Critical Prose & Poetic Commentary regarding UFOs and their astonishing ancillaries, consciousness & conspiracy, plus a proud sufferer of orthorexia nervosa since 2005!

Wednesday, August 02, 2023

Reality? It Bites AND Kisses—Posted

Step on up! I'll fill your bucket!
Though, I'll give you much to chew... 
when I show you what's around 
...to be assessed! 
At first a little scary 
when the ground begins to quake, 
but "comeuppance" is deliverance
It's too bad that you're distressed!
See... detritus we have countenanced 
befouls the air we breathe! 
The faux-patronizing "crap," good Sir, 
precludes respect we bleed.
See, your patriotism's juvenile
just a lie one tells oneself 
to soothe a cognate's dissonance 
for that interest-rooted self.
Our Republic is at peril! 
All our credos live in threat! 
Our Constitution's promise 
is despoiled in sad neglect...
but not the way "Tea-baggers" mean 
provoked by butt-hurt "pride," 
where "Christian," they'd impose their "will"
... on your's and mine!  Denied!!!  
...See, they support the makers 
of immoral crooked systems 
and so sip the neo-Kool-Aid as required
They gladly voted thrice 
to juice this current clutch of psychos! 
They "covered up" for fascist thieves and liars.
So? Quit whining you "don't understand," 
or at best, I'm too "loquacious"? 
That I "dance around the point" too much? 
That I'm "pretentious" or "audacious"?  
Well...It just may be I bounce around 
and mimic... real life!  
Revealed! Life denies you "linear"... 
then it cuts just like a knife...
No, we both know what the problem is... 
no point in playing dumb. 
The future? It makes your blood run cold, 
and you're lacking "stone," on sum.  
You lack "imagination," you deny yourself, I fear, 
an essence of humanity 
that's yours alone... and near!
I'd say what I'm provoked to say... 
It's a finger in your eye? 
...Why I work to make it pretty... 
or more injury, IS WHY!  
Immune, myself, to insult 
or insipidous critique? 
Discover I get meaner when I'm sneered at...
I get piqued...
See... your "lack of understanding" 
is convenient, mere pretentiousness
Your understanding's obvious
You possess required sentience!
...So, I won't reward your ignorance
I won't validate your claims
I won't confirm your "certitude"! 
I won't countenance your "games"!
Dare call me ostentatious
That *inflation* you perceive? 
It's packed with eager muscle of alert solidity!
See, I'd produce what you would read... 
improve us both thereby, 
words of "use" in metered time... 
it's how one soars and flies!
...Don't "understand"? Oh yes... you do 
You're getting every word!
You know exactly what I'm saying!
To say you don't's absurd
Too, I won't respect your "feelings"; 
They impose, they suffocate
We're returned to "ages dark
escaped, once, as our fate!
I report "unevenness." 
I abhor a lack of sentience
I point out infidelity
I am counseled by my conscience.
See? You're not so freakin' "blameless"... 
if neither, friend, am I. 
Psychopathic "patriots" 
have usurped our reasons, why.
I find these types revolting
I'm provoked to speak my mind... 
or I become what I'd abhor... 
to validate their kind!
...I'll write what keeps my button pushed
—show some of what I need—
a place to study stuff I find 
to bring me up to speed. 
A place to lay a tired brow 
that's clean and fresh and right
An engagement of my faculties 
that's mine alone: my muse's light!
...An unpolluted "meadow," 
clean rivers rife with "fish," 
there's finding there are other ways 
to be successful—rich! 
It's receiving... due respect 
from those one keeps afloat
and suffer, not, their sneers... derision
or failing while these gloat!
...Happy satisfaction (?) or despair in your distraction 
as they milk your gelded glands for what they have! 
...And you'll do without a piss break, 
so you won't have much to drink, 
and your wounds will see no medicine or salve.
And while you're shorted on the front-end 
your *specific* contract pay? 
You're shorted on the back end 
to erode your health away!
...They FAN "detested" gonads (!), 
then, to sell their toxic "soaps," 
decrying sex—which happens!—
as the "wage of Satan's joke." 
...And they're the ones so teasing (!), 
as they rub it in your face! 
...And them the ones you're pleasing 
when you buy into your own disgrace!
...Why... we're taught to keep sex dirty—
a "forbidden" price is high!  
If sex was honored ... natural (?)—
the "price" goes down, is why!  
I digress, but the same with "drugs," 
the war on which has failed... 
except to feed "slave labor camps
of persons thrown in jails...
A "tease" regarding UFO's is wall to wall TV! 
They're in our papers/magazines—
displayed for all to see. 
Festooned with woo-woo music, 
and a digitized effect, 
we're jerked beyond credulity
so the facts lose their respect!
The mainstream keeps its distance, 
and our NASA stays aloof! 
They won't go on our pod-casts friend! 
They won't discuss the truth.
They're not open and forthcoming
and it's said these might conspire 
with the forces of "convenience" 
who would keep us from... 
our heart's desire!
Why ...It could mean that we're autonomous
and too strong to be assailed
on the lip of newer wonders 
that some *Star-folk* might detail?
It could simply mean there's star-folk, 
and a lot of them... out "there." 
We've discounted Drake's equation 
Let sleeping dogs alone, we whined 
(but out of cruel convenience)... 
...Our lives betrayed to futures 
that exclude our craft and genius...
...Anything is possible 
given surface, space, and time. 
Even pieces such as this: 
a sincerity in rhyme.
See? We make these "strained presumptions" 
naught but castles in the air, 
to deny the watching Starfolk 
who have always hovered there! 
From time beyond recording, 
they have haunted Human skies. 
Have they made some vast recording 
of our litany of lies?
They'll play it for us soon, perhaps, 
then wait for quick denial. 
When crying's done we'll find, I'll bet, 
comeuppance's clean and final.
The future that we *planned* 
is surely gone, I am assured, 
but the future that replaces it?  
It is greater, to be sure!
Yes! That future I've portended 
can be seen and not pretended, 
and the satisfactions gained will awe-inspire! 
We will live beyond pretensions, 
and ignore our crass "distinctions" 
as we build on firmer ground 
than what we now know was conspired!
...We will build upon new ethics 
in a wealth of new eclectics—
that we did not know abundant in our fog
...And we'll find that our behavior's 
more inclusive—it's our SAVIOR—
while defeatists see their errors in our past, or not at all!
C'mon up and fill your bucket 
with the facts you haven't chewed yet, 
and don't worry that it's tasting much like crow—
it may taste a little poorer 
'fore you finish what needs chewing, 
but then tasting, far, far better than you know!

...Don't "understand," eh? "Stream of consciousness-flap-dash", you say! "Incoherent ranting," you sneer! Well, all that said, I should be pretty easy to take down, expose, invalidate, or neutralize... one would think.

But I wonder... what really fronts these smug reports that I'm just not making any sense; rather, that I'm verbose, inflated, or longwinded?

Is it my lack of clarity? Is it my errant ill-lucidity? Is it my failure to use the less common language of contemplated words arrayed and meaningfully arranged... but ultimately honoring the reader and the writer?!

I won't apologize for aspiring to write for a conjectured literary cyber-Louvre. It's a distinction, an art, and my raison d'etre.  I make no apologies. Every word writ must swing for the fences or what's the point?

Verily, expression is provoked and accomplished were the ink and paper required to be made, myself, from scratch! Breathing is a similar activity, but one can use the metaphoric bodily process they're more comfortable with, personally.  It's still breathing to me...

I believe words are paint, remember. Every word is a drop of color. Sentences are brushstrokes, paragraphs are portraits, and pages are the considered landscapes of our psychological sea, land, and fire-colored sky... I regret you can't catch the "wave," if you can't, eh?


Yes, words are weapons and tools! ...Immortal and magic, too! They can be in more than one place at the same time and they even travel long distances in time...

...But first, they are a paint perceived in a mind's eye. They create pictures in the brain with brushes moving at the speed of thought to take the reader where the reader's never been... or where the reader needs to go... again...

...Still not "getting it," unsettled reader?

I submit that you might try just a little harder than a quick read on the "can" to facilitate or assist same. I write to improve us both, Sir or Madam, as I said, and leave the lower common denominator—quickly-digested—banal... to a legion of others interested in such. No literary snobbery here, just a preference for off an established path, beyond the "conventional wisdom," and outside the limiting "box," eh?

As the past confuses us, the present tempts us, and the future frightens us? Uhhh... use two visits to the can!

Besides, as I made abundantly clear in the entirely unashamed poetry above (if one was paying attention) maybe we need to more appreciate that "facilitating fog" protested! Perhaps these perceived mists are a creative mechanism, actually, a mechanism allowing the reader to get up a little closer to the discomfiting subject under scrutiny... for more of a shared and synergistic understanding, eh?

When not kissing... Reality does bite!

Without this artful mechanism? What remains may be too threatening a figure to countenance? Perhaps. We have to risk it.

This aforementioned and unrepentant literary zeitgeist is composed of hissing blades with claws like steak knives and teeth like envenomed Roman short swords. Seriously, let the verse and painstaking prose be a floral bouquet held in the dangerous paw of such as is described, eh? It remains, this intimated though offended beast won't suffer disrespect, aspersions on character, or treachery.


Back at the ranch, I concede that today's arrogant and pissed-off authoritarian neo-pundit or psychopathic faux-patriot finds it convenient to profess a lack of understanding even when confronted with an egalitarian and oblique—if entirely direct—address of that understanding!

Shaped-charge drops from my pen... as hard to understand? I think not, reader.

...I don't remotely apologize, mind you, even as it goes without saying that one can query a specific lack of understanding at any time... sure, and we'll take it word for paint-filled word. But that's, actually, the problem isn't it?  Ask not what your blogger has done for you... especially when it's obvious; especially if it's constructively terrifying.

Trifling the author? One risks having the stainless steel blade-beast—alluded to above and pictured below—from leaping out of the fog, eh? Consider how useless your gun is in that scenario, eh? The word sneers at the gun because the finger writes and moves on reflecting a certain piety and aspiration to wit the gun can't appreciate.

Was there an alternate prediction, aspiration, or initiative? Be the first on your f'n block! That's why, it is suspected, I don't often (ever?) get a "what did you mean by..." my "such and so." Critiques are bereft of interrogative, only invective and insult. The writer aspires to truth. Maybe that's the problem. I won't quote Jack Nicholson. 

I suppose, if there was that... mythical ...lack (?)... of understanding... but I suspect that there is no need to go there. In the first place there is understanding enough. The silence of the unasked question speaks volumes! In the second? Personal cowardice, I suspect, is a ready culprit.

...Though, it remains. Many have discovered a beating heart beneath all this hissing metal. Most can rest assured.

It's the pompous human hubris sets me off, a lack of humility offends me, and sneers from the errant conflicted are to me as a full blue moon is to the "Loupe Garou." ...Attack my friends to unleash a real monster... eh?

...Not my problem though. I continue my epic song of conscience at my pleasure and the pleasure of a few friends not threatened by my sincerity or embarrassed by my sincere aspiration to some instructive creativity. The rest can attempt to lead, intelligently follow... or just get the hell out of my way, eh?

I would soar and cleave. Lose a hand to belligerently or mendaciously restrain me. Poke me and pull back a painful nub. Prick me, and the pricker will bleed. "Lack of understanding" is not an accepted default excuse. I will eat you, saltless.

Restore John Ford!

Read on!

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