Justification

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

Sunday, February 02, 2014

The Choice...


.
.
.
Distractions come in fits and starts, then crush our shores like waves. These waves promote disinterest as they obfuscate our (fearful!) gaze. This haze becomes "reality" as we take the word of those... who've ground an axe unknown to you to lead you by your (smarting!) nose!
.
See? We don't get that "real look" at that which has occurred. This gives one pause to wonder, friend. Is one, then, not (provoked!) concerned? What IS, there then, to lie about? What shall not be disclosed? What is it that we shan't be told? What is it that we must not know?
.
Wherefore are these *Gods* we've worshipped who pretend to point the path? What fruit distills such largesse that we'd suffer all their (specious!) wrath. See, this wrath from *God* seems not the thing to cause our great concern, but from the men who front for *Him* we've come to know and must (now!) spurn!
.
Whining fundamentalists compose our every woe! They complicate the issues with "convictions" born to suck and blow... and they populate our boardrooms with the psychopathic scum that must hoard, but hide, the knowledge that would march us to some (better!) drum.
.
Yes! The multi-verse is open to a plethora of options, to occur within the endless time we know! ...And that's a small percentage of the paltry bit we get... ...not what science (falling *short*) must fail to show! Know we're stronger than we think we are... only weakened by your God (!); it's the bugs and stellar bolides holds the bigger (cosmic!) rod!  See, we invent our gods of lore to do our awful bidding. We invent the "sturm and drang" to blame on Gods (so) unforgiving.
.
So, it's MAN creating misery just to visit it on them... who must wallow far beneath him as he shows contempt... if THEN? Then God's "the Man's" invention and is just a tool he'd use... to manipulate the masses he's been breeding to (betray!) confuse!
.
Abused, these masses are, by "God" (?), whose "grace" is seen by few! Those few are strong, contentious men who "change" but are not (ever!) new. They hale from a past so far, so fraught with their disease, why, prerogatives of 'Priests' and 'Kings'... who're psychopaths and errant thieves!
.
So things are not as they would seem!  They've never been that way!  We find if we get old enough this fact becomes as plain as day.  We are not in Kansas, friend, in fact we never were.  We are, my friend, the horse they whip and stab with (errant!) spur.  Our riders lie unblinkingly and front for psychopaths. The psychopaths lie shamelessly—are parasites at (hapless!) last.
.
Secrets kept to suit "too few" provides for our security? We're better off precluding that which solves our immaturity!? The truth must hide for "our own good"? We're better dumb than smart?
.
Best someone hit a "reset," please! We need a brand new (braver!) start!

alienview@roadrunner.com
http://www.alienview.net/






A Human being has a right to informed consent?  That's "rule by law's spirit" and functioning more in accordance with what presently gets lip service, only.  Additionally, it's the practice of lucid toleration and doing more of what you say you're going to do! Finally, it is adherence to the precept of Constitutions and lists of inalienable rights, justice, level sociological playing fields, and multiple chances of success in a pursuit of individual happiness.  We could give ourselves so much more.
.
Informed consent does not facilitate "tyranny of the few at the expense of the many," paid indulgence, or stealing something "fair and square"! It's not a result of justice only for the rich, a widening gap between rich and poor, or making the rules as a function of having inherited all the gold?
.
The population has doubled since I was a child; you don't think that's not by cruel design?  See, the pro-life hypocrisy is only a facile mechanism to keep the population high enough to facilitate their underpay, the disrespect tendered them, and their easy abuse.
.
There's a limited amount of respect to go around because respect has a dollar value.  Consider, people you don't respect you don't have to pay well or even in any way facilitate their wellness. More people suggests that less and less respect has to be parsed out to any one of them. Some people get more than they deserve, meaning that many don't get what they need to survive. Communism as a remedy? Lord, no. That didn't work either. Religion?  Religion, I've alluded, is discounted out of hand.
.
Better...
.
Reduce the population at all costs before it is reduced for us by the cruel embrace of the proverbial four horsemen, and while you do it adopt an ethic leading to individual autonomy using the secret technologies presently denied. More powerful common people only make more uncommonly powerful teams formed of tham, or there would be no difference in quality or scale between ancient Rome of the first century BCE and the United States of the 21st Century.
.
We're breathing on the cosmic! It's a choice!  "Heaven on Earth" is a choice!  Doesn't anyone else feel that!
.
Restore John Ford!

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Similarity Across Scale...


.
.
.
I must defend the beating heart of what I think is true; though, I'd do it in a way that makes a place for me with you. While making no apology for what I see or say, it's incumbent on my character that my honesty's conveyed. That honesty's transference is, then, why I "beat my gums" Raison d'etre to officiate the rhythm of my drum.
.
See, poetry's a song one sings to tell a truth one way. Rhymed lying's near impossible, or it's harder, safe to say... True, truth as "thought" is sometimes not and error is conveyed... but it's still truth if it's believed... or is it? One can't say.
.
Though, who makes up lying poetry? What audaciousness is that?  Few'd take the time... to craft a work... such crap for toe to tap! Who'd suffer such to make up rhyme that could, to MOCK, be sung, and know if caught, it is the rope they'd use to see them hung...
.
A song is sung in words of rhyme to make courageous sense; a result of  pure expression it's refined and much condensed. Lo, it has the harder job to do; it's older than our speech: it is in fact a language aid where nascent songs would teach.  Too, it's "stuff" comes out in poetry where prose words fear to tread. *Stuff's* expressed in rhyming verse where prose must flinch in dread
.
See, shimmering before us is a step that we can take... that will make us all autonomous, and what teams, then, we will make! Anomaly might quicken... come to life, and find its sting! Every woman her own princess, every man his honored king?
.
Everything's in levels of a quantum nature, free!  Stasis is abhorred and action wants to happen, see?!  As it happens, *things* will happen if they're happening or not! If *things* happen then they're natural; if they don't...? That's all you've got.
.
Consider no coincidence an atom's "electron cloud," ...like a planet's solar system is a galaxy, if not so proud. Mandelbrots and fractals are the same from large to small. A "sameness" spanning scale is the process of, well... all.
.
So, one must look within ones self to better look without. There is finding in the looking, and that's what I'm about. There is all that one could need not drawn from all that's "bought" and "sold"; the kingdom is at hand, in fact, but dealt bad cards, we fold!
.
UFOs, for instance, in a multitude of ways... are obvious to anyone with a lick of sense in place! Recorded in a history—mostly hidden—that we know, they are written down on parchment and composed of ink and stone!  They're deep within the language that is Joyce's Mama Matrix.  They are coded into DNA whinin its double helix!
.
They're in portraits and in pictures, and they move on secret films! They're seen by famous witnesses and some witnesses are killed? Dismissing the reports which are as bogus as can be, still leaves, then, many thousands which are righteous, most agree!
.
...And that destroys, invalidates, and up-ends institutions: our Religious and Political—Corporate media mass confusions... All are made well suspect by the way they play their game, with their lying obfuscations, and the way they shift their blame.
.
We're manipulated... in a way to suit too few, so that status-quos from yesterday... can suck their "juice"... ...from you!  If everything one knows is wrong, then what is one to do?  Well, start living more responsibly. You play? Who pays? Be true!
.
There's more to life than they'd let on, and who the hell were they? They're the privileged arbitrary non-elected holding sway! They are those, who having had, would keep on having, friend—practicing injustice's specious ethics, they offend.
.
They have the information that would credit any ONE, explaining why it's hidden and obscured or dissed and shunned. Manipulating mainstreams and insuring the mundane; they hide their dark agendas, secret plans, and ill-got gains. They covet the duplicitous, and they profit out of hand from the masses kept beneath them—they mislead! You understand...
.
I sing these songs to clear my head and dissipate the fog. The relief, perhaps illusion (?), makes for better dialogue.  Though most will nurture hubris and pretend that we're alone, it seems these folks are cowards and from that they must atone.  Pompously insentient and insouciant to the max, they're blinded by indifference and oblivious to facts.
.
I get communication from more folks who would be free, from that aggregate insulted who aspire off their knees; from folks who feel within their souls, "there must be more to life..." than is dreamt of in *philosophies* that contribute to our senseless strife...


alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net



They really are songs. Blues songs. John and Mr. Flynn have heard them sung, forgetting that we'd all agree a better voice needs sing them... But, songs they are. And songs, most times, tell a kind of truth, don't they? I may be mistaken, but I'm not lying. How does one deliberately lie in song?  With difficulty if one is not a complete and slavering psychopath, I'd bet.



Sunday, January 05, 2014

Where Do They Go?


.
.
.
Here, perforce, I'd report­ "They're here," then feel a strange relief.  For far too long they disappear like burglars or thieves. Returned, in force, they'd reappear to crawl the skies again, returning like all flying things that come back every spring.
.
True! FIVE flew by one Sunday, well before the sun came up, well before the coffee's finished from a steaming coffee cup, and wondering where they could go, for such a length of time, I ponder their pretension in these metered words, to rhyme.  Bereft of all apology and with my chin held high I report there's stuff to see... in night or daylight skies!
.
Then, I'd think that they'd "forsaken" me: these stars that tack and sail. I'd wonder that they'd gone away to fuel another's tale. Though, what could make appearance known so right up in your face, to disappear for days on end, then reappear—apace!
.
...And reappear they would indeed! Such color, speed, and light. Their paths bemused, if certain; they are dim or very bright! Too, I'd feel a satisfaction that is absent when they're gone... I'd feel this... strange "assurance" as I watched them glide along.
.
Some mornings I would see but one; then two days in a row! I'd think they're back, I'm saying, but then where, friend, did they go?  I'd think I'm not worth watching... ...so they're likely not for me! Though, what have I been seeing in these objects I "don't" see?
.
...And what indeed, I ask myself, appears before my eyes? What might these things, in ebb and flow, propitiously provide?  What must be their upside?  Why are they preferred?  Why does searching for them make me feel good—better served.
.
Well, to me they are potentials well beyond the threat of war! To me they're strong sedition from my culture's whoring bore! To me they show some promise and an answer to a song ... "Is That All There Is?" Peg Lee once asked... their answer's clear and strong.
.
"No, you're not alone at all, you—tragic—human race. Though, you facilitate corruptions to disgrace your mote in space. Adrift in sad belligerence, and complacent to the max, a sea of life surrounding you's ignored in heaps and stacks."
.
"It's you yourselves won't cure, at last, your self-imposed disease!  It's you yourselves retreating to the "safety" of your knees!  It's you yourselves denying that we fly your troubled skies, and it's you, yourselves, who's keeping us... from landing right outside."



alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net






It's no secret that if you spend time studying a night sky (day sky too!) you'll see one.  One what?  Oh, just a flying object that you can't identify.  ...An Unidentified Flying Object.  UFO.
.
Birds, bolides, boosters and balloons—forgetting planes, don't qualify.  Things you can identify, won't. Oddly there remains a statistically significant, highly so in fact—in the 20% category!—of very clearly seen objects only bemused for identification... UAP?  That may be an unbrave dodge!  See, a UAP doesn't even have to be there... A UFO gets up your nose so far you feel knees scrubbing your chin!

I trot all my UFOs out here: http://www.alienview.net/oddobs.html
.
Seriously, the objects alluded to above are odd enough when they are there: these flying stars, hurtling their strange and unspeakable staggers and trajectories... but then, presuming the more clockwork regularity of the forecast, and so prosaic, orbiting objects objectifying a human manufacture? Where do "they" go when they go?
.
...Sometimes it was for weeks...eh?  Where?

Restore John Ford!

Sunday, December 22, 2013

It's True!

.
.
.
I am pilloried for passions as provoked by unbrave cack-wits. Still, you can count on me to fight a poet's fight. See, my rhythms are discomfiting for some, perhaps contentious. Still, the song it sings aspires to truth and light.
.
See, what's there is only there because I sing it in a song. What I would express, expressed... made righteous, clean, and strong. My points have different aspect, and these points that should be made (?) ... in SONG they have a quality crossing flowers with grenades!
.
Now how much should I have to "pay," to say my words my way? And what's the price exacted for expression?  What becomes my "crime" that's just too "heinous" to allow! What justifies my purging and suppression?
.
It's true I have a conscience that I wear upon my sleeve. It's true I'd split the heavens; it's true I'd "soar" and "cleave." It's true I find "religion's" thrust a cop-out and a drag; it's true there's only guile been implied by ANY flag!
.
Yes, it's true I seek autonomy and the freedom it suggests, but a freedom from the likes of such as "you." Self-important men and "artless," blessed by errant gods conniving... They insure themselves their future. We're their tools.
.
Their clever orchestrations are abstruse, not plainly seen. They decide intolerance, so it's them defines "obscene." They would write your script and they would tell you what to think; you're just for their "utility." Too, behind? They nod and wink.
.
It's true that I would, just as soon, NOT live my life their way. There's just no honor in it, it would seem. Based on lie's invention to manipulate control, it's a "carny-pitch" divergence from my dream.
.
I dream of satisfaction efficacious and complete. I dream of the forthcoming, and the loss of all conceit. I dream we fill the emptiness with the wealth of what we know, and that SECRETS wrongly hidden are exposed to flash and glow!
.
It's true what I surmise, my friend, that WE ARE NOT ALONE, and thinking thoughts like these gets hard to bear. So, I rise up every morning with some coffee for my spark, and I fix the starry skies, if there, and stare.
.
What would you expect from me? I've eyes, and I can see; too, well read and educated, I perceive that I'm not free. With ears to match and listening, I've found a cosmic road, and on that trek I'm finding out:
.
I won't be cowed or bowed.
.
...Distrust of rhyming verse is not my problem, do you see? A song's a "weave" of rhythm and some verse. It seems to me that problem rests with others who would dictate how I tell you what I think, and that's perverse.
.
Everyone can take the time... to see a different way. Everyone should have their choice to double, put, or stay... Everyone's enhanced anew with choices they could make... to, then, fertilize progression and improve a person's "state."
.
Yet, I must fill your mold been pressed down, HARD, upon my soul; too, it doesn't matter what "perceptions" are? A universe, before me, stands ignored in their indifference which would smother up the outburst of a star!
.
Too, I'm supposed to pack my brain in cakes of "social ice" and validate hypocrisy to go along... be nice? If yes? Be disappointed. I'd be true, at least, to self—to have respect for others, one must first respect oneself!
.
I am a poet-warrior... my blades drip dragon's blood; I'm not apologetic; I'm obverse. All that I would wish for is the simple honest insight that I'm chanting here, to you, to lift my curse.
.
That curse? It is *unknowing* that we labor with, you see? The curse is the erosion of the stuff that makes us free. The curse is persecution of divergence we all need... to aerate potential, be not bored—improve the breed!
.
Now I'm expected dutifully to make a place for you, except you as the "standard"—how it's done... But where are all your colors and your levels or your richness? Where is beauty? Where is learning? Where's the fun?
.
Your thinking's all peripheral, and bereft of any depth. Your focus is too narrow, and it seems you're scared to death. Too, to make me pay your sordid freight for all those fears denied, proclaims your lack of bravery, Sir, for which you're well despised.

alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net

You know who you are.





Sunday, July 14, 2013

Letter Of Resignation

TO:  Barbour County, Alabama Board of Education

FROM:  Alfred Lehmberg
              Enterprise, Alabama 36330

RE:  Letter of Resignation as Special Education Teacher for Barbour County

October 2000 


Sir and Madam;

I've never quit anything in my life. That I retreated from this opportunity so abruptly is a testament to the dauntingly apparent practical impossibility of the task. Regretfully, it is also an indictment on society for forgetting its own, damning them to their squalid perditions, and even willfully encouraging them to take their eventual places in prisons of low wage subservience or very real prisons. Finally, this letter is more than a letter of simple resignation, it is a regrettable report from the field on the state of public education as it is served up to poor black American citizens from a state very near the bottom of a total educational effort.

I embraced this opportunity to teach wholeheartedly, but as I continued to look to the near, mean, and far term, I could forecast neither a positive student outcome, or even the most minimal personal success for my absolute BEST effort. Indeed, I was fearful of becoming embroiled in a subsequently discovered ongoing legal entanglement specifically with regard to special education at Clayton high school. But I digress. My unfavorable conclusion to quit was based on a careful analysis of my limited experience, the tools and materials available to me, the lack of a knowledgeable, and in my opinion crucial, special education coordinator, and the quality, serviceability, and acceptability of the facilities and equipment. This only begins an incomplete list of contraindicating qualifiers.

Additionally, the incomplete IEP (Individual Ed Program) records were in abominable condition on receipt, left in a cardboard orange-box in an unlocked room, and (in my admittedly limited and inexperienced estimation) did not match the reality of the student concerned. Moreover, the numbers of students, well over fifteen in some classes to begin with, were an unending flux of changing behaviors as students seemingly wandered from class to class with confusingly abrupt schedule changes. This suggested a lack of any clear plan or consistency, and a complete lack of individuality for the Barbour county special needs student. Lastly, the transit time, while rather long at over two hours, was still a pleasant country drive on nice roads with the news of the world piped in by National Public Radio as an added educational bonus, and so was not a real factor in my regrettable decision to leave.

My experience as an educator is limited to the military platform, a recent college education I took FULL advantage of, and a successful internship. My public education experience, admittedly, is nil. It may BE that I assess my Barbour county experience harshly as a result of it not living up to some rose-colored view of education, in general, that I may have had. But that, Sir and Madam, would not serve accuracy.  I believe I have a clear understanding of what is required for the successful outcomes of students in public education. I believe I have an effective grasp of the prerequisites entailed in the production of successfully useful young adults. Moreover, at a world-weary advanced age I have very few comfortable illusions that I would even WISH to continue or maintain. Hardships and challenges have been my stock in trade for many years. This was not my first time at a rodeo, not even one of this type.

The tools and materials available to me were, frankly, a humiliating embarrassment to the sensibilities of this *junior* educator. Reluctant to even handle the foul moldering mounds of immaterial, tattered, and outdated books in a TRUE fetid pile, I discovered, amidst the roaches, candy wrappers, and rat excreta, that no collection of irrelevant volumes was younger than twenty years. By all educated accounts, most of these books take a step forward only to take two or even three steps back with regard to engendering stereotypes, incorrect information, and corrosive bias. Besides, how can we expect students to find respect for books so OBVIOUSLY disrespected?

In addition to their stridently bogus relevancy these *books* also stank like old sweat and vomit—further increasing their ironic lack of appeal. Echoing this astonishing lack of simple relevant textbooks was a complete lack of even murky field-specific curricular guidance... far beyond the wishes of a new teacher to have a clear idea and understanding of *what* to teach. 

There was NO established curricula—only the chance *finding* of skeletal documents explaining (tersely) the occupational diploma, and a vague pamphlet regarding the life skill portfolio, pointed in the area of WHAT I was supposed to teach—at all. Given a supreme or even superhuman effort perhaps an experienced teacher could manufacture (certainly have already funded) a complete curriculum of some relevant quality... but whatever it was, it was clear that it was to come from ME if it was to come, and this was a condition (subsequently discovering the ominously ongoing lawsuit) that THIS new teacher found particularly unsettling and disquieting. Finally, I found the worrisome lack of forthcoming-ness from Barbour county regarding these matters outside the bounds of what one could call a zone of minimal comfort. This worrying development did not contribute to a desire to stay.

Every school system that I have visited, observed ...where I have volunteered or interned—each has had a "hands-on" special education coordinator that knows the system, reviews the records, assesses their quality, and generally (I would imagine) saves these institutions of public education thousands of dollars in avoidable due-process imbroglio. 

Barbour county does not appear to have one, or having one, is so fractionated and overburdened with other duties that this oversight of crucial auditing is just not getting done. Moreover, this oversight is so critical to the first few years of a serious special education teacher's development because so much of the process is EXPOSED by the records! Its quantifiable results are measured by them. It is in fact the very curriculum, as I understand the process. The lack of respectful attention to the records I examined was daunting to this new teacher at any rate and certainly contributed to my decision to leave.

I arrived a week early to prepare my classroom and found, on the floor, a pile of outdated and unserviceable computers (Trash 80 and what-not). The room smelled like a pile of soiled clothes (the lack of a serviceable air conditioner would have made the room truly uninhabitable), the bulletin board was gouged and almost unusable, and there was, inexplicably and astoundingly, NO WAY TO INITIATE communication with the front office!

The vice principal was in the next room behind two doors, but I had to leave the classroom to get him, and he was often away from his office. Add to this a broken desk, and a chair too large for the space, and one has the beginnings of the less than ideal classroom. I cleaned all the surfaces of the room with my own materials, cobbled together the best of the computers, and begged, or otherwise appropriated, the rest of the equipment from fellow teachers: a broken lectern, an overhead projector older than I was, and an old Macintosh (the rest of the school is PC) I was never able to get to work... 

The classroom was regularly used (over my protest!) as a shortcut by school personnel and casual students. On one occasion (and right in the middle of my class) it was invaded by a crowd of chattering students and the school nurse who noisily wheeled a screaming young woman (who was having a baby) right through my classroom as if we were not even there.

Indeed the classroom was a maze of meaningless and even bizarre interruptions—two of my most socially useful and crucial senior classes were both interrupted midstream for breaks or lunch. The breaks were especially inconvenient as the kids spent the time loading up on candy and soda to be burned off non-productively in my classroom. 

When I asked the beleaguered but valiant principal why this was so he embarrassedly reported that it was one of the few ways to raise revenue for needed school supplies.  God but it all seemed to be such patent disrespect to the students and the spirit of the school. 

Finally—there was no room to physically manage the overpopulation of students... contributing to a powder keg that was predictably eventual. The classroom was, as already mentioned, infested, and many times provided disruption to the class. At this point I am beginning to feel DRIVEN away.

The IEP's themselves were on the way to being in the same condition as the textbooks and classroom, left (as already mentioned) unsecured in an unlocked room. I did not have a record for every student. The information I got when I asked about their whereabouts was that they were, perhaps, in the counselor's office, or even in the offices of the Barbour education board. Regardless, these records were not current, relevant, or readily available to me, making me feel like I didn't have the tools necessary to drain what was becoming my own ever-increasing swamp. 

The records I DID have also seemed decidedly inaccurate, making impossible demands of students who did not demonstrate to me the requisite skill to accomplish the demanded task. Asking one student to pull main ideas from a passage that in reality the student could not even read, is an example. The professional anguish this suggested was daunting to this educator of limited experience and made me consider at this point even graceless retreat!

It is an understatement to merely report that there are too many children in the classroom for efficient special needs teaching. There were too many total, too many exceptionalities, and these were too capriciously changing. The classroom was packed for critical instruction with no room, potential, or capability for isolation, or any kind of physical student management. 

Isolation is CRITICAL to reduce stimulation in a conflicted or challenged young adult, to provide for meaningful individualization, and to keep an unwelcome and inappropriate exuberance from precipitating to the rest of the class. There was no room to physically manage these children but to take another child who may have been on task from that task , and move the offending student to another location. In many cases the students flatly refused to comply, anyway. My only recourse was to eject them from the classroom, and away from the task, to a largely ineffective meeting with a large wooden paddle from the vice-principal. Heavy sigh...

Additionally, every day another student or two would arrive, unannounced, with an incomprehensible schedule change—providing another distraction to a classroom condition already well over the line into the wholly untenable. The number of the children, lack of comprehendible records, and their high sugar distractibility made individualization—teaching—laughably impossible. Advice from my "mentor teacher" included teaching one subject to the class and individualizing the evaluation, and adding an addendum to the *records*. 

While seeming to address the problem this method is a likely waste of the education dollar already so jealously spent, and does not have the desired outcome of drawing everything possible from the individual special needs student, anyway. Besides, it contributes to meaningless social promotion, and, I'm convinced, only fills prisons later on. 

As a sidebar, not spending a dollar now to save perhaps a hundred dollars on black hole institutions of incarceration, later on, is not what I am in the teaching profession for. I want to teach a kid how to read, and do long division. The field that I am in requires a high degree of individualization to accomplish that, especially necessary with the bafflingly changing population of students. Barbour County makes this extremely difficult to achieve.

Add to this a frustrating lack of real communication that irritated the kids—many times I could just not understand what they were saying (a predictable result of defacto segregation). Additionally, there is a huge capacity for violence (likely sugar-fueled) that had me constantly avoiding fights in my classroom—becoming physically involved with them outside, and hearing about others involving, even, the student leadership of the school. All the classes on my last day were noticeably depleted as a result of one morning brawl, for example. It was an interestingly busy first three weeks, but interesting only in the manner of the Chinese curse (may one live in interesting times), and sadly, not suggesting that I would be effective were I to stay on. Finally, it only contributed to my decision to leave.

The harshness of the kids was expected, I hasten to point out. They did not contribute to my decision to quit. It was the seeming disrespect that the county had for them that finally did. I could not be a supporter of this inexplicable and ironic (certainly ultimately disastrous) de facto segregation. I could not be a member of that kind of team. And, what could it be but the clear and demonstrable disrespect of Barbour County for the sensibilities, moralities, and realities of its rural special education population and, indeed—entire student body. One wonders what well-hidden old southern aristocracy or outdated ideal allows this unfortunate and cross purposed educational conundrum to continue. I mean no disrespect, and then I mean every disrespect!

I gave Barbour County its money's worth. I demonstrated such and was prepared to devote the focus of my life to an educational effort for the special needs kids of Barbour County. I arrived early; I worked late. I financed its production from my own pocket. The experience personally cost me about $500 dollars. 

I felt MY responsibility to the county was honored, but Perhaps Barbour county feels that its responsibility to the teachers of its children stops with its inappropriately tiny paycheck. This may be symptomatic of the conditions at Barbour county schools. Plainly, it is disrespect personified to be in alert status, playing an educated game of moving selected students from the forth stanine to the fifth stanine, a practice of other alert schools, but a practice gratifyingly condemned by Clayton's principal who would prefer to "educate ALL of the children ALL of the time," The best, and likely only, ethical alternative.

Solutions to insoluble problems are largely a matter of showing respect, I've discovered in the winter of my old age. This high school needs an infusion of it in the form of facilities, many more teachers, and in as much as I saw as much as a sixth of the entire student body in my class (and I was one teacher in twenty-four), many of them should be special needs teachers.

These kids ARE getting their education, sir and madam, but it's coming from their group of peers, "HOT" 105, TV, and gangsta' rap—not from the classrooms of Barbour county. Seemingly, Barbour county is where the student's society demonstrates contempt for them—driving them into the arms of the former.

The lack of respect demonstrated for them in their classrooms with regard to educational materials... that smell (as if they have been splashed with urine and vomit) is returned exponentially in the smoky contempt and disrespect that Barbour county students generate, display, and shed reflexively, automatically, and with regularity. 

This is not restricted to the special needs population but is rampant from its "top" students on down. Please be advised that these are not the piqued and offended sensibilities of an old soldier used to (a largely mythical) military discipline. All allowances that can be made allow for that. My observations try to carry minimal bias. All I mean is to give these kids something to respect, demand that respect, and usually get it! Fill real schools now, or tragic prisons later on . . . right now I perceive Barbour in a tragically avoidable actualization of the latter.

I am reluctant to contribute to that, and so I am regretfully compelled to withdraw. My apologies to the County for any inconvenience I may have caused, but, in all honesty, sir and madam, the fault was not mine.  

...Remains, finally, the advice of the County's administration to "go ahead and sign" a fraudulent contract I'd already refused to sign because it indicated too much salary based on degrees that I did not have.  That was one straw passed the penultimate, eh?  So, not why did I quit, so much, as why was I driven away?

I suspect that we can in turn suspect an answer to that question...
                                                                                 

Alfred Lehmberg
Failed Teacher


Saturday, July 06, 2013

...A Likely Crime!

.
.
I'm just ONE voice in this crowd, and though I've listened hard (...out loud!) ...beneath contempt: these petty men, who'd counsel we're *alone*, my friend!  Shermer, Nickell, Nye, and Plait: reductionism's holy faith; McGaha, Randi, Penn and Teller: Cartesianistic Bible Sellers.
.
I have listened to these *learned*, grokked their books—aced my college—and they do NAUGHT but leave deep holes ... stunted thinking ... shallow goals.  Grokking's more than one can bear where cowardice connives, mon frére, imagination's not respected—novelty is disrespected, and rejected beyond bounds the Multi-verse does glare and frown...
.
These portend reality, ...though "dissing" facts that won't "agree," and counterfeiting history, just resell old hypocrisy!  They're beyond contempt I've found, in aggregate: most non-profound.
.
I look into a starry sky and see potential, depth and time. I realize that there's enough—of all the truly needed stuff—to sail passed imagination, leaping ANY protestation!
.
More than we'd believe we've sailed... forbidden fictions, legends—tales... has happened in those stellar reaches ... there to torment, stress, but teach us!
.
Lost in time and dusty space 
could live the creatures of some race 
who'd solved the problems that we face 
or vanished there without a trace...
. 
Angels, monsters, neither... both... 
things beyond the wholly loathed... 
A paradise... an anxious hell, 
where we would stay or dread to dwell, 
but existing and extant 
beyond conjectured... callous cant. 
.
We'd believe "they" CAN'T be here, assigning them our limits, fears; pretending that they shan't surpass... achievements reached by human craft?  Like we bejewel creation's crown, are not, in fact, creation's clown; and that at best.  We could do worse.  Existence could—well be—that curse!
.
Yes, we pronounce imagined "laws"—tell "others" where their line is drawn! ...Squirty guffaws messing pants at such hubristic arrogance!
.
We pronounce our flawing physics airily like fools not "with it." We ignore new paradigms if they don't fit tradition's rhymes, and we don't care to spend the time to re-do work—a likely crime.
.
We're a bunch of sad pretenders, charlatans and glad offenders living in a noxious past which gloats obscenely, failing tasks! No one finds the facts they need all mixed with "misdirection's" feed, which keeps their status quo alive so they can *live* while WE "survive."
.
Hear them tell you "no free lunch" 
propounding concepts you can't crunch. 
Complacent, they're a feckless bunch; 
plus they're unbrave. That's more than hunch.  
No free lunch?  Tell that to Walmart... 
they're on the "public dole," and stalwart!
.
Something's hidden well, inside, and wrapped within a gauze of lies, and we can't put our finger ON our *strange* discomfort—though clear and strong. We're tied or mated to our fear in ways to make control more *clear*, and so won't question "pretty lies" to weave their phony web—disguised.
.
We are wives and husbands—children ... mothers, fathers, other brethren ... needing forecasts we can trust to plan a future as we must!
.
We would have things solid, useful, realistic, substantial—truthful!
.
...We'll grow tired of your "usual," 
grow cynical—then resentful! 
Riots in the streets, at last, 
when we discover what's gone passed! 
That time just may be coming fast, 
when you're* the one confused—harassed!
.
I don't have the "facts", I'm told, by churlish goons and shallow scolds. I'm the liar, I'm accused, when I would point where we're abused, or offer that we can't get *facts* from cyber-thugs who grind an "axe"!
.
Something not admitted slinks behind facades of fishy-stinks! Yes, it would change the way we feel to know, at last, what's true and real! Someone knows the real deal, will take what they can grab and steal, and make their judgement (if unreal!) as to, then, how YOU should feel!
.
I'm standing here, my leg is damp; 
you're saying that it's *raining*, champ!
.
Trouble is, I heard your zipper, know the "smirk" and see your whisper, smell ammonia, (used asparagus?)—you should drink more water, "Careless"!
.
I can't believe what you propose; it's blown from Aristotle's nose—that saucers shan't command our skies, that time and space won't prove you* lie, that we are "hidden, unobserved, so quite alone, and undisturbed."
.
I don't believe your mechanisms, I don't go in for your religion, I don't "buy" your evening news, believing cops should never lose.  I'm akimbo as regards the manner of your "manner," pard.  You betray our every trust, and I protest this very much!
.
You have earned my piqued disgust. It grows as you provoke mistrust. Insult (try!) provokes me further, infuriates—increases ardor—and I, at last, regard our sky ... those tiny points of light described, feel space—a living thing—and know you* for the "shit" you sling!
.
...And then you'll feel a righteous blade composed of words (yes, be afraid!) to whisper "anxious incantations," to live forever, be contagious—to be hard lyrics in a song... how wrong you'd been and all along!  You'll atone with every verse, you psychopaths will lift your curse, and we will know the efficacious, each of us be perspicacious... each of us... self-actualized! Accreditation!  Satisfied!
.
Peak experience. Life's fulfillment.  Happiness that's circumfluent!


alienview@roadrunner.com
http://www.alienview.net/





Klasskurtxianism: It's a word I coined in a mash-up of the names Klass and Kurtz—two CSI heavyweights—to put a name to aspects of their anthropomorphic, arrogant, reductionist, hubristic, Cartesianistic, and cowardly philosophy. "Klasskurtxia" is, I submit, a graceful co-mingling of Onomatopoeia and self-definition clattering concussively if effortlessly off the tongue and palate like a big porcelain urn of live snakes dropped in the CSI Commissary.  The shattered sound of the commission of an intellectual crime like I said.

A conspiracy is always criminal. There is always a "victim" victimized. You, reader!

I look up and hear Mozart and Beethoven. The Status Quo offers an assumptive monotone of "How Much is that Doggie in the Window." One can understand why I might be askance and akimbo in the "offered's" regard, eh? Bitten and shy, eh? Building Seven.

Thanks, but ... I'll just keep looking up, out, and in.

Oh, and ... *you know who you are.

Restore John Ford!

Sunday, April 28, 2013

...Ordinary Joe...

.
.
.


Take someone like this Firmage fellow: an ordinary "Joe," but plainly individual: still "drove a Chevy" don't you know. 
.
He owns his home but "won't have three," despite the fact he's off his knees.  ...By "off his knees," I mean "well off"; he rode the "DOT COM" wave well, hoss!
.
Yes, he had power, grace and style, capped success—a winning smile. Still, all in all, he kept his head; he practiced self-control instead.  See, he'd embark a different path. Concrescence loomed; he did the math.
.
He perceived the fractal facts; "things don't happen once, frere Jack."  Where there's "once" there's "twice" and "thrice"—then rolling exponential dice! So, looking up to see a star, he'd wondered where the space folk are!
.
Well they are here in point of fact; seven "tiers" establish that.* Joe's not fooled by strained ambivalence—facile phactual™ insignificance, base reductions, turgid flotsam, Cartesianism's pompous Occam... he propounds a truer science—balanced systems—self-reliance.
.
So he's aware what's watched is changed! Still, he seems calm and non-deranged. No, his interests seem not based on profit, so, perhaps a little like a prophet; he seems oddly genuine—for what it's worth—a man of men!
.
It's hard to hate his message, clear, that I myself had written here. See, UFO's are all mixed up with attitudes on cleaner thoughts. Present mores? Homocentric! Earth destroying—Anthropocentric!
.
We are, FOLKS (!), the Earth's "disease," and function thus from bloodied knees!
.
This is what Joe talked about—that there is more... within, without ... than dreamt of in a current system mired in dogma's feudalism!
.
Perhaps perceived as planet killers, we're errant rashes, burns, and blisters everywhere we settle down—we're pus and mucous wearing crowns! We've small respect for one another, double crossing "friends"  and brothers!  We're in no way efficacious, we're psychopathic and fallacious; at our worst when things go well... if at our best with things like hell...
.
Why... we have small respect for life surviving us through "strike" and "blight"! We are what we make at last, and that's the air you'd suck and gasp—begging now those second chances... you let go for cash advances.
.
Slash and burn in ignorance. Practice your belligerence. Blow up nukes like firecrackers; act like selfish, stupid slackers.
.
Firmage wants to touch the stars, and somehow, nobly, make them ours. He relates strange things he's seen, but make it seem like MORE than "dream."
.
Our destiny is in our face? We'll live with others out in space? We'll take our place, and earn our spot, we'll work... so they won't have to drop... some bolide from an angry sky to wipe us out—insure we die?
.
Yes—tell me how we're NOT disease to bring our planet to its knees with poisons we have thrown around for *greener lawns* so far from sound. Firmage has a better plan, he's got the juice—and he's the man!
.
He has (in fact)—straight up—admitted... ... joy in no way seems attrited... in his struggle for some truth—though "heavens" fall, and *hell* breaks loose! See? Giving in to righteous change is stepping up our scope and range! It's adapting—where required—insuring that survival's sired!

We adapt and overcome, not do the same where that's found dumb!
.
It puts us in the asteroid belt, secures a future Firmage felt. Hell is vanquished soon enough if YOU get off your flaccid duff, and make a "search" important business, investigate this stuff*—sans glibness.
.
Something crazy's going down—written records are profound. History is pregnant with it. Crowds of people SEE them—Jesus!
.
Firmage wants the honest look, SCIENCE used, and by the book—but using an imagination, taught by ALL the data's lessons! Look for better plans, designs—newer model's paradigms! Asking ALL the tougher questions, tolerant of new suggestions (say: emptied prisons building schools before we fail ourselves to fools?).
.
In-depth study shows the curse our "disrespect" has made much worse.
.
Firmage had the stone to question... CUSTOM and its infestation. Ceremony's been corrupted—psychopaths uninterrupted... TRADITION is a suspect tool—abusive, and it's learned in school! MORALITY from corporations (?), ETHICS from "relig-oppressions" (?), dancing to convenient tunes where few MAY win—but most will lose... is NOT what we might really do.
.
Firmage thinks, I think, that's true!


alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net




*...a massive evidentiary pathway known across seven categories to include:

(1) the Historical textual documents glyphed in soot and cut into stone or otherwise writ in ancient inks on cracking vellum
.
(2) the extant Artistic Historical from primitives on the walls of their caves, through Middle-Age wood-cuts, to the masterpieces of the masters on rough canvas and slick gesso later on
.
(3) the quality Anecdotal reports backed up by multiple vetted witnesses and corresponding radar
.
(4) genuine Photographic efforts prior to digital photography provided by Dr. Bruce Maccabee, et sig al
.
(5) extant Physical Traces of landing UFOs as laboriously outlined by Ted Phillips and others
.
(6) the "wholly Personal" evidence, individually conclusive if you have any as I do and...
.
(7) ...even the Mathematical, reader, as it is described in modern physics regarding the consequences of satisfying necessary requirements, requirements accounting for "the formality of the actual occurrence" of something physical in this multi-verse (humanity "happened" so "others," of similar mechanism and artistry, must have occurred) but, specifically, as it is described in Probability One by Amir D. Aczel, PhD.

Alien intelligence, reader, is a certainty! Moreover, the evidence—entirely if ironically in concert with Fermi—is that they are here. Pack that pipe and spark it, eh?

Aren't we more than the sum of mere parts? Short answer? Of course. We are what we cooperate to be! Even a history largely written by sociopaths shows the truth of that... Yet, my reach exceeds my grasp, and that's what heaven's FOR! I'd be damned, myself, but for that kingdom which IS at hand, eh? Your God's speed, Mr. Firmage...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE and
Joe Firmage [was] Paying for It... 


By Laura Rich 

 **

You can tell the story of Joe Firmage a number of ways: He's a saint, he's a wacko, or he's just a rich guy with good intentions and questionable means.
.
Firmage, 28, is the former CEO of Internet start-up USWeb, the successful interactive agency that made headlines in September 1998, when it was announced that USWeb would merge with CKS to form Reinvent. One month later, Firmage himself made headlines, when his involvement in a project he calls "Kairos" was revealed and he stepped down as USWeb's CEO. On Jan. 8, 1999, he resigned from the company completely, after the press had taken the Kairos story and run with it, portraying him as a UFO nut.
.
Now Firmage is off on a new project set to launch by the end of the year -- EarthCity, an e-commerce venture that will allow consumers to direct revenues from their purchases to nonprofit organizations. But until he makes a new fortune, creates a new empire, he will be hounded by those who mock him for pursuing, as he puts it, "The Truth."
.
It all started with a vision.
.
It was just before El Nino came to town, in October 1997, when the sun was still unwaveringly beating down upon Silicon Valley. Joe Firmage was working endless days to smooth the edges on countless drafts of papers to be filed with the Securities & Exchange Commission, so that the company he founded with Novell colleague Toby Corey in 1995 could make a run on the public stock market.
.
One morning, before the SEC papers were due but after he'd pressed the "snooze" button on his alarm clock, Firmage fell back to sleep. During that time, he says he was visited by a "remarkable being, clothed in brilliant white light," carrying a glowing blue sphere, the size of a basketball. The two exchanged words about space travel.
.
Just before Firmage was about to make that most symbolic move of taking his company public and "cashing in" -- a leading motive for most entrepreneurs -- he suddenly shifted his mental course. He says he realized he was in a position of power, and that he could do good with it or do evil. In the last hours before he was about to "sell out," Firmage was struck by a desire for a more rewarding avocation. He was prepared to give it all up to better society.
.
One year later, Firmage shocked the industry, which, it should be noted, is not closed to creativity, by revealing a project -- a Web site called Kairos -- that he'd been working on. Kairos is a Greek term with many definitions. Firmage's meaning is "the right moment." or "opportune."
.
"Ours is a Kairos moment," the site read. It posed a series of questions ("What is the future of learning? Will wars ever end? What is the future of religion? What would life from another world be like?") and went on to offer some "clues." The site prompted a wave of speculation about Firmage, mainly in the vein of Gary Reischel, a partner at venture capital firm Softbank Technology Ventures, who sits on USWeb's board. "A crackpot," he told The Standard, summarizing what he'd been hearing on the street.
.
The Kairos Web site turned out to be a teaser campaign for the ultimate product, a 600-page online "book" on life, religion, science and spirituality called The Truth . "That was what you call 'good marketing,'" Firmage says of Kairos, which logged 10,000 visitors per day at the time. The clues, of which there were 10, included links to books, writings and art by Carl Sagan, Vanevar Bush, the Pope and others.
.
"I want people to understand something here," Firmage says. "I have spent well over $3 million on this project. And I'm not expecting a single dime in return."
.
Before there was Kairos, before there was a focus for derision, Firmage was both liked and not liked. Wall Street types liked him because he made them money. More experienced competitors didn't because he was young and successful. Within USWeb, he was not a natural manager. He was always, however, respected as a visionary.
.
Firmage's career started taking off early. In 1989, he launched Serius Corporation, a software company, in his hometown of Salt Lake City, Utah. He sold it in 1993 to Novell for $24 million, and went to work as vice president of strategy in Novell's NetWare division. The unit's purpose was to promote and sell NetWare, an operating system for wide area networks (meaning it would provide the same computer language and interface for machines that were linked together, so that they could communicate more easily). The computer language for NetWare was Unix, which is what much of the Internet is based on.
.
In 1995, Novell decided to sell its rights to Unix, which Firmage thought was a terrible idea. "They had a wondrous opportunity with their Unix operating system," he says. "Novell owned the rights to Unix, which, today, ultimately runs the Internet. And 60 days after Netscape went public, Novell decided to sell its rights to Unix. I thought that was an insane decision and, therefore, I decided to leave. I was not optimistic about the prospects for Novell. And, of course, between then and now, it's taken a long, long time for Novell to even start to look like a turnaround."
.
Before Firmage left Novell, he met Toby Corey, a former Ashton Tate executive who was NetWare's vice president of marketing. "We saw the world the same way," says Firmage. "We were both frustrated with Novell. It was like birds of a feather." Furthermore, "Toby is one of the most brilliant operational managers I've met. And he has a deep understanding of marketing."
.
Corey, who would not return phone calls for this story, said last fall in an interview about his last days at Novell with Firmage, "We felt there was an opportunity, a shortage of people who could help businesses take advantage of the Internet."
.
With the Internet in their sights, the two decided to strike out on their own. Corey and Firmage moved to Silicon Valley, where the money and necessary talent for start-ups was more readily available. In March of 1996, USWeb was launched as a joint venture with Ziff-Davis, which owns Softbank Technology Ventures. Ziff-Davis is no longer a partner in USWeb, but Softbank is still on USWeb's board.
.
The first round of criticism could best be termed the "McWeb complaint." Competitors said the company was making a commodity business out of a service business, and that Web design should be based on individual attention to clients -- not an entirely inaccurate claim. Firmage and Corey say they could not become the major consulting firm they hoped to be if no one knew who they were. So they built their brand by licensing their name and business model for $25,000 per year and 7 percent of revenues to affiliates, who would also gain access to USWeb's growing base of technology partners. "We signed 40 or so affiliates and gained a recognizable brand early on," Corey explained last fall.
.
In March of 1997, enough brand equity had been built. The company's roster of technology partners included the cream of the crop, including Microsoft, Novell, Cisco and Sun Microsystems, and $20 million had just been raised in a private capital round. USWeb hired a mergers and acquisitions team led by Bruce Gilpin, a former venture capitalist, and set about building a network of wholly owned firms.
.
They swallowed up companies such as San Francisco-based Ikonic, W3 Design in Los Angeles and Reach Networks in New York: smallish, creative firms considered specialty boutiques. USWeb also bought Gray Peak Technologies, a technology firm on Long Island for $100 million in stock. The idea was to amass a balance of talent across the creative, technology and strategic sectors of Internet marketing and business operations. Although USWeb officials made statements to the press asserting that the original brand names of the shops would not be changed, once each deal was closed, what happened was the equivalent of a truck backing up to the new acquisition: A USWeb team would take over the shop's existing ways with the goal of making their processes more organized and efficient, like USWeb's. Logos were changed, new business cards were handed out and all computer systems were exchanged for USWeb's own. Employees were expected to download their expertise onto a companywide network called the Knowledge Base.
.
In this way, Firmage became an Internet mogul and a respected businessman, even if he was somewhat disliked for his smugness. Critics complained USWeb's tactics drained their acquisitions of the freedom to be creative. Firmage and Corey countered that by taking over administrative tasks, the shops were actually freer to be creative.
.
In the meantime, Firmage was working on The Truth. Over the course of the book, the author, with contributions from others, runs through the history of the planet from geological, biological, physical and spiritual perspectives. Links off of a sort of poem act as a guide, or menu. The poem, his thesis, goes like this:
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Evolving in a place called Eden Is a promising young civilization. We grow more dangerous yet wiser each day. Teachers have taught us through the ages.
.
They are watching us now. The Cosmos is their ocean, and they have been mindful of our need to develop.
.
At what moment in history would these visitors want us to join them? What will we become when we do?
.
We shall meet them as the Men and Women of the Earth.
.
...And ask them for their Truth." 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.
An image of a DNA strand bisects the poem.
.
Firmage's primary hypothesis is that the Earth has been visited by extraterrestrial life forms who have contributed their own developments -- such as fiber optics -- to our scientific history. These visitations have been expedited by time travel.
.
He also has no doubt that humans will, before long, resolve the mystery of gravity. Firmage describes a "new vehicle" in The Truth -- a self-propelling, antigravity machine (only its technology, not its assembly, has been determined, he says). But, for the time being, he drives a red Corvette convertible. "And I will be the first one to turn it over in exchange for one of these new vehicles, believe me," he says.
.
In the last section of The Truth, Firmage describes his dream-state encounter with the hovering Christ-like figure. That's where you find sections beginning, "I am the body," "I am the civilization" and "I am the creator of everything that comes after me," in which it's unclear about whom the pronoun "I" refers.
.
Plans for a new CEO at the merged USWeb and CKS had been in the works, but were accelerated when the company began to receive unwanted publicity over Kairos. Sources say Mark Kvamme, CEO of CKS Group, the company with which USWeb was merging at the time, went berzerk when he heard about Firmage's Web site.
.
On Nov. 3, 1998, Firmage stepped down from his post as chief executive officer of USWeb, the company he built, to make way for Robert Shaw, a former top executive at Oracle and a Silicon Valley heavyweight with the Booz, Allen & Hamilton resume and salt-and-pepper hair to prove it. Kvamme, unreachable for days -- "at merger meetings," according to his assistant -- finally returned calls only upon news of Firmage's replacement. He continues to refuse to discuss Firmage or his book.
.
A few weeks after his resignation as CEO, two days before Thanksgiving and a day before his online book was to be launched, Firmage showed little outward signs of last-minute jitters. He wasn't distracted by the merger, or by his book, or by an interview in the midst of it all. He chose to discuss his reputation, saying he would lose nothing with the publication of the book and noting that he's in a good position to take risks with his ideas. After all, he has a proven track record.
.
"Outside the Valley, the spin will be however the newspapers choose to report it, right? So let's say it's the Wall Street Journal," which has written several stories on him and knows his business history, a confident Firmage asserted. "That's a national circulation. USA Today knows me. So, when they report, they'll always say, 'and this guy built this company,' 'a bright young guy,' whatever. So, I get credibility, because of my history."
.
But Firmage's credibility was strained throughout the next few months as he continued to receive more and more disparaging publicity. On Jan. 8, he cut his ties to USWeb, saying he wanted to protect the company from the flak he was receiving for The Truth.
.
But Firmage insists he's not a martyr, nor a cult leader (in an interview with USA Today, he said, "Someone said I'm trying to become the next L. Ron Hubbard," referring to the founder of Scientology. "I don't know of any comment that could be less appealing."). He says he's simply trying to spread some of the inspiration he's found to others, so that they will change their lives to better all of humanity. The outcomes include an end to consumer behavior that strains natural resources and the empowerment of individuals to become independent of the "system."
.
"A lot of people -- in fact most people -- don't know where that inspiration can come from. And what has replaced a God in their life is consumerism. How much do we worship the dollar? Think about that," he says. "There is a load we are placing on strained, limited natural resources. It's a very fragile planet. And unless we wake up and start to realize a different way of life, a more ecologically sound way of life -- frankly, a slower-paced life -- I very much fear for the survival of this species. And that sounds like a remarkable, bold statement. But it's also absolutely true. Talk to any biologist with a good set of credentials and they'll tell you exactly the same thing: The world is headed for disaster. If we're not smart enough and we're not courageous enough to look ourselves in the mirror and say, here's what we look like, here's what were doing, than we deserve to die in an ecological disaster."
.
Firmage recounts his years as a "youth" -- his word -- as the fifth of seven children in a Mormon family. His father had worked in the White House as Hubert Humphrey's press secretary and ran for a U.S. Senate spot as a Democrat during the '70s -- "which is about as close to suicide as you could possibly come [in conservative Utah]," notes Firmage. He remembers that his parents fought against expansion of land-based missile tests. He says that his father was a senior member of the Mormon church and a famed lecturer on theology. He doesn't mention that his parents split up when he was 18, when his father left the Mormon church, and that he dropped out of school to live with his dad. And in all the times he mentions his father -- whom he seems to respect and adore very, very much -- he does not mention that one of the biggest moments in his father's life was when he came out as a gay man a few years after his divorce.
.
Lots of people do like Firmage, recent media coverage notwithstanding. Those who have spent any time with him are ready to sing his praises. And he realizes this. In several interviews, in The Truth and several times within this interview, he refers to "people who know me."
.
Last October, he sent out an e-mail to USWeb employees, informing them of the project on which he'd spent $3 million and countless hours over the past year. Drew Stepek, 28, responded.
.
Stepek had been toiling away in USWeb's Los Angeles office, working on scripts for the online version of NBC's Homicide and The Practice. He was a frustrated writer, looking for an outlet. He wrote Firmage and told him he wanted to help. They bonded over the discovery of their ages. Stepek was five days older than Firmage, but, they concluded, they couldn't have been more different. Firmage had been raised in the orderly, conservative town of Salt Lake City. Stepek grew up in a fast-paced, middle-class town on the East Coast. Firmage wore suits. Stepek died his hair yellow and wore baggy pants. Firmage was a businessman. Stepek was a creative type.
.
"He thought I was part of this hip-hop crowd," says Stepek. Firmage ultimately asked Stepek to write 10 pages on what life is like for a "youth" these days. The result is found in the "We grow more dangerous" section of The Truth. It's a "semiautobiographical" account of Stepek's last year in high school, in which his best friend is shot to death right before his eyes and another friend commits suicide because she can't escape her stepfather's molesting advances. The story is intended to be Firmage's way of giving readers a glimpse into the lives of "our children."
.
"Joe is a really nice dude," Stepek says. "I can't really dispell anything in his book. He believes it. That's what's important."
.
Stepek isn't the only one who's standing -- at some distance -- by Firmage throughout an ordeal that has put him in the awkward position of UFO poster boy. "I was his critic, until he told me his epiphany," said Ed Firmage, Sr., Joe's father, in December. "It's clear that Joe had experienced something profound. He's always been intensely rational, except for this last thing. What he's doing now, I can understand. But I could see more clearly than Joe what it would do to his corporate life."
.
Firmage behaves as if he's the first to discover the troubles many people have, or the ties between various religions and the points where they intersect with science. Furthermore, his naivete shows no more clearly than through the thoroughly Christian and Western slant of the entire book, a book that claims it is a resource that can tie together all walks of thought and types of people and lend them the knowledge to change their lives and the world. He says on the day before the book launches that those people who don't have the werewithal to take his knowledge and improve their lives "don't deserve to be a part of the future society."
.
And he believes that all critics have to do to be convinced is to read the book. But skeptics did read the book. And they lambasted him.
.
He's not pleased with the way the media has skewered The Truth. The free paper, the Silicon Valley Metro, featured the Firmage story on its cover, giving it full tabloid treatment with the headline "Silicon Valley CEO Meets the Aliens," and adorning the article with illustrations of aliens. Once Firmage revealed his complete departure from USWeb/CKS earlier this month, the San Francisco Chronicle and the San Jose Mercury News followed with their own stories, similarly portraying him as a flying saucer-chaser.
.
Over the Martin Luther King Day weekend, Firmage was expected to release a condensed, printable version of the book. He also says he will continue to communicate directly with those who have visited The Truth.
.
But why call it "The Truth"? He utters two words: "Monica Lewinsky."
.
"You look at the consequences of a relatively minor lie in the office of the President, and you look at the consequences," says Firmage. "If you really wanted to change civilization, for the better, what would you do? If there was one thing you could do to change civilization for the better? Tell the truth. Because ultimately, the truth will guide people where they need to go. If we knew how we were damaging the environment, we could fix it. If we knew when a President was lying, we could deal with it." The Truth, says Firmage, will set you free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.
Restore John Ford.

Grok In Fullness

...We Get "Comments"

...We Get "Comments" by Alfred Lehmberg Lately, this writer gets the limpest, if risibly threatening, commentary from the nastier...

WHAT'CHA READIN'!