there it just mushroomed, Kathleen May and her children went to New York on a TV show. Scientists from all over came to investigate. We sat back and laughed. My father knew what we boys were doing but his store was doing a booming business from the tourist trade…"
Gwin, Adrian "Was 'Monster' a Hoax - Are UFOS for Real? Hmmmm, A possibility" Charleston West Virginia Daily Mail December 7, 1977.

Wow! This was a first for me. I missed that in Feschino's book on the Flatwoods affair, and this is a vapid and toothless debunkery to be sure, as they will often be... ...but one so authoritatively written, reader! Not.

See, having witnessed just 30 minutes of a longer video interview showing the above implicated Stewart recounting an entirely different tale??? Well, one would never have thought that our A. Lee, a reported hard-nosed portrait of journalistic seriousness and a no-nonsense newsman of competent reputation, would be capable of such bald and unprofessional duplicity, eh? Yes, I'm reminded of Steorts' weak pea bouncing unnoticed from the implacable hide of Lee's charging rhino. 


Asa Lee Stewart with reportage of the time


To the contrary, reader. Here was an on-site and take-charge kind of man to have the involved key persons by their stacking swivels and at parade rest... a genuine newsperson getting a story... truth though heaven falls

Those poor Flatwoods people got a third-degree interrogation in a Nation still fresh from the paranoia of WWII and the burgeoning Cold War. Citizens didn't fool around so much with authority in those days, forgetting that authority didn't ask for it as much as is current... we won't digress.

Back to Stewart, moreover, he had some authority of Law enforcement, remember. They sent him out there in an official capacity!

Verily, when one puts the preceding together with the usual mistake of thinking that the Flatwoods Affair is a singular event, standing in and of itself, where "hillbilly kids get scared by a hoot owl," ...the mud of misunderstanding is raised further still! Though this would be mud raised in the tradition of the famous "Rendlesham," England UFO flap, then neatly explained by a "flaming manure spreader," wait... "prankster with automobile hazard lights"... wait... "a flying lighthouse"... wait! ...See how easy it is to raise the, even ludicrous, mud, reader? Flatwoods had its like...


  • Roc-sized barn owls. [what!?] 
  • Hallucinogenic ground gasses. [never before, not since!]
  • Hillbillies "skeered" 'o 'haints and forest nixies! [Ivan T. Sanderson was emphatic that this was not so!]
  • Misleading, misled, or mentally ill, eh? [...'cause anything else is the slippery slope to an anxious admission that much of what an accusing gaslighter "knows," is likely wrong!]
One comes to find that the Flatwoods incident was not a singular event standing alone, reader. It's the shocking reality that the September 12th, 1952 "Flatwoods Incident" is actually the end of a series of well-documented events initiated in the so-called Summer Of Saucers 1952, the biggest UFO flap in US history. 

Here was a mid-century summer accessorized by UFOs brazenly flying into prohibited airspace, countered by well-publicized orders to the military to shoot those UFOs down, and conjectured UFOs forced down or perhaps, like our American fighter craft, destroyed utterly or disappearing entirely! There are voluminous records... detailed files. This writer says true.

Again, one, threatening UFO incursions into prohibited airspace areas as early as May, then two, subsequent, forget well-documented orders issued to the military to "Shoot UFOs Down"! This is followed at last by, three, the appearance at Flatwoods in September of what was described at the time (by witnesses and the aforementioned Ivan T. Sanderson, a credible investigator early on the scene), as a crafted mechanism in the unenglishable form of a... 10 foot red and green hovering "monster," ...not a big hooded scary-fairy in a sweet-sixteen skirt!  This is busier stuff!


More apt representation... by Frank Feschino.


Was this then a prank by adult delinquent Steorts? First, ruining the peace of mind (physically and emotionally to some extent) of all the principals. Second, causing the deployment of a battalion-sized unit of the military to the area (outfitted from bazookas to pontoon boats and led by a video-interviewed Colonel Dale Leavitt), also looking for alleged "downed aircraft," (cue a justified spooky music). At last, a final third, the degradation of a compelling Flatwoods West Virginia story abundantly well documented by Project Bluebook records, famed researchers, named newspapers, and blameless eyewitnesses, still? To what end? What was served? Not an aggregate humanity is this writer's best guess.


Commander of Military deployed to Flatwoods, WV

"[Steorts'] glove don't fit [and] we must acquit." Such is abundantly so.

No... "Flaming Manure spreaders" or "Credulous Hillbillies" (and other merry pranksters!) have to fit all the reasonable evidence to satisfy Occam... even where they are the simplest model. That's the way it's supposed to work for everybody.

Still, I'd pass this on to Feschino whose well over 2-decade research effort, I'm sure, was to be devastated by this too-little-too-late correction to a fulsome record he's exhaustively ferreted out over the years. Maybe he would have a comment or maybe he'd hang up his foil beany.

Yeah... as it turned out? Feschino was able to keep his foil hat and make comment.

He directed me to pages 27 and 28 of his (Updated and Revised) Flatwoods Monster book (above). Here, A. Lee Stewart, Jr. reports to Feschino that there have been numerous such articles as Steorts' bland toxicity over the years: baseless attempts of unsupportable debunkery employed to tarnish a story only ever strengthened over time in official documents and investigation by the intrepid likes of, forgetting Feschino who seems able to string it all together like the upcoming were never quite able to do: Keyhoe, Sanderson, and West Virginia's own Gray Barker! He'd just never seen them in one place before and Feschino had copies of all of those contrarily "naysaying" articles in a big 3 ring binder. Daunting.

A. Lee Stewart goes on at some length in Feschino's over 60 minutes of video interview highlighting a very staid and stoic Mr. Stewart professionally recounting the bizarre tale like he was Joe Friday. Additionally, he comes decidedly forward in Feschino's books to address the "facts" of fanciful faux-reportage such as has been provided by Steorts' ilk. Off camera, Feschino reports that Mr. Stewart specifically branded the antagonist Steorts in the cited article as a "god-damned liar."

By account, Stewart's only association with the antagonist, according to an angry A. Lee, was stopping by Steorts' father's store in Flatwoods to ask where Mrs. May lived... no gas! He then used Steorts, being escorted by same to May's property a stone's throw away, and then going up the monster's hill that initial time.* That, and a ride home, was the total extent of their "association." They were not "driving back" from anywhere! Steorts had been picked up in Flatwoods.

Why would the antagonist lie? I don't know, that would be speculation... though many were I offer, encouraged by "officiality," and from the start... lying outright facilitating the fatuous debunker who would later be grasping at these desperate and ludicrous straws. There's your speculation.



No, the proverbial serving "fork" does seem called for. A demonstrated fraud, Steorts is done. The fat lady has sung and left the building.



See, remaining, Flatwoods may be the last act in an undeclared and secret air-war prosecuted during the biggest US UFO flap ever, a war with strict orders to shoot those UFOs down. "There were other and more lurid duels of death..." Edward Ruppelt, a Blue Book chief, reminds us from his book. What was going on?



Feschino expanded on a background. He would inform that the name of the Sutton newspaper co-owner and photojournalist is actually: A. Lee Stewart, Jr. 



Stewart's full name was "Asa Lee Stewart, Jr." He went by his middle name, "Lee." Lee was co-owner of the Braxton Democrat with his father.



In 1996 Feschino stayed at Stewart's house for nearly four days. Yes, he did show Stewart the 3-ring binder with the compiled contrary newspaper articles. In that binder was the newspaper article containing the Steorts hoax story where Steorts fraudulently claimed that they'd concocted the Flatwoods tale, together.

On that first morning after arriving at Lee's house, Feschino awoke, walked into the living room, and found Stewart reading that self-same research binder in his big recliner chair. Frank approached him affably and remarked about the incident in question and the collection of other newspaper articles in the binder. 
Contained in that binder, remember, was the article with Steort's interview claiming the hoax and Stewart as a shiftless charlatan. Tense. 

Feschino writes in his book, "As I looked at Lee, he raised his head, shaking it in sad disgust with regard to how the incident had been portrayed through the years. Moreover, he did not like the fact that he'd been grossly misquoted and badly portrayed, himself, not just by Steorts, but by fellow reporters, writers, and even some of the Flatwoods locals." One portion of their conversation was edited from Feschino's book manuscript: the segment when he asked Stewart about Bill Steorts' claim that they had both hoaxed the story. 

Feschino told me that Stewart shouted, call them incensed expletives in a huge agitation! "He [Steorts] is a God-damn liar," he'd exhorted among other more colorful criticisms. 

Frank explained, "Stewart was hugely pissed off and upset about that article where Steorts reported it was a hoax." Yes, Reader, Lee knew that it was not, as had been proffered in the perennial and ever-present misinformation, a hoax. Frank said to me, "I will never forget that look of revulsion on his face!"

This is the reason 
Stewart opened up his video interview saying, "...A lot of material that he [Feschino] has picked up and has given me and... we have gone over this... is NOT true."



Lee continued, "A lot of tongue-in-cheek, a lot of disclaimer material that has no bearing whatsoever on what actually happened at that particular time." You can hear him for yourself.



On page 28, Stewart states, "On the road out to Flatwoods, I passed Steorts' store and Bill Steorts was working at the store with his father ... I picked him up."



See, at about 9:00 PM that night Stewart got a call at his newspaper office in Sutton from the WV State Police (WVSP). Trooper Corporal Tribett asked Lee to go to the May house in Flatwoods and investigate... because a "Monster" was seen nearby on a farm!



The local Sheriff was unable to respond to the call (an "odd" story in itself!) and called the WVSP. These were also unable to respond... another peculiar tale... briefly all the police were officially out investigating sightings and downed aircraft reports! True! 



Stewart, a photojournalist, had worked at crime scenes and accident sites with the WVSP. He had taken countless photos and covered hundreds of news stories with the police, so he knew them.


Stewart left the Braxton Democrat in Sutton and drove to Flatwoods. Steorts General store was in Upper Flatwoods and just across the town line when driving in. Stewart did not know the exact location of the May house so he stopped by the market to get directions. Bill Steorts got in Stewart's car and they left the store.

Stewart stated, "He [Steorts] directed me to the house and, IN FACT, was there when I talked to the people. He also went up on top of the mountain with me that night."

Yes, Bill Steorts was actually at the May house and saw the hysterical group, which included seeing a bunch of sick and traumatized kids, Ed and Freddie May among others... and a vomiting Gene Lemon,  after Ms. May, all event principals. Stewart said, "It was sheer turmoil."*



Yes, Bill Steorts was also a part of the armed posse that went up onto the mountain that night to "hunt" for the so-called "Monster."

Stewart said, "So we left, the boys [Lemon and Nunley], Bill Steorts, and I. We were armed. We had a twelve gauge automatic shotgun and a couple of handguns. Two or three other people who lived right around there came up and went with us. They were also armed."

(For the record, Mrs. May's father, "Joseph Lemon," was actually part of the armed group!)

When the two boys directed the armed posse to the "tree" area of the encounter on the farm... they all smelled the horrendous sulfur odor that made the witnesses sick. The group also saw the two large tracks in the nearby pasture when they shined their flashlights and electric lantern around.



Stewart remarked, "We just spotlighted around because not one of us was inclined to hunt for something we didn't know what it was in the dark. We decided we would go back to the Mays."



At the house, Lee talked with the witnesses and told them that he would come back in the morning... with a tape recorder. He would do just that. 

Stewart states, " I left the May residence between 10:30 and 11:00 and returned to Sutton. I took Bill Steorts home at that time." Less than a week later he would be on National TV describing the event with May and Lemon.

Additionally, in the misleading Steorts article, Steorts stated the following lie about Stewart and himself as noted in red above, "We drew the artist's picture of the monster." That's preposterous!

No, once again Bill Steorts got caught with his pants decidedly ankle-puddled.  It has been well-known for decades that the picture of the monster was drawn by a sketch artist in the TV studio of "We The People" in New York on September 19, 1952. Lying makes one a liar, reader.

Additionally, there is another specious lie and inconsistency in Steorts' fabricated story. He stated, "...From there it just mushroomed, Kathleen May and her children went to New York on a TV show.

Mrs. May's children did not go to New York with her for the TV show. Her two children, Freddie and Edison, stayed home in Flatwoods. Mrs. May was accompanied to New York by eyewitness Eugene Lemon and reporter A. Lee Stewart, Jr. All three of them were interviewed by the very popular "We The People" host, Daniel Seymour. 





At the time of Steorts' interview in 1977, no one, including him, knew the entire "Flatwoods Monster" story. Now, today, thanks to Mr. Feschino, we have hard facts and know magnitudes more about the case...

...You know...


Someone should landmark all this—establish a museum, perhaps. Even a shrine might not be too out of line, given the times and that forgetting's a crime. 

Suggested are vast horizons beyond even the limits of shadows lit by our meager, at this point sputtering, fire, reader. These horizons speak to the need of memorializing the consequent. Did a downed ET aviator at Flatwoods signify a largely unheralded air war with ET? That's what glows in the forest, reader.  

Grandad's Store would be historic and apt! It was lit up by the overflying fireball, after all. Permissions secured, one can easily walk to the environs where the event took place. 

This writer jests. The understanding is that one John Clise of Flatwoods is making an initiative to start a museum similar to that described above. I offer that one gives it all support. It's consequent, even highly strange, and consequence deserves memorialization. Moreover, the reader can buy the book there! [g].

"Truth's gonna come out sometime!" The reader can be in at the ground floor. Take it in, in its nascent state, and watch it grow over the years! Dare I say help it grow! Smiling broadly, and observing that on the other side of our fear are infinite horizons of instruction and reward upon graduation from our child's crib... eternity and grace if we aspire to it... this writer will say no more.

Closing, Flatwoods was NOT a hoax, reader, as our grocery clerk wanted us to believe, inexplicably... No, this was a real occurrence, a felt presence in a stark existential. 

Remains, what we can make from it... if we've the courage and imagination to reject our superstition and misinformed denial... to embrace a 21st Century alive with instructive threats and beneficent wonders... and not retreat from same in cowardice. That seems key.

Read on.



*See, Steorts knew what the truth was. Why'd he fudge?

Sunday, September 02, 2018

What, Where, When, How, And Why...


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What is the upshot; what do we gain? What's the prognosis; why then abstain?

Where is our "wisdom"; why is it loss? How are we wrong, and where are we lost?

When does our hour come? Why do we kneel? Why won't we struggle to see what is real?

How are we hoodwinked? What do we give? Why all their guns, and why hide their shiv?

Why are we scared? What's been foretold? Where is our courage? When are we bold?
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Well, most won't know a real deal if it bit them on the ass! "Reality's" a made-up thing; be in shock and stand aghast! Rock too hard on bad foundations? Your "heavens" crack and fall—falling down around your ears—never really there at all...

Ones living's so conditional. It's shifting in dark sand, while the sky you see above you is without surcease or end. The potential of that sky provokes new spirit from those wronged, greatly tests the courage—makes us doubt... but makes us strong!

You're pushed too hard believing that the answer's not at hand ... that UFO's aren't under-seas.. extant upon the land! A "bait and switch" is offered up as proof of Hope's "profusion"; then dismissive of the Mexican who has FILMED some real confusion!

My laughing ass has come undone, is rolling on the floor. It rolls on down the street sans shame, and though it guffaws... I'd implore:

"Open up your mind," I'd say. "Don't give in to "the man." Broaden up your scope (...ah hell!) ...yank hard upon his gland"! Pull the damn thing off, I say, just yanking ain't enough... ...that's the wage for psychopaths... as "betrayers of your trust"!

There is some dark truth afoot, and it reeks of fish in Denmark! Conspiracy's alive my friend! We see its sign and hallmark! Whipped into a frenzy by those who sell soft soap, we are dazzled by anomaly dismissed to sully hope!

Have you checked into the multi-verse? Have you felt its length and girth! Do you really think we're all there is? Do you think that we're the "first"? …Discount the paranormal? Think the "milieu's" full of shit—when it's fact that mere "attention" changes all abused by it?

...Got your Walmarts and your Save-U? ...Well, then I guess you've got it made! You're in the pink and nothing stinks? You're laid back in the shade? You've got a job? The works not hard? Why... you're even getting laid? Well, slap and call me Susan, hoss; just dismiss all I've just said!




All of it... then tune in some American Gladiators or a Trump rally re-run. Though, watch any of them. They're all re-runs

Item: ...On an "exhaustive internal investigation" of their records, the CIA has absolved itself of all wrongdoing and conspiracy allegations in the matter regarding the involvement of a profit made from the international transportation and sale (!) of illicit, destructive, and exceptionally hard narcotics. You know the kind I mean... the kind that turns people into cockroaches... We can, of course, expect them to be entirely forthcoming as regards UFOs!

See, if what is passed off for informational relevance is good enough for the patronizing talking heads of network multimedia, and it's good enough for the individuals with pre-programmed brain cells, then... what's my problem? ...Didn't I watch the news on FOX?

"...It's true, Marge! ...don't you hear the music?" -- Homer Simpson.

You know... your consent for what you pay for should be at least minimally informed... don't you think?

Thursday, August 23, 2018

Accountabilities Suspiciously Unaccounted For


Accountabilities Suspiciously 
Unaccounted For
by Alfred Lehmberg

UFOs? These are accountables for which there is a decided dearth of accountability.  Call them phenomena detailing an ultimate sedition, seditions end-running, effortlessly, our insincere status-quos just like a compassionless pro club against a middle school football team. Lots of juvenile hair, teeth, and eye-balls litter the playing field.  This may go a long way to explaining that lack or dearth alluded to. That's no excuse, right?

See, currently, Trillions (with that indomitable "T," all those zeros, and in the double digits) are just ...lost... to manipulated chance, mal-oversight, and fudged paperwork. The "official officiality of Governance" would pronounce that it has no time for suspicions with regard to sketchy ephemerals and their space-wittering hyper nixies... while billions litter our environs like dark-matter confetti! Let's call it disingenuousness in the extreme and be done. Not so fast.

Summing up, see, UFO's will never be accounted for when billions of your dollars are poured, hither and yon, into the greedy coffers of non-accounting black-ops shops—facilitating, good Christ patient reader, god-knows-what! Glasnost and Perestroika are Russian words, remember, so words having had their shelf-life. Ask Vlad.

A handle on the UFO, forgetting its numerous twitchy ancillaries like the abduction phenomenon, crop circles, and ET itself, will remain forever elusive until we can put to rest who the 'man' really is... ...and understand, more, the mechanisms of his vastly sociopathic and disrespectfully hateful manipulations, manipulations held over, as it happens, from an arbitrary and absolutist time of the *divine rights* of priests and kings, enduring still!

...I'm reminded Voltaire wrote that the last priest should be throttled by the last King with the King using his own greasy entrails for the grisly task... I'm ok with that, but digress.

A conservatively suggested alien presence, I submit, will not treat with us on any level we'd appreciate as long as we environmentally foul our bedclothes with authoritarian religions and their wars for ill-profit, and then throw the dirty sheets of that egregious busy-ness into the faces of a hapless lot of ever-increasing "never-haves." Humanity could be better than this.

If we do such as that to our own? ...How would a stranger fare? How have strangers fared? ET might reason such with all alacrity.

All the fronts of ufology, those ancillaries aforementioned, are tied together into this heaving mass of almost was, and could have been with regard to UFOs... ephemeral perceive-abilities of ties into the reality of an aggregate other. This other is composed of part and parcel and affected by its own nuance and suggestion. The seemingly "understood" remains filled with rampant surprise, so a deepening mystery is no surprise at all. The bigger a fire is built the more the shadows will be perceived, forgetting that what's revealed by the new light is unspeakable. It won't always be so; it never has.  

No. No closure... good news!  Anything else eventually bores, I suspect. Suffice to say it's a good thing that the universe is stranger than we can, at present, imagine as Haldane pointed out. Likely talking monkeys won't ever get the dead-lock nut on... understanding, eh? 

Too, though composed of all these form-defying portions and components, the "other" is still a whole that is, like ourselves, greater than the mere sum of all of its parts. It must be seen thus eventually, I suspect... ...as this *whole* is easy to lose into an infinity of ones... a contested compendium of ideas of divergent value... cowardly hashing and rehashing moot details until they have lost all meaning, relevance, subjectivity, and objectivity, eh?  Eh-heh! 

That's the deleterious drill of discourteous debunkers and dotard dissemblers. Gotta not shake up the money people! Ask anyone with a job on TV. They get anxious when you attempt to slide out from under their unrelenting and unhealing heel.

The imposition into our consciousness by this *paranormal/UFO "other" thing* is a management of our perception of the whole by this *other*, I suspect, in a way discrediting much of the validity of our *cherished* traditions and *fundamental* foundations. A "Mike Pence" creed, if the reader allows, as we know where Pence comes down on Religious "Freedom" and what his "foundations" entail. Cutting to the chase, a new "Dark Age."

One is reminded that these *traditions* and *foundations* have frequently debated, even outdated, utility. This is true or we would stroll over and righteously kill a man who was working on the holy day, more frequently. Too, re-recall that these  *traditions* and *foundations* are only a few generations in length, early in an intellectual adolescence of our species showing itself to be as ignorant as it presumes to be arrogant. The other could be millions of generations in advance of us, if not billions of same. What are we to aphids on a leaf?

How far back do we have to look and not be revolted even of ourselves? Not that far, currently.

Unquestionably, UFOs are a knock at proud science's stuffy stacking swivels. They're an ongoing reminder of how little we know... ...how meager our pathetic little intellectual fires... ...how deep the shadows the aforementioned fires only begin to illuminate. Still, I have to believe that there is something more to our aggregate reality than sifting desultory minutia, following *rules*, paying taxes, and dying finally... fertilizer for a rich man's flowers?

We are fed a thin gruel of religion, work ethic, incomplete intellectual development, or gross and prevaricating sexual titillations from a learned media—a media knowing better!—...a media decidedly low-roading, reader... ...all clearly a tool of some shadowy control body of sociopathic high rollers and their pyramid of eager support weasels ...you and me too, actually, against our knowledge and outside our informed consent...and precisely why that Government of, by, and for people is required! All are the game pieces of weasels, and as Frank Zappa pointed out: they rip your flesh!

We don't get the real deal, just a distorted mist of half-truths—a lie in the fog. *Traditional* disrespect you could cut with a knife. Might as well... it's sure cutting you, reader.

Cop to that, and the mists begin to dissipate, the lie becomes impossible to even tell... for all the truth being told, you see, displacing it... ...and WE stand sorrowfully revealed at last...

...But Improved...

Worthy!

Read on.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

...Not Space Farce...


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Is it Earth-like in space as I travel vast distances? Can I breathe the Earth's sweetness in transit 'twixt stars? Can I live in a "can" that retreats from the sun, or in rings that we built from the moons around Mars?

The answer is yes, is my own learned opinion. The answer is yes, in all ways, shapes, and forms. The answer is yes; even frat boys are grudging, as they plan their dark business in churches and dorms.

We could push to light speed, or real close to it anyway... We could slow elapsed time to a glacial-like crawl. We could do in a moment what the eons were taking, and we'd seed our environs with life, after all.

It's all in the living the joys of continuance. It's all in a place you can stand safe, and watch. It's finding and knowing, and beating the nightmare that nibbles at your nether-mind, then bites you on your haunch!



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What's passed grows small in a rear view glass,
 retreating with the sun.
See, all you need is with you in your city on the run.
Not running from some consequence, 
or running on the lam,
but running to a future where one gives a tinker's damn.


This city's where you're living, then. 
Its travel spans the stars.
The Earth is carried with you; 
Earth you've coaxed to live in jars.
All the people you have with you, 
that you'll ever see again,
'cause time erased those left behind like, 
indeed, they'd never been.


...But... ten thousand years still passed on Earth, 
and these had found some way (!)
to obviate realities that we endure today!
Less is more, they had discovered, 
and could travel in a *wink*
what our ship in space had traveled, then, 
in all that time—just think!


...They meet you at your journey's end; 
they visit on the way.
They upgrade all your hardware, 
but they never judge or weigh.
They don't peer down their noses… 
don't insist upon new prayers.
It's rather like you meet nice folks 
while climbing cosmic stairs!


...You can go or you can stay
you can have it either way,
either one has heaven's promise—the attraction!
No one "pays," so you can "play"; 
you make it work; you save the day!
But for you? ...Why, living grace in satisfaction.

Return then to your night of dreams where, 
nestled in the stars
are the fruits these satisfactions can provide...
...in rocks from Mars!
I metaphor ideas, 
we then take our precious breath,
and we live among our stars to cheat 
a grinning, leering death.



Though, you won't be engaging your garden variety cosmic brotherhood... friends and neighbors, while hapless children starve anywhere in complacent aggregate neglect right here at home.  We have to earn more passage than that.


Wednesday, August 08, 2018

Graspers And Gaslighters

Where can a self-styled gold standard like our intrepid "Gene Steinberg" incur such a wholly justified wrath and enmity from the rational reasonable among us? Persons the likes of Tim Binnall and Jack Brewer, for example. Men of differing varieties of sobriety (so providing a certain depth of field)... these demonstrate a singular, "...had enough," compelling their outraged and well-cited content, of needs and requirements, yea and verily... I've personal insight, myself.  

Gene (send-me-cash-my-wife's-gums-are-bleeding-and-I-gots-da-t'aint rot) Steinberg is in messy, forget sad, decline, and it's not a pretty picture. I would find him wholly—if pathetically—ignorable but that he continues to personally vex, revolt, annoy, and aggravate me... 

It's the unjustified hubris, I think. Gold Standard my old and wattled ass. 

Verily, he tasks me; tasks me even when he is not impinging on my expectation to a free expression.  No, I do not remotely exaggerate.

Once upon a time long passed, out of the Paracastian murk of his tepid web presence, and like the thick rolling stench from an untidy paranormal graveyard sieved and titrated for its contemptable content grist... not grasping that relevance never actually aspired to... (...a transparent result, I remind the reader, of serious—albeit self-facilitated—blows to his ufological street cred, reputation, and approaching need for legacy vis a vis the compelling Rainey/Woods controversy!)... he reaches out with this pompous little note to me—in full damage control, I suspect, and attempting, in full gaslight mode, to manage one of his many provoked if well-cultivated antagonists, me:

  
Tell you what, let's clear the air, since I don't know you and, clearly, you don't know me.

 I'm happy to apologize for reporting you to your ISP. I was pissed off at the insults, period.

 I'm even happy to let you join our forums, but no personal attacks.

 The ball is in your court.

 Peace,
Gene=

Apart from the fact I'd rather spend the night in hog swill than join his toxic little forum (an ironic "personal attack's" murder of fanboy crows...) every line of the above, I submit, has to be a reflection of the most extreme use of cognitive disassociation and insentient pompousness... as can be available to mortal man and then ladled out to his serfs or hangers-on benignly and in all condescension! Bailiff! Gag me with a shock-rod!

Great suffering and most baragrugous ZOT!!!   

I begin to suspect—which I had expected all along—that he was entirely apart from what was really going on as regards the fall-out of his misogynistic initiative, his gossipy coven of cyberstalking lickspittles and fluffers! A Trumpian narcissist? I digress...

I wrote back that his offer was utterly unsatisfactory. I said"No, You 'Net-ball' Mr. Steinberg... twice on your side of the net to double-fault.  [I thought that was clever] Moreover, Sir, I don't make 'personal attacks.'  I observe.  Yeah, I'll pop a literary cap in a deserving ass.  Conscience sometimes demands it.  Zero apologies here." I'm in the fall of my winter, agewise, and that's how we roll.

He responds:

Then feel free to "observe."
 I look forward to your participation. Just keep it civil.
 Peace,
Gene

What?!  Really?  How astoundingly oblivious! 

What a brilliant example of "out of touch" faculty and repressed crumbling air-castle in a last-legs food processor ready to puke!  I'm stunned to clenched astonishment, actually! Remember, his was the dearth of sense, fairness, and sensibility... at the start, if for all his patronizing officiousness, now. I won't be criticised for pointing that out. I won't be remotely patronized.

I respond that, as per expected par he, one, misses the point and the broad side of the communicational barn by the obligatory parsec, two, has provided me much too little, much too late with regard to faux-collegiality forced by public censure or a then angered mob (Gene had to do more walk-backing, I seem to recollect), and, three, that he has only succeeded in irritating me further.  

You see, I'd already seen the e-mail to another where he refers to me as a "bomb thrower."  I resent that.  I eschew uncivilized bombs to roll in hot with righteous thirty-mm cannon and hell-fire missiles.  I fight the called-for fight, close, and you know who's shooting at you.

Finally, a portrait of abject disingenuousness, he concludes:


Which is, of course, what you're doing. You don't know me, yet you continue to attack. I gave you your chance.


Goodbye.
Gene Steinberg=


Yeah, Steiny... I know ye! Fuck you.

..Didn't respond to that last one, eh, reader?  The last time I switched his flaccid, sway-backed, and irrelevant ass out of my E-mail coral he, an ironic and unrepentant spammer beggaring measure, as Binnall and Brewer observe... pulled obvious institutional strings to have me thrown off the internet!!! Nobody can just "reach out" and have you unplugged from the web! He did,  howsomever. What was up with that...

That's right. Complete removal from the world wide web for three whole, decidedly dark, days... good thing I didn't get my phone that way.

All this pales to insignificance compared with what he facilitated for Rainey/Woods vis a vis supports for "this" and slanders for "that." ...Then he'd trot out another plea for cash to round out his hypocrisy as is abundantly noted... this writer would rather send money to Ted Cruz or Pee-pee Dondi.

Wait... no... not even in jest. Between the three, Steiny gets my money.

Closing, I'm sure our intellectually felching Mr. Steinberg has no problem with me sharing this "private" mail... see, he does it himself, to suit his very self-interested ends... All.  The.  Time. His "bomb-thrower" allusion to me, for example...

Please demand that I prove that, Mr. Steinberg. In other news, is Ms woods writing a book regarding her, trials, travails, and tribulations regarding et sig all? I don't know...

"I see... [writing] people..."

She's certainly subsequent to abundant subject matter. I say true. I'd be hard-pressed not to write it... were it me.

Steinberg Transporto Caveo
Steinberg Sender Beware.

Read on.

Sunday, August 05, 2018

...Not Watching The Sky...


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...Not a new story that just came to me, as I sit on hard chairs, and I read I'm not free. These are charges of thievery, graft, and corruption ... the right writes their *writ*, and assures our dysfunction!

They're less than contrite with us; they destroy hapless families; they rob and they maim helpless folks—sheer insanity! This nation we love, in surreal dissolution, it is fraught with cold terrors at our top institutions!

Constitutions, as writ, are spat upon jokes to be used and abused, silken ropes around throats? They are tools of the mighty to be used when they're necessary... when convenient, or useful, or expediently arbitrary?

They're to hide flying lights moving low on horizons who have "lights" of their own far beyond my describing! They are playing with secrets that spawn all the craziness... you'd refute if you knew it... ...and that's why they're betraying us!

Now most will not care in their drive to live lives that they work pretty hard for... ...but may learn to despise. We are ruled by the hatreds gladly fanned in our "churches" ... we are scared and upset, and our fear is discursive.

We look at the "few," but we're told we see many.  Distracted—bedeviled, we're shorted our pennies. The *right* won't help out when it comes to the sharing; though their mansions are built by the ones who starve... ...staring!

As we pray for our *gub'ment*, say, to "run off them faggots," but want its retreat when we'd spawn our detritus! Imposing our will when it complements business, but betraying the trust when we're called to be generous!

As they mask and they hide their fine mess of choice secrets, the watchers continue to tease and entreat us. ...But at the whim of that... "man"... to be born, work, and die ... we're *secure* in our rut, so, not watching the sky...



The man — all the while laughing, and having fun at your expense—able to "play" because you "pay"—knowing you're a fool (and worse), so programming your children not to be the leaders in the "new century." He'll play bait and switch with all manner of anomaly. He'll drag you back and forth across the line of credulity so hard and so often that you doubt the validity of your own reality, reality as smeared as that aforementioned line...

The knowing, finally, is a foundation that won't shift beneath your feet. You look up with a hard new eye, see the unending expanse of the misty *always was*—and ask the question, …not why, but, "When"!

When will you have the pitching deck secure beneath your feet, and a real "star to steer by"? It's then you'll have your "why."

Saturday, July 28, 2018

ITS: The End Of The Story




ITS: The End Of The Story

by Alfred Lehmberg



...Remember the end of the story? We'll get there in a minute.


The beginning of the story, one recalls, revealed individuals selected of a pool from which astronauts would later be drawn.  These selectively sieved persons, highly trained, intelligent, and brave, were ordered to fly out in state-of-the-art jet aircraft to meet with their inevitable opposition. Only, forgetting they must have acquitted themselves gloriously whatever their fate, most of them had never signed on for this brand of opposition. 


See, they'd fly right into the teeth of the unknown unknown: unidentified flying objects. That's right, UFOs. That's where the data seems to go, even if off our established rails. Some of these pilots and crew, by the way, were never again seen, man or machine. Poof.




Well acknowledged Standing Orders were to shoot "noncompliant" UFOs down, remember, wherever they were encountered... and "non-compliant." Laughable, but those were the orders of the day.


A conjecture, reader, that shots were never fired at UFOs is just ludicrous beyond the testimony of at least one four-star General. He reported "many men and machines lost" in certainly countable armed rejoinders, a testimony to how serious the official responses to UFOs actually were. Disclosure of a sort, eh?

A leader for the Air Force's official investigatory body wrote of "other, more lurid duels of death." He minced no words as he otherwise complained of the lack of proper funding for his effort. UFOs must have been "investigated," of needs. Where did the real money go? I digress.

Feschino and Friedman hold blow-up of a Newspaper headline 
published during the Summer Of Saucers, 1952.

It's no leap to conjecture an aerial engagement where early official admissions, recorded losses, and numerous eye-witness accounts bear out data pointing to exactly that. Gird barbarian loins, pilgrims, for undeclared and secret (even as announced!) airwar with ET in 1952. Such would appear to be so. 


...Sounds crazy. Yeah yeah. Sure sure. No apologies, here. 


We had our own aircraft losses, unexplained... or badly explained. We know about them. Verily, we had ours crashing into schools and subdivisions! 



Yet... chasing UFOs? The report, this writer recalls, was that the unarmed aircraft above crashed with an unejected pilot (?), due to fuel starvation... only... the aircraft explosion and fire testified to a profundity of fuel (it appears also to this former Master Aviator) and the area was hazarded to firefighters a result of exploding munitions.
So... 



But wait! How about similar "downed aircraft" incidents involving supposed occupants of those UFOs aforementioned? They're being shot at, after all. ...And on that subject of alien defenses, one can say what one will about alien "countermeasures," superior to "mere human" munitions... but 10 pounds of high explosive on the business end of a 2.75 folding fin aerial rocket arriving at point of impact, just under the speed of sound, must complicate even ET's physics!







Cut to Flatwoods, West Virginia in the same year... at the end of our story, now. September 12th. A warm Indian Summer evening and some kids are playing football in a valley schoolyard. Abruptly, a flaming fireball (a distressed alien craft?) coasts low and slow over their heads from the east-north-east, hangs a 90 degree left turn to the south, and then lands behind the trees on a hilltop of the old Bailey Fischer farm. 

This spot is well known to the locals and only a short distance away. The kids will run and get one of their mothers, who will think to bring a flashlight, then all will troop up the hill to investigate. Someone said UFO in the excitement (it was the season for them after all) but "downed aircraft" was on everyone's mind.  

Who would have thought, "both"? ...A creeping low fog gathered as they made their excited accent up paths and through gates...

...Our very "highly strange" incident would ensue.



May confronts the monster...

Enter Ivan T. Sanderson. One of the first few named researchers on-site only five days after the now very much-renowned event of that night of the 12th, he was a reputational worthy and not one to reflexively dismiss the high strangeness surrounding the event as too impossible to seriously regard. That was not this investigator's style.


It's what ITS did...

No, Sanderson was no credulous buffoon fluffing a bizarre occurrence for an edge reputation, an initiative so popular today. He liked getting to the actual bottoms of things. He was a man very highly regarded.

He was a well-out-of-his-armchair, world-class educated, and literate literary who wouldn't be cowed or bullied even by the likes of a forceful John Nebel (An earlier and more credible Art Bell) in a radio interview regarding this, our... end of the story. The reader will recall that this was the end, as ends were had.

The end of 1952's "Summer of Saucers," flap. Flatwoods seemed to bring everything to a close. The end of official open-mindedness and forthcomingness as cover-up became the increasing order of the day. A consequence of secret wars? ...Not; however, the end of the well-publicized orders to shoot UFOs down. Those orders may have yet to be rescinded.



Here's what ITS had to say on the subject:


Notice the sequestered witness drawings...





Later on, it would be proffered by gloating members of a disingenuous skeptibunky intelligentsia that Flatwoods people didn't know their own night forest fauna, were poisoned by hallucinogenic ground gas  (?) absent before or since, or that West Virginia "hillbillies" won't know a simple meteor from a space invader. Sanderson didn't think so. 


Sanderson, plainly not a sufferer of fools, found everyone he spoke to, examined, or interviewed to be precise, moreover, accurate, intelligent, and considered. Listen to the short Youtube interview above. He was emphatic about this.


No, this story happened, beginning, middle, and end. But for one Frank C. Feschino, Jr. we would know none of it and would have forgotten all of it. Spin up on this story. It's the future after all.





Read on...