...Transmissions At Night Speed...

Some time ago I sent a pulse; it's now so far from here… A sentient vibration—you'd think too faint to hear. A terse twelve lines of quatrain in an honest, heartfelt style ... Away now, friend, some five point nine... times ten to the twelfth odd miles...

Six trillion miles, then, it had flown... in inky —coal-black— space! Who knows what stuff it's rushed right passed... or touched upon its face. Chance comets of antiquity breathing star stuff as they fry; their tails growing longer as they—moth-like—sunward dive?

I can dream of gainful contact as this sphere grows ever larger. It octuples as the radius of it doubles, math empowered.  Eight times the space ...encompassed... at around this time that year. Some years from now ... and as things change? ...A change we must not fear.

One year from then... with challenged children, teaching long division? I'd presumed to be instructing... I digress regards attrition. Remains, that in some future time, *they'd* found a way to listen? Too, if understood, *these* seek me out... to clue me what I'm missing?

...Just what I need! A space-borne visit! ...My world put on notice! We're not alone, we've been observed... from way back they can quote us! Names are named and actions tallied! The hard facts top a list; a few have had their way too long — they're likely better missed!

...And still, our message hurries at a strident speed of light. It is swimming passed new planets like a dolphin made of night. Composed of ordered pulses of some thinking I hold valid, it floods the sky with questions, and it undertakes the challenge.

This *vibration* in the ether, it's as true as bursting suns. It's for ending all the ignorance which has had its, too long, run. It's for holding up its end, by God, and taking on 'the man' ... for a truer view of that which is, a place in which to stand!

It swims with other messages of different kinds of stripe. In the late Van Flandern's ether it eschews the standard hype. It hooks and jabs, the gloves come off, and blows are aimed at throats! It needles and it bickers; it survives to get their goat.

The rage you feel, regards this ode, is a ratio of degree. It's pride before a fall, mayhap, when you skin unblemished knees? A measure of your pique is sure; you might even want to fight? The degree to which you're cross, perhaps… the degree to which I'm right!

...And it's not being "on the mark," as proffered, is the issue. Though, I suspect your ill got pride... is tough as toilet tissue. Remains a fairness lacking in what we should... by all means, trust! When synergy is lost, my friend? We're pierced by specious lusts!

Our species then devolves, perhaps, and we lose a guiding light? We drown in fecal excess, friend, and are gelded by our might! We lose the prouder gains we've made, as proffered in the history? We'd return to squalid, dirty caves, eating tree bark in our misery!

This is true while single persons could be turning it around? This is true while naked wealth is laying fallow under ground? This is true as cosmic signals, then, conflate their globes in space? Yet, it remains, yea verily, we flirt with bald disgrace!

That moving finger writes as writ, and moves on... as is written. It's true no line's been altered, washed with tears, or been rewritten. The words of a performance as recorded are its truth, it reaches satisfaction its production put to use... That pulse of my "disturbance" races outwards as described, slow by far its record as it's measured, by the by, but it's a truth regardless that a "consciousness" prevailed who tried to make some sense of things and put his words to sail.

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

...On a chance CB rig once in French Gulch, California: "breaker... breaker..." followed by idle verse spoken some years ago—twelve lines on a cold and stormy night... still rushing outward at the speed of light, time forever frozen for a light's quick dash performed by a tenuous globe of microwave RF...

...5.859 x 10 ^12 odd miles ...(almost 6 trillion miles a year!)... beaming away in an expanding bubble of ordered and vibrating electrical code. I think the math's correct. Error or not, the point's made. 

The volume of that bubble of space increases by a factor of eight every time the radius doubles... if it survived at all. Conjectured, reader, and otherwise submitted for your approval: a huge globe of evidential sentience expanding at night speed in a bubble of energized ether.  Everyone is doing it.

What or whoever could have heard those lines ... as I don't think space has the sterility that some would have for it. Do you? 

I remember that all my art, music, poetic commentary, and critical prose is transmitted in a similar fashion via micro-wave, and so is yours. That's comforting, somehow—self-affirming even, eh? 

We're, essentially, the first of us to vibrate into space in this manner! In effect leaving something of ourselves in the firmament of an un-guessed —all but— eternity at our passing... something of us lasting forever in the unknowable ether. The sentience behind that vibration never, really, dies?

Other expressions I have made on the radio include, "Cease fire," ...and "...Chalk two... rockets in the tree-line... ...NOW." This was back in a simpler, but darker time when I was trying to stay sane in our ongoing and everlasting military pit of snakes... and nearly cocking it up at a few key turns. I'd had idle dreams of being a "star voyager..." settled for some small mastery of helicopters...

Others have made alternate transmissions over the years. Some of it is stupidity at the speed of light.  I'm not excluding much of my own. Some of it is heartfelt communication. Sadly, some of it paints a better picture of ourselves to a listening *other* than we have remotely ever allowed from ourselves, eh? 

Too bad. Hubris is, surely, folly.

On the late Dr. Van Flandren:

"Dark Matter, Missing Planets, and New Comets: Paradoxes Resolved, Origins Illuminated." ...is not so important because it challenges the conventional paradigm of the understanding of the universe. This book is important because it exposes the shortcomings of our current inductive system of model-building... and just how far some of these modelers will go to keep YOU worshiping at their particular alters of science!

Read on...

Aliens Extant, Askance And Akimbo

Behind a grain of sand...

Aliens Extant, Askance, And Akimbo
By Alfred Lehmberg

Select affected persons are reporting encounters with extraterrestrial beings... (yeah, just roll on passed any knee-jerk revulsions or "informed" eye-rolls). Positively or negatively inspired themselves, they are regarded in a manner at least "arms akimbo and eyes askance" by, certainly the earnest skeptic, but mal-earnestly by the loathsomely mendacious one, too. 

That's how reflex-denial, even one justified, rolls. Out of round, badly, and substantively, untrued. Sure, one jerks one's hand from the hot stove but is powerless to stop the resultant elbow going into his fellow's eye. Sometimes "reflex" is ill-considered.

Sadly, providing additional consternation and complication, add gaming the system, some of these "abductees" must deserve every bit of even a scurrilous debunking they get, and more. Most are fake; some of them... not. That should give one pause. That should ring a bell. Some of them. Are not. Could it be that this might explain a mass of phony ones as loss leaders? Wheat camouflaged by an abundance of injected chaff? Deliberation and intelligent investigation are begged for cause, eh? 

To qualify justification for demands on the reader's time in our 2018 exercise, ongoing since 1996, we pause so this writer can advise that he, unfettered by man or God to a greater degree, perhaps, and aspiring to a humanist genuineness (anything else being considered a drunken and irresponsible stupor...), tilts toward being a UFO researcher with some field experience as could be afforded, and then a conscious person with a pioneer's spirit and an explorer's soul. It hasn't all been armchair.

He believes that he investigates something that is real in the real world, something with immediate importance to us all, and something that helps define the future we're all going to have to live in, anyway. He's been met, spoken to, and produced his "book." His references are exemplary. He can be found and is accountable. He believes answers can sometimes be faced before they are found. He's a fierce friend and a Phyrric opponent.

He's been wrong, his convictions stuck to at peril and for loss, but readily admitted faced with fact... and for the step back up to restabilize a wounded credibility. Error, admitted, is such a restabilization. A true learning experience... or at least an opportunity for such. This writer offers that "Looking twice" to place trust in vetted persons who admit their errors freely, and are readily educated by same, is one look more productively spent elsewhere.

Perforce, an aspiration to singular service, dependability, and reliability though the heavens crash down around us (where it can it should just to prove the point), is his model. Integrity. Honesty. Candor. That's why one can read. Submitted humbly without irony. The humility is justified.

Forgetting for a moment that the writer has been wrong before... dishearteningly, disconcertingly, and discouragingly... he believes that he has been abundantly convincing regarding the sociological validity of his overall production, apart from admitted error, and a due diligence of respectable sincerity cannot be -expected- to have to demonstrate spot-on, 100% accuracy in -every- case... to not be wholly discredited for his sincere efforts in the more productive aggregate. No, he'll just reject that unbalanced criticism out of hand, nose thumbed. Hey, this writer only has to impress himself, eh?

The late John Mack, not a direct comparison to the writer, an open-minded but credible researcher by any fair estimation, has had prepared "ringers" slid into his seminars by Robertsonian CSICOPians and other pompous klasskurtxians, inelegant water foulers to disrupt sincere proceedings... There's some genuine collegiality, eh? 

One would accurately predict that others have had to endure similar charlatans, scalawags, and sociopaths. Linda Molten Howe is another, along with Jaques Vallee; these spring to mind. 

The lesson is that this does not inexorably, inevitably, and necessarily detract from one's overall contribution, one's competency, or one's veracity. One's Veritas! One must believe that one aspires to the "genuine article," even as they cannot believe, and are abused by, many around them who do not.

I must be clear at this point that genuine abductees who come forward are -first- among heroes on this planet. They've regarded the inexpressible and unspeakable, in turn, regarding them back! That should give the reader pause, if true. I say true.

They endure, as I have personally seen, the slings and arrows of outrages cowards, duplicitous ax-grinders, and scurrilous de-bunkers... though the proceeding remains! I know, also, that I cannot, in good faith, support the claims of -all- abductees, credit -all- their assertions, validate -all- their paradigms, provide citation for -all- their experience, or prop up -all- their stories in every way. No progress there, as that's only a masturbation of some type.

Could I be wrong about some of these abductees alluded to as frauds and felons? Of course! My opinion, sir, madam, or the spectrum in between, that manipulative corporate-minded "turn-around persons" (read, psychopaths) with noses for "product enhancement" (and the minimal sense required to flesh out a bogus audit trail for a pecuniary con...) might be just the people able to convincingly fabricate a first-rate abduction hoax... This shouldn't raise anyone's hackles that much, given an information vacuum hoovering both wheat and chaff. What can one expect? I'm just one opinion, after all. Remains, this writer has endured such... and lived.

Some of these suspiciously *suspected* might still be genuine... water, by report, has been turned into wine, at least once, in the last 2000+ years... some proclaim! Anything is possible, however unlikely... improbable, doubtful, implausible, dubious, dodgy, or even suspect! There's spacetime for it all! Moreover, proclamations? They're only ever that. Verity remains to be seen!

I think that there are stealthy legions of these "just business" psychopaths who would subvert the work of the aforementioned researchers to their own dark, always self-serving ends. I produced a paper on that general theme found at:

The Curse Of The Blue Hare

Back to task, I think some of these individuals do their -own- "research" and can cleverly appropriate the experience and work of others to facilitate their scurrilous and disingenuous (by definition) ends... where they, empty shells, fall short of any relevance or originality. I think that some of these persons have lived their whole parasitic lives this way, moving fretfully from one group of 'facilitators' to another, advantaging themselves on the work/talent of others... and then moving on (one way or another) when the well of good faith does run dry. 

I think that some of these persons have become so adept at advantaging themselves on the backs/reputations of others that they are as capable of fooling persons only trying to keep an open mind, as they are of fooling me or even the best among us, our ufological shop drawer's sharper knives. I am abundantly outraged for all.

I know that people lie, and moreover, many of these don't even *know* that they are doing so. I suspect that it is very hard for even the practiced adept to ferret these persons out, and so the aforementioned sincere open-minded should not be inordinately held accountable and liable for the testimony they must guilelessly accumulate... and transfer on. It's not them propagating the lie even as they do exactly that! It's not their lie, remember, and moreover, it's the disease, not the innocent vector deserving of opprobrium! 

Someone advises ebola, say, and the circumspect pass that on! Moses and Solomon can be taken for a *ride*... as can I... as can the reader. As mentioned before... This writer has been on that erring ride. He can relate!

The trick, I suppose, is to avoid the impacted illogic of the ideologue—and get off the *ride* in time, somehow. I was bouncing down the runway for pecuniary takeoff, yo, as reflected above! Don't believe something because it's pretty and preferred. No one can rationally expect your complete infallibility and one can only aspire to be among the heroes, and never the hero. Humility demands it. The hero is culled from a circumstance of the cosmic karmic variety, you don't shoot for that. 

No. You don't choose that. That chooses you. The perspicacious person of humility, one wary of his own hubris, tries to avoid being mounted on the cross. I digress. 

Returning to our discussion, some of these persons, if unfortunately, deserve every bit of criticism they provoke! I think it's a tragedy that genuine abductees are minimalized in the association with the noisy non-genuine iterated above! I think it's a travesty that sincere efforts are marginalized, derided, and defamed by the actions of a self-serving, and too frequent-flying, few. I think it's a -shame- that valuable work, thoughtfully erected, suffers as a result. Sincerely.

Alien abduction. That crosses an indelible, ironically erasable, line. Bad enough when it's your fellow humans abducting you... it's un-enlishable, unspeakable even when your abductors are alternative bits of intelligence from beyond the stars... are to be the ones confining and threatening with science fiction instrumentation but whispering in the reader's ear... That's the report.

Blithely Scoff, wholly dismiss, but roundly reject! Arrogantly refuse, smilingly deny, and reflexively resist! Disingenuously Counter, fallaciously oppose, or bemoan your wounded hubris! 

...Then ignore the indisputable fact that whole booming divisions of near infinite, so incalculable, multi-Dimensional vastnesses spread and sail and bloom around you in a slow explosion of exotic elementals! Ignore a myriad panoply of vast cosmic artifacts churning, boiling, and weaving without seeming plan for ultimate novelty... Ignore realized and idealized chaos where past, present, and future, based on arbitrary relative velocities...are one...  ...Ignore raw expanses, near infinite themselves,  which are installed in chartless tracts existing then and now and then ignore the fulmination of the corporeal into these futures unnamed and unnameable... ignore space-times and surface areas stranger than can be known, beyond all imagination, and apart from any supposition... ...ignore heaven AND hell, reader, that long smear painted between them, that unknowable enormity between enlightened understanding and flummoxed incredulity... ...Ignore, finally, all manner of intelligent representation reflected betwixt beatific expressions of graced intelligence... all the way to slack-jawed expressions of drooling fools barely self-aware... full stop! Breathe.

...All of that can be hidden, reader, behind just one grain of sand held at arm's length 'twixt thumb and forefinger anywhere in a 24-hour sky! No thing is impossible in this immensity! No thing is preposterous having the tiniest shred of the remotest possibility in this witheringly abstruse expanse of stunning potentiality! All that can be conjectured and the much vaster amount... ...not. Not impossible at all. Little is. Very little...

Happened. Happening. Will happen. That is the potentiality of time and space. See? There's more.

...In an amount equal to outer spacetime and surface-area described above, there is that which is reflected in inner space, too. Endlessness wrapped in infinity and then folded into an eternity of mind, the Koch's Curve of reality in both directions... and in what directions not sensed or conjectured. ...As above so below, eh?

...Another full stop! Then...

...There, at the center of all of that... at dead center ...stands the conscious observer. At the center of all that is possible; however, inarguably meager the senses... and intimating a predicted shallowness of craft or capability, one's shallow evaluation of their own dull organic sensory array... must persist. Where's it writ large that monkeys making mouth noises or scratching imperfect symbols insentiently can grok the big picture, but we'll try?

Though, the reader. Maybe even a reader with unsettled and unsettling recollections as psychotic as they are existential, and as "of the certifiable" as they are "of the corporeal." 

The reader at the center... Consider, anywhere the reader looks, is... away. The "center" is your's... own it! Just don't expect tribute; it's your's, shared!

The reader casts her meager senses about, comprehends the quality, complexity, and potentiality of those vastnesses sensed and unsensed... and abruptly realizes... (get ready!) that she herself is all the proof necessary for any "other" found in the unending cosmic array just described. Yes! Such seems likely to be so.

Beyond all panic and consternation in this regard lies an eventuality of acceptance of all fact, regardless, remember. What else is there? Hey, folks, c'mon. Even a shallow drift back through 20,000 years of history shows that human beings can get "used" to anything (anything!), weather any storm... any storm but really good fortune...

Acceptance! Consider that those born on the "day of disclosure" will know nothing else! That's good news because "bigger than you know" is the reality, and it is from that which all our novelty comes. Rejoice in the day made, friends and neighbors! 

Why not? It's going around that all is chaos, we've nothing but one another, so we must be kind. Unpack your hams, reader.

Facts swirl unsettlingly! Facts such as the facts revealed as a result of an intrepid due diligence by "aspirant heroes" as described above, come to mind. One such is Frank Feschino, for example. He revealed facts indicating a not quite undeclared and not so secret "air-war" with ET in 1952. Abductions are included even there. Men and machines disappearing without a trace... where they should have been able to be found... 

Eyes askance and arms akimbo becomes less and less relevant. Facts, as they will, dispel irrelevance. Reality proves to be exactly that, reality; however, and it is well known how a moving finger writes and having writ, puts the pedal down. Lines are not called back for hasty edit, and tears wash nary a word.

What then of our "abductee"? 

Well, where one can accept the so-close-to-a-hundred-percent certainty, so close that any difference becomes meaningless in a succession of dwindling nines (.999>>>)... but a certainty none-the-less... that self-aware extraterrestrial intelligence exists, and that there are Military "black-box" investigations into them as recently revealed in the mainstream... ...then one might very slightly extrapolate that the subject of these investigations might be, in turn, investigating... and doing so with the benefit of thousands if not millions of years of hindsight. That's a sweaty-lipped chubby-buncher, eh?

Encounter is not beyond the pale of possibility, we can conceive of it, after all. That's enough, experience shows us; we've "thought it," and it must now be so, somewhere... and why not here!

Askance and akimbo judgments on these "experiencers" don't appear to be intractably advised, and it would further seem important to take care not to let them get swept up in the campaign against their coo-coo bird distractors and place-stealers, alluded to at the start. Most must deserve the anti-approbation. It remains, some do not. 

Read on.

Saving Face

The center of the universe? An angry place to be, and ironic it's the only place to get up off your knees. It's there within one's consciousness—still possible to share—that one is loosed to "soar and cleave" where fewer care to dare!

True—it's likely there without you, that universe you know, plus much, much more your senses miss, as "senses" miss the show. Though it likely works without you—while you never find that out—then you might as well embrace it, and so look, a bit, about.

You might question your CONVICTIONS, or aspire to test your FAITH. The former loves convenience, and the latter's led to hate. See, faith is not a lapdog to support your party line, and convictions could be sharpened sticks to poke you in the eye.

There's plenty to dissuade you if you think outside the *rules*, and the "systems" of coercion are the shame; you're just their tool.

It won't matter that their *rules* could bear the fruit of all injustice, or their *rule* absolve the holder of their shame. Expect no justice.

The "system's" just a lever that elitists blithely use for a purpose that must benefit the few; be not confused! Whilst they pump our population ever higher making persons, and that means much less respect for me and you... so, drop the curtains.

Oh, they HATE the "individual," so they treat her like a witch. A man who's so afflicted is a similar son-of-a-bitch. See... ...and here the irony's so thick it's chopped with knives... but the BEST of ALL ideas come from single persons, guys!

Now, I'll not fault a team that makes "ideas" what they ARE! The difference found between the two's a Nova to a star, but consider supernovas and remember, FIRST, their seed. It's the STAR that marks her center. It's the "star" that we first need.

True, every meat-bag's not this star, irrelevant if fact. Don't leap to that absurdity, as I'm just not saying that. See?  Culture is a jealous beast that works too hard, it seems, to mark the individual as dismissed to be demeaned. This penalizes poor-folks and will punish artful geeks. Homely kids must live in fear—unearned shame upon their cheeks.

These kids?  They're shoved around to suit a "crowd" we should decry, and will rise up, on occasion, when their spirits are deprived. In our *SCHOOLS* they ARE discounted, and they're slapped around in line, so these might take some guns to class... remember Columbine? These are individuals who are pushed to their extremes... by the haughty—inbred—attitudes of that group to "make the scene."

These behaviors are encouraged by a process—hand in glove—that demands the mediocrity it promotes from up above!  It's that "bottom half" of fractions they'd inflated, not reduced, and the smaller that divisor means the more that they're confused. It's a large denominator that they use to damp the breed! It's that huge denominator which objectifies their greed!

Too, skimp that NUMERATOR to a number grown so small... individuals are made meaningless and consigned a graceless fall...

See, too damn many artless knobs *pronounce* on you and me. Enraged and therefore outraged, though, we'd leap from callused knees! We're the ones who like our thinking as a process of our own; see, we've been—too blithely—lied to from the "pulpit" and the "throne."

We're the ones without due process. We're the ones DENIED our due. We're misdirected, disrespected, so prefer a larger truth.

I'm at the center of my universe and I'm not surprised to see... a plethora of *centers* who are (more or less!)... like me! And all prefer the base respect that you yourself would have... but denied—to too damn many—for the lawful thoughts we'd had.

We'd make our contribution but we're driven from our herd! We're dismissed from our society. We're discounted and deterred! All most of us had WANTED was a chance to tuck right in, and make our contribution where we saw *it* wearing thin, but based upon convenience of some *bless-ed* non-elected... we must suffer the indifference of our culture's piqued rejection!

It's their willful self-indulgence as they sell us down the river! It's their xenophobic attitudes assumed without a quiver! It's their penchant for discretion that supports their status quo—which is narrow and short-sighted, and unjust; I think you know.

It's the lack of toleration that elitists would promote. It's the fascist way they dictate terms they shove right down our throats!

How are we to fare then, friend, where "birds" come home to "roost," and psychopaths presume their will to suck your blood for juice?  How are we at all best served, in reflex arbitration, to legislate morality embracing sick religions. 

Well, we can have our "answers," see? Though, eschew the ones thought "sought." Ephemerally self-serving, these are useless, often's not? If production's what's been lacking, and that has been the case... it just may be that we're best served by those, not sought, but faced.

• alienview@adelphia.net
• http://www.alienview.net/

Not a question.

What's Writ 2018

It not Yin or Yang... it's the edge.

What's Writ 2018
by Alfred Lehmberg

Enough is too much! Yeah. I'll write what's writ, written as if to blow a righteous horn from the summary funnel I am levied unasked! 

This aggrieved and resented funnel is via a jealously duplicitous, wholly autocratic, and forlornly hubristic (forget swinish!) society. Society is unmasked, thereby!  Expect no apologies and lesser quarter, eh? That's the way we're going to roll in 2018. So, in the spirit of Festivus, then, it's time to gather around the ceremonial Pole and air a few traditional grievances. 

I'll riff, forewarning, as is my wont. They will be words writ without regard to being read or unread. Extant, I've read them enough for all of us. They mean something to me. They mean something to a shared condition... the inarticulable articulated, at least in aspiration.

To start... Accused of having a "rambling style," I assert that my only defense is that words—to this writer—are but different color paints magically able to change color in association with each other. That's the fact of it. Words are the enlightened thing. Something got right in the Bible...

Sentences are brush-strokes, paragraphs are portraits, and pages are the considered scapes of our experiential sky—the immediately felt presence of the living land and an exciting and unending sky... there can be no apologizing for them. They are all we are and all we can be. Moreover, Wordlessness is the currency of cultural erosion and artistic irrelevancy. I would aspire to constructive relevancy, myself.

What I aspire to write about is the water in which we, like fish, swim. Maybe the reader is not perceiving, as water, the water in which she swims. Perhaps drowning? I'd prefer to try to know it, myself.

...And sincerely, if I didn't have decent credentials I wouldn't hang it all out like this... INVITING society's "favorite-playing" whack with bloody spiked track-shoes! Speaking contrarily UP, OUT, and HONESTLY is an occupation filled with uncalled for hazard, no fooling, I discover. Still, nothing is everything avoiding all but the moments felt presence suspiciously proscribed... what's ignored is missed, regardless. Ours, buoyed by meager senses and smaller cognition, is a very poor felt presence... a humility in that regard is key to a happiness, it is suspected.

Additionally, a loose cannon, even one of admitted small caliber, is a lonely cannon, and all too often a slandered one. I survive.  Artless Arty, Danny Camembert, Richey Red Ridinghood, and one obnoxious little "bastid" from New Zealand would know what's meant by way of allusion, from my own experience. I know of which I speak. Left-handedness is a blessed curse even wielding its literary Excaliber.  Excaliber is not used frivolously... ...It gets colorful over in right-brain territory.

These slanderers, for a record, are the militantly mal-foil-hatted mouthbreathers trying breathlessly to carve out their own craven clout from accommodating backsides. I'll not be so accommodating.  One's victory is Pyrrhic. I won't suffer a trifling. You are what you do. 

An ardent literary if "craptastic" litany of anxious argle-bargles are slanderously iterated by these fatuously homocentric little fish, blithely unaware of their water, even as they push on it pathetically and wholly unaware, I'd presume... swimming in tedious little circles, but illustrating an inappropriate reaction to the stress of an attacking sensible criticism... and a coward's inability to countenance those revolted by your neighborhood mouthbreather's avoidable hypocrisy. You know, attack the critic and not the criticism because the criticism remains to stand.

John Ford, another "favorite" played, criminally persecuted and held in gulag now for over two decades by the elites alluded to, knows what I'm talking about, too, by way of example. Let's remember him in 2018! Bet your ass because it could be! Run even righteously afoul with jealous corruption yourself some time; perceive something in your skies not allowed by an official's officialdom. Life turns on a dime and keeps any change.

John Ford, a genuine intrepid, discovered that the world is infested with soulless serial psychopaths taking great and powerful pains to sharpen the archaic spikes on their "old-world" and archaic track-shoes for sport and profit. The "grinding stone" concerned, in Ford's particular instance, is Ford's obstinately individual and unrecanting backside, betrayed by the bench's rule of law used as a lap dog for the privileged, and its mental health system used to cacoon same, lo these many years! 

Verily, Ford STILL rots in prison for a crime existing only in his accuser's (et al) decidedly criminal mind... to facilitate his accuser's documented criminal agenda. This all happened last century and happens, still!

They hone those smiting shoe spikes to the needle sharpness of a sociopathic shark's tooth... don't they, I've discovered personally, as Ford suffers an extreme first hand, but I'm an old soldier and what's an old soldier to do? Fade away? Mmmmno.

I don't think so. Not this old soldier. ...And it's Festivus!

Thing is, I was good enough for this country when I was killing human beings or destroying property and equipment for it as its convenient cannon fodder cum hired-killer in unending pecuniary wars of aggression, oppression and repression mostly masquerading as a war on terrorism! 

Retired "with all honors," and a past Commandant of a Singular Service School, I'm good enough NOW to teach its sons and daughters how to be compassionate leaders and critical followers, as I did previously with some success in the real world, followers of that which aspires to the relevantly reasonable, realistically responsible, or reasonably enlightened! That, or what's the point?

I would teach them not to suffer tyrants, by God! Or I would have ... in the Trump fueled winter of a horrendous tumultuousness the Nation has never known ...and in a winter of my own? Likely, it's too late for that now... Love for country unrequited...

See? Arbitrarily and unjustly mash us down "here"... We will only endeavor to pop up over "THERE," just meaner! I say true!

Our culture never cops to that because it's a culture, I suspect, the unelected, only, maintain and facilitate or suit their own self-interested prerequisite, jealous prerogative, and over-privileged proclivity. Anything else hurts their corrosive bottom line and challenges cat-bird seats.

As further example, I was myself, too arbitrarily for my money, ash-canned (fired) from a too hard to gain teaching position for lawful activities, ethical expressions, and rational positions... my civil liberties arbitrarily imposed upon... my efficacious pursuit of a constructive happiness derailed... I want a righteous chunk of some rich right-wingnut's  pecuniary ASS for it! See how it works?

I address an ignored grievance, a grievance shared by too many (or it wouldn't even be mentioned) ...and but crickets are heard. That's with ALL respect to the crickets I have heard from, but let's not get too worked up by a metaphor. It's the ROACHES to chap our ass! I'm betting the reader is or has been harried, similarly. That's the point.

We are wronged! We want redress! This fault... this injustice... this turmoil is not ours! Served better we'd be better! Where does this all begin?

Remember high school. I'm betting it hasn't changed much. 

Graduating in 1967 during the Summer Of Love, I was too close to the forest to grasp the contrived enormity of some very suspicious trees! We were rebelling against the old-growth forest for reasons and of needs, as I recall. The individual trees of the forest in which I found myself seemed so hungry for my attention, and, regretfully, it was so few of these trees that I had the wish to understand—more than superficially—and then it was, generally, the WRONG trees. In winter's autumn, this writer sees that now. ...How to teach the potential efficacy of trees... but endure the forest extant, of needs... I digress.

Back to task, 1967. Prior to that it was a time to have the *right* haircut, wear the *right* clothes, be in the *right* clubs and associations, drive the *right* car, hang with the *right* people—a shamefully wasteful romp to curry the favor of—be accepted by—those who made the "official" scene... them and their peripheral adult facilitators. The Summer Of Love put a wrench in the gears of all that. Revealed! Proscribed activities!

Still, though, those elite... and non-elected even then... too many of the advantaged took advantage. A die is cast. Official molds get hard to break. Still, novelty seems inexorable. Change becomes a tidal force. The psychedelic left goes underground, becomes the internet, consciousness is coined and transferred. Conscescence happens.

I was on the periphery of that elite, never quite accepted, but never quite rejected either. I'm a little ashamed to admit that, both ways, but I have to make that painful disclosure to illustrate that I MIGHT know what I'm talking about when I say that the "marginalized majority" outside an "in" crowd are visible to that crowd only as sources of cheap-shot amusement—or as an out and out expendable resource!  That ephemeral, indomitable, and irresistible elite are bred even in public schools—forgetting private ones. Tiers in tiers. Wheels in wheels.

Beyond that, they—a-hem... we, as I came to find out—are valueless, expendable, and invisible. This is not what we *learned* in high school. In high school, we learned about arbitrary class and connected category in an existential reality of authoritarian injustice, rank prejudice, and tolerated wink-nudge bigotry. Came the evolved times and the nascent crawl to equity and gylany from the slimes of Patriarchy and Androcracy, its reptilian racism and monstrous misogyny, slimes currently trying to pull us back... resist!

Being on the uncomfortable periphery of that treasured elite we allude to, some of the invisible marginalized (who *should* have been invisible to me) were not. These were the *geeks* with pocket protectors, the poets, splash artists, and underground thespians. The weird, whacked-out, and wild... the quirky stoners, dorks, and assorted nervous burn-outs or afflicted nut-rolls—those not associated with rally club and the football team—these were a MAJORITY.

They were the challenged and misshapen; they were sensitive and miserable. They were overweight or bosom-less—had acne so bad you could HEAR it sometimes, eh?  Chance-less motes, otherwise strangely colored rainbows of ethnic homeliness and unsettling diversity—all in stark contrast to the relative few of cherished all white-aspirant Ken and Barbi elite-oids. They (we)... were everyone ELSE.

Almost too late I would detect the very real cognitive magnificence of the marginalized group and realize that the seeds of a wondrous future potential—better or worse—were held in the fresh thinking hands of THEIR marvelous singularity! Fuck the "in" crowd and even their gods.

Bill Gates, Linus Torvalds, and Steve Wozniak would have been worthwhile people to befriend, back in the day. They were individuals, ready examples of the garden-variety uber-geeken, circa 1967... or so I understand...

The in-crowd of my high school? Well, and knowing a few, most of them PEAKED in high school, I'd wager. If they didn't crash on some privileged alcoholic shore, or inherit *daddy's* going concern, or end up as trophy wives for a descending succession of male in-crowders in failed marriages, they moved on to the shadow-lands of the few, the proud, but that non-elected and shadowy elite. THIS was my aspiration? I don't think so. Dust dry up in there.

Luckily, I'd only gotten a taste of those *enviable* environs to see how ultimately "dry as dust" they truly are. So much for the very transitive value of a short-sighted "IN" crowd. They are "IN" all right. They were (and still are, I suspect) "in"—In self-absorbed, convenient, and perpetual DENIAL of their abject corporeal irrelevancy.

Why? For THEM, a "going concern" with momentum

That part of "them" surviving the drug addiction, decadence, and largely DESERVED psychological distresses... even well insulated from those they'd condemned? That's the bunch to take their unearned turn to pronounce, with the psychotic energy of misery, on the rest of us... ...decide our faiths, fortunes, and futures, it would seem. Seems plain since Reagan. 

I'd surmise that all that is from this faceless bunch sniping originating orders from around corners, starting the whisper campaigns, or denying and complicating an individual's very livelihood for the purpose of having control over those individuals... an oft-repeated theme. It happened to me. I say true.

That's the wing-nut billionaire bunch fronting the sold-out but articulate talking TV-heads in their busy campaign to fan the gonads and sensibilities, of your haplessly clueless brothers and sisters, into the frothy mob of pitchfork-waving and torch-bearing meat bags they can too easily become! It's also the bunch turning some of our kids into early suicides or bomb-making homicidal maniacs, but the point is getting pretty fine already...

We're all at the center of the universe and all those centers are packing together pretty tightly. That's design; we could function alternatively! We could eschew oil and coal for wind and solar, for example.  The finite amount of non-polluted space that we are restricted to—by the aforementioned and shortsighted non-elected—DICTATES that that claustrophobic tightness can only increase as our numbers do.

That is not good news. That is glib understatement.

It's no stretch that even the *best* self-interested (if not self-aware... think reptiles and mammals) social system prosecuting an unchanging and dogmatically rigid continuance will fail, eventually. It always has. That swimming fish alluded to is sometimes thrown out of his water... adapt or die. 

Errant flashes of white-hot irritation fly out of control, finally, in that weaponized and flesh clogged human powder keg of ever-increasing social density... density then precipitating the predictable explosion authoritarians would always foreswear so pretend not to foresee. 

Too, we've FAR from the best social system... perhaps part of the plan, it excuses an ever-inflating professional police force and for-profit prison system, after all... presently near one in a hundred of us in prison. Your garden variety mouth breather won't see a connection. More people in prison, if those vested in for-profit prisons (like our USAG Jeffery Beaureguard Sessions III) have their way. Such is the police state of late thrust upon us... a profitable one.

I suspect it must be the eventuality of a tolerant and rational, if minimal, ongoing liberalism, born from the righteous outrage of the late sixties, keeping those self-repeating horrific instances down to the levels which presently occur! ANY increase in the prevailing level of autocratic authoritarianism would only make that violence occur with much more frequency than it already does. 

We can see those frequency increases now. I can only report how I feel as a victim of that arbitrary and autocratic authoritarianism, a crass authoritarianism on the steady increase already noted. Watch the GOP for ready examples of same. "Both sides to blame" is a myth to sell boner pills and reverse mortgages. No... all of it. All Of. It... is at the feet of what calls itself the GOP.

My treatment makes ME angry! Angry enough for violence? No. But then I have a degree of articulation and can jettison pressure in that manner.

...Others do not, howsoever. Maybe it's these going on psychotropic drugs and murdering people in schools, malls, and at musical events...

I suspect I may know how some of these might feel. America's SON in every category except mindless obedience? I was turned out, turned down, and turned away from a needy billet in America's classrooms for specious, bigoted, uninformed, unenlightened... ...age-discriminating and finally inappropriate reasons, persecuted (this writer offers) under the guise of my interest in UFOs!

Reminiscent of serious threats from the arbitrary-autocratic-unilateralists leaping right out of high-school, I have to fight back! Anything else is default agreement with the social forces ignobly aligned against or truly persecuting the likes of me, and more horrifically and disastrously, individuals not unlike me.

I'm on guard to clear my good name of spurious slanders, continue an interrupted substantive—but clearer—contribution to my society, and live a little closer to the truth... though heavens fall... ...If they could, they should, for my money. 

I'll use the Arts as my efficaciously ethical and individual weapon in that struggle. The pen IS mightier than the sword. That's the history.

I will loudly protest a perceived injustice in just this manner... directly and without gloves. Others similarly affected will fight back (I'm certain) in their own way using weapons of THEIR choice, but whatever the eventual "weaponry," IF that outraged response is blithely and conveniently provoked by the corrupted arbitrary, THEN the consequences for the arbitrary are, albeit tragically (?), richly deserved. Good news? 

Our situation is always a choice for what we could be. You know stupid's not right. There's correctably flawed with a respectful nod to the bottom rank and file... and then there's the impossibly psychotic operating at the behest of top tiered authoritarian monsters and preying psychopaths! Choose. 

"[I'm] a rambler and a gambler and a sweet talkin' [thinking] man... and I love my lovin', but not like I love my freedom*"! Pickle Riiiick!

Read on! 

~~Ã~~

"I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, a "played favorite" scourged by the scurrilous and original deplorables.

*Real freedom... not the "freedom" to suffer squalor in a wing-nut's wet dream where the employer is not required to pay a living wage, for-profit healthcare is unaffordable, and the old, et al, die in the street.