...Numbed...

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Science is wondrous! It gives us ourselves! Its gift's a release from our "devils" and "hells."  It's turned us to *gods*—though a lower case "g"—and it's gone a long way for the "brave" and the "free." It's made us efficient, extended our reach, expanded our grasp... all in all? It's a peach!
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...But that's a veneer made too much of itself!  Remains it's a threat to our happiness! Health!  Terence McKenna was to show, in his day, that science wrote checks that its ass couldn't pay! Science: a tool for efficient incision, but what it is NOT is religious conviction.  Verily, yes, it is this that it does, with a wave and a nod and an arrogant buzz: but proudly demand that itself be the judge of that it dismisses, ignores... and misjudged.
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...Still, it shows we're a mote in the eye of the cosmic, a flicker of sentience not alone in the dark! It flies in the face of complacent indifference, our pride, self-possession and a hubris gone stark! Though, we choose to avoid larger lessons it teaches, that we're a mere speck in the eye of some God who is so far above us he's blithely forgotten to give us attention, and so spares us his rod!
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Perforce we are plagued with an odious ignorance... the sordid results of those faults all our own, as some lack respect for the folk shoved beneath them... where lacking compassion draws blood from a stone!
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Yes, some we "ignore," and these keep for themselves, the secrets improving our lives? Bloody HELL!!
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The secret? That—power—to stand quite alone, take control of your "self", and be—safe—in your home? Well, not trifled by persons providing short change, withholding respect and then showing disdain! There is a free lunch that will keep us alive beyond the constrictions of some, I surmise. But profit's now made with its roots in what's passed and we are obliged to "light farts"—read "burn gas."
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"Some" worship proud science and grind to a halt! Their message is shallow! Its substance needs salt! Their shtick is a limit imposed to pretend that they, quite alone, are your saviors and friends. But that's an untruth and the same kind of lie that I find in man's Gods I decry and despise. See, worship your science and find, with a start, you're losing direction, your purpose—your heart!
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The "mainstream's" co-opted, distorted, deranged, and pulled from the path of a truth-seeking brain! Its true use corrupted from what it should be—a "sense" that is "common", yet wise, and—YES!—free!
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The mainstream's been hijacked by those with "agendas," psychopaths burning our bridges "befriend" us, and we're at a loss in their sea of malfeasance... They've hijacked our will... ...then expect an obeisance!
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My common sense tells me that UFOs are; forgetting we can't know they come from the stars.  Though I am amazed at the conscience of some who would discount the evidence, so prove they're benumbed. Numb in a way that insures our dependence... Numb in a way that precludes our release... Numb in a way that is self-manufactured and lurking those shadows? Disgrace and defeat!
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The "bunkies" opposing are busily passionate, the rest of us tired and lacking resolve. The bunkies are focused, concordant, and allied, the rest us back-bite, or quibble and stall. The bunkies get "air time" and coast the main stream, truthseekers self-publish or live in their dreams.
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So how does it work that the least has the most; that the few will abide as the rest become toast. Well, the bunkies have "science" and "God" on their side, so the rest of us suffer a psychopath's ride! None call it treason that few would conspire to limit the heights to which we'd aspire. Though we are constrained, and against our best interests! Misinformed and benumbed: we are weak and defenseless!
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Comes a new dawn when the Eschaton's here. Concrescence is looming to predispose fear. We as we were? Well, we won't have a clue. We as we'll be? Friend, that's a guess, too.

alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net

Man's Gods.  God's of "Man."  Memes and ideas, compelling though they may be and created by an individual, first, to stay on a perceived intellectual incline, are ultimately hijacked and corrupted by the unelected few to do the convenient bidding of those few.  These are the the remnants of betrayed Truth, reader, caught in a cloying aspic of lies and wielded by psychopathic charlatans wearing dresses and collars. Though, expires "the man's" God as man expires, perhaps.  What is God without humankind but regarded not at all.  Verily.  That's what happens to a "God" you invent to do your own bidding.
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See, true stories, myths, and legends—once captured in impressed clay and old stone from 8000 BCE and beyond—endure, indeed, but, unfortunately become distorted archetypes, memes and mythic metaphors receiving the most current "indoctrinating spin": a spin exclusively facilitating pompous priests and klasskurtxian kings and waxing on the most "common" of the "common era" truths, only!  No real empowering stuff shared, eh?  Just "control mechanisms" of the immortal 1%...  truths at last perverted and otherwise distorted to become a vehicle for the authoritarian rule of feckless misanthropes like Big Dick Cheny.  As history is largely writ by the sociopath, there is of needs a clearer and more honest record of same when one reads between the lines... or in the alternative history extant... for example Zinn, Parenti, or Loewen.  Humankind is predisposed out of greed to the low road reader, and this is precisely why we have phony "feel-good" one.  That true history raises too many questions... along with eyebrows and tempers and so begs the question. "Why do we do this to ourselves?"  Why indeed.
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Praise God, eh? Not so fast, Skippy. Not unless it is the God described by Theodore Sturgeon in his capstone novel, Godbody. His is the only gospel worth considering, imo.  Read it and see for yourself. Described is the way religion might be—needs to be—could be.
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See, like Sturgeon, and Spinoza and Santayana, my "mal-attributed" atheism is born out of my true appreciation and respect for the unknowable universe and not a result of the errant Gods fashioned by men to do their self-serving and convenient will as alluded to above... commercial Gods made and then re-made out of whole cloth to impose the desires of a predatory few. Remade?
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Evolution is fact!  It's "Natural Selection" that is the theory, my Anthropology teacher once informed me, though a theory falling short, pretty much, where it comes to regard humankind.  Evolution...
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Consider the, now ages old, evolution of the Sumerian god Enlil where it is proposed of God's evolution that it must be at least touched by some form of Darwinian imprimatur, eh? ...ongoing evolution seems to describe a panoply of deities issuing forth from the single God of El or AL, morphing through His tortured transition to Yahweh, the God of Abraham, then on to the kinder and gentler God of Peter and Paul... shortly on to Allah and his Islam so as to retwist the thumbscrews as punishment, presumably, for the kinder and gentler... .
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..So to re-cap, the God of Mohammed... Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—father, son, and grandson... each remade, like I said, to suit the convenience of his most powerful proponent... sorry. That's the AlienView... all we are is all we are; it's stretched too thin and goes too far!
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See, if it "works for you," that's fine.  It's your insistence that it is also required to work for your neighbor is the intolerable rub.
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...And then it occurs to me—almost off the subject, so prepare to shift to a lower gear—that perhaps, initially, we make (or remake!) our bad-penny skeptibunkies the same way we make our lap-dog Gods—as a result of good "press," exclusively and regardless plus that raw convenience we've talked about! Consider the highly controversial Kal K. Korff, by way of example, as a good example of a bad example and known hereafter in this monologue as triple "K".
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"Deliberate Remanufacture" by a corrupted mainstream would seem to be the only thing allowing genus triple "K" to do what he does, et al, and that is to spring phoenix-like from the righteous ashes of being caught pretty damned foul vis a vis Art Bell in the not so dim past, then Kevin Randle later on, finally Paul Kimball most recently—certainly foul enough (one would have thought!) to preclude his inexplicably "honored" reemergence with such frequency subsequently! But not so.
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It's something that these "strangely favored" mainstream pundits can do with astonishing regularity.  I write about that process in the link provided below.
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Consider Gerald Posner of "JFK—Case Closed" as an additional example. Here's yet another shill for the corrupted status quo very scholarly discredited in Doctor Michael Parenti's History As Mystery, but Posner lives on... an effulgent example of other well rewarded *mainstream* lap-dogs... doges earning their chew-toys by keeping the rest of us off balance, dis-informed, or happily ignorant of the "true state of affairs."  I'm not the only one who feels this way...
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An expansive search in the UFO UpDate archives for the word "Korff" turns up a plethora of pieces in commentary gleaned from just =3= of 55 total pages of very illuminating contributions—from assorted persons—regarding our intrepid triple "K"... some 550 plus messages! That's quite a compilation of the less than efficacious on any researcher...
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The gist of these messages is tres uncomplimentary... Even "I" don't get that much offended vituperation [g]!
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...And yes!  Ordinarily, I'd be favorably attracted to such a wide-beamed notoriety, but then I remember the bunch for whom he fronts, CSI and purposefully dim-bulbed Klasskurtxia, and besides, triple "K" is wired in such a manner that he raises the hair on the back of my neck along with bile in my throat... view the archives referenced.
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The referenced posts are intelligently critical of triple "K" (on balance) and begin to outline an individual begging to have the whole skeptical program roundly re-criticized, unfavorably re-considered, and thoroughly re-discredited. But up, like a whack-a-mole "K" inexplicably pops, regardless!  I've chronicled this actuality before regarding others  ...UP they pop, again and again... Dr Reed, Shawn David Morton... David Jacobs. What's up with that!?!
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If it were me, or you, gentle reader, we would be sued, fined, secured to stocks, and otherwise solidly pilloried. We'd be tarred and feathered and run out of ufological town on a splintery rail. We'd be indelibly marked, publicly banished, and then professionally shunned. We'd lose our contracts, our book deals, and our professional standing, and we'd never be able to hold our heads up to be taken seriously again! Ever!
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...But, that merry band, including our spring-tailed triple "K" tiggers back up like a bad penny with apparently more Teflon per square inch than Ronald Reagan had on his slickest day! Rich Reynolds, the same, but I digress revoltingly ...
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Back at the UFO UpDates ranch.  The overpowering remainder of the posts on the first three pages of discussion were numerous self-promotions written by triple "K" himself, or they were written by a few contributors taking inappropriate (and unconvincing) pains to be evenhanded. There was but one woman writing a glowing (near worshipful) review for one of triple "K's" typical debunking screeds (as a totally disinterested party?), but that review appearing weeks before the book in question, reportedly, had been released anywhere in the world... This provides a decided pawl on that effusive sum-up!? Sock-puppet-much?  ...But that's another digression, albeit related and pregnant.
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I find that odd, at any rate. You might, too.
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Eventually, triple "K"—et sig al! Look at the recent reemergence of "Dr" (snort!) Jonathan Reed, alluded to above—getting another opportunity to rise up from his justifiable (and well earned) ashes to spread his shadow-making wings again. A "Triple 'K,' " with a dead alien in his freezer will be ever so chock full of revelations, exposés, and the bearer of many "startling" new accounts!
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Rich Reynolds is a similar creature, a bird dumping its fecal load and then flying again... followed by History teacher Dr. David Jacobs, from above, of soiled undergarment, chastity belt and toxic psychiatric suggestion fame.  How does he return from his embroglio, on par or worse than family values US Senator Larry Craig getting popped cruising for unprotected sex in large airport bathrooms and trying desperately to hang around to long....  How does one survive this flesh-crawling incredulous happenstance and keep the respect of the honoring majority.  I digress again...

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Consider that I predicted in February 20, 2002 that triple "K"would even tout himself eventually (however obliquely!) as a hero of "9-11", understand, if you can believe that (and—I—can't!), but Bingo! Too, reader, lately as a "Colonel" in a super, super-secret Israeli Intelligence outfit right out of the Avengers or GI Joe!  Astonishing pule-foolery in high density mawkishness!  Flesh-crawling shame in the observance of it.
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Just another nine-eleven knock-off making mileage on the backs of the silent sacrificed?  How pathetically egregious. See what I mean about the bile?
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I suspect that triple "K" and his adjacent cohorts might even appear like they're taking investigative steps bravely forward, but I fear that we are only going to discover eventually, as we all have in the entirely repetitious past, that they've slid us several steps unbravely back, surreptitiously, once again. You only have to remember triple "K's" porcine squealing on the Art Bell show (like Ned Beaty of Dickey's "Deliverance" fame?) to wonder, as I do, how he (et al) would (could!) ever come back, but they do.  They all do!
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How does that work? That's the real point with this essay... How is it that any of the persons like this, even more thoroughly discredited, always come back.  Triple "K" is a ready example, but there's a plethora of such... Sean David Morton is another as observed above... David Jacobs, also mentioned above, of instant-messages-containing- hypnotic-trances fame is of note, (Notta!) Dr. Jonathan Reed with his "alien in my Freezer"... ...oh you do need a score card.
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For more on this inexplicable re-emergence of faux-skeptical reductionists and flakey paranormalists the reader can visit:  http://ufoproletariat.blogspot.com/2012/10/ufos-in-particular.html
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None call it treason, but what do you call a betrayal of not just country, but all speciation down to the last critter walking, crawling, or stinking!  ...Even Reynolds, for a last digression.  I call it social treason.  Read on.

Restore John Ford!

Intention Makes So!

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I'm "unleashed." I'm running clear—admitting I was once in fear that I'd be found "too much to bear" and culled before I'd traveled "there." I've lost that dread; there're more *pots* cooking; things are brewing; future's looming! What's revealed in drabs and drips suggests, instead, a different trip!
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We are in ACCELERATION! We should start the CELEBRATION! Our consciousness (about to leap!) will split the sky! We'll soar and cleave!
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This is clear in what we sense "between the lines"—if we're not dense. If one is not distracted friend, and takes the time to look (...again?). That there must come some grand transition... some will find an imposition... though just a nervy, paltry few who live at most's expense, it's true.
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Though I digress from history we humans make such mystery. Change is clear; we'll have no lack. Look "up" and "out" and "in"... and "back"!
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Things were "simple" way back when, where *naught* had issued forth, pretend: it's "you are there" at "Time's" beginning, proto-matter gushing—spinning... white hot plasmas flash and glow... ...then hydrogen is born, you know? More Elements evolve at last to cook real slow back in our past...
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...Too, it's LONG before the complex chains of molecules make their exchange... for that which we've descended from—the pace? It's picking up! What fun!
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...Eons come and go, you see, as evolution makes her trees... these hunker down to do a job. They mix the ground and grok good sod. Then forest fauna run and frolic, gaining senses, passions—talents... beating out a path for those who must come after... So it goes...
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Then at last it comes to us, a thinking monkey one shan't trust, as ever faster "things" proceed, outstripping "faith's" corrupting seed!
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Just a SHORT time on this Earth, and humankind exceeds its worth? Holding to tradition's greed, fundies shortchange our whole breed! Arrogant to the extreme, these few invoke their selfish dream and make convenience for their own which proves their hearts were third rate stone.
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Their *illusion* hides from them accelerations HAPPENING, friend! We approach the speed of light! Then what happens? Change! That's right!
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Acceleration's exponential; novelty's preferred, essential! Otherwise there'd be no change from what had been, before, conveyed. Change is coming, fast and fleet! Paradigms evolve, tout suite! Tradition's made a cage, some use, to keep denial well infused.
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The future is upon us, now! Some would, just, ignore it... how? It's faster now, and by progression, it's quickening beyond expression!
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Everything will change, and soon. The time is nigh. We sense high noon. Then suns must set upon their ages... when they're finished... turn the pages... Comes that dawn and one must find... that they're reborn... a different kind! A newer level is achieved! An AlienView's what's now perceived!
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Length and breadth have grander values! Depth and height profoundly call you! Colors go beyond what's seen in nature's rainbow, presently!
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We are on the edge of that which evolution trims as fat. Polliwogs must lose their fins to have their leaping legs, my friend. Worms must spin cocoons of silk to gain the wings of flying ilk.  Human beings within their wombs are carved by Death we don't presume... see, we're in transition's ev-olution torquing up to rev-olution!
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Our cocoons are personal, our consciousness perpetual; too, we've no choice so must continue... this RENDEZVOUS perceived before you!


alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net

It's going to happen regardless. One might as well enjoy it. It's the individual's call; though, this is forgetting it will be a lot stranger than the individual imagined...
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No! Not stranger than imagined! Stranger than it is presently possible to imagine! This is what is transmitted from the prescient "dead lips" of far seeing men and women who have already made that supposition and on whose shoulder's we must gratefully stand!  Perceive that farther horizon!
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This strangeness signifies, perhaps, that changes in scale—and even appreciation of that scale—will have us all slapping our foreheads in embarrassed recognition and provoked facepalms, ironically, at the approaching denouement. A cosmic "a-ha," at last, achieved. A chorus performed: "...Of course" we perceive!
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Most will be astonished. Some will be gratified. Too few will be surprised, not at all.
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Those who would return us to the fifties—and the hugely irrational who would return us to the even more horrific THIRTEEN-fifties— these will be the ones left on the crumbling shoulder of an outmoded, irrelevant, and otherwise outdated cultural highway, wondering why the seeming "rapture" missed them. That rapture passes on the fundies and sweeps up the psychedelic for the ultimate irony!  It remains these remain an obstacle to same.

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We're heading toward a huge spike in aggregate human potential at a rate increasing exponentially. That's what asymptotic means, sort of. This potential would be as the individual would wish it, moreover, assuming the individual's evenhandedness, humility, and tolerant good will. Likely that assumption making an ass of you and me, but still. Potential remains to be potential.
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Indeed, driven by a very real if inexplicable optimism, I suspect we'll all have the opportunity to make our own heavens like we would have them as a function of this asymptotic "spike." We will do this while knowing an individual autonomy, safety, and effectual magnitude never before experienced except by the very, very few for the short, short term. An airy fairy, but my intuition still.
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Everyone will have this autonomy, in comparison. Everyone will be empowered. Everyone will feel the aggregate monkey of back-stepping habit come off their mal-treated, misinformed, and manipulated backs (if they but will it!) to feel, gloriously, ten feet tall!
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Then?
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Then these "taller" people come together into *new* teams wielding an exponentially increased amount of personal power to contribute to the aggregate. This is "exponential increase" in the same fashion as the increase in cultural magnitude from Old Rome to the current 1st world!
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Then?
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Then an efficacious humanity will burst forth from habit's orbit like a sentient newborn star, burst forth to warm the seemingly endless potentials of this lonely sector of blackened backwater space... and beyond!
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Then?
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Then we'll mine the rings of Saturn and turn our systems asteroid belt into a jewel encrusted bracelet on the wrist of a constellation...
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Then?
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Then we'll explore alternate dimensions and refine them to dazzling creations in some new art of intellectually crafted satisfaction—well beyond the limitations present in its current expression or appreciation...
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Then?
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Then we'll meet God on her own terms and discover how wrong we were about EVERYTHING while embracing, at once, what *was* and what *will be* into the immutable and all encompassing *now* composing new music of an individual's quantum reality!
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Then?
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Then cooperation takes on a grander imperative than competition—a new immediacy! Each of us will be the center of the universe in a universe of many, many centers—just as we are now on a vastly smaller scale. Every woman her own Queen, every man his King... if we but will it.
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Intention makes things so.
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Why? Because God (the multi-verse) favors living novelty and eschews dead habit. It's as simple as that.  Mighty fores come to the aid of the brave!
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If the preceding were not true there would be no change in the rate of the universal transition from simple physical occurrences to complex physical occurrences... i.e. The big bang... a superheated and formless plasma for many billions of years is followed by star production for lesser billions of these years. Planet formations are measured in single digit billions, Ecosystems, their creation and evolution, are measured in fractions of a billion, and rudimentary intelligence forms in a mere fraction of that! Full blown sentience, self awareness, and an appreciation of time and space happens in the single snap of cold universal fingers... apparently.
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The reader may have sensed the acceleration attendant to an ageless cycling process of ongoing cosmic refinement, may have felt the sharp asymptotic elbow of documented measurement as humanity accelerates precipitously to this approaching concrescence steepening to an increasing verticality as you read these words.
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Reader!  You should feel the wind in your hair!
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This acceleration is so quick down on the business end of the continuum where we are, that its rate is even perceptible to the individuals—us—living there ... closest to this "spike" or "now" point. It'll get quicker.  It'll get quicker, yet!
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Additionally, people from the not too far distant past, looking forward to us (even as we are), would see a race of gods they would evolve into... not to put too fine a point on it. And this is before our transition past the conjectured "now" spike just before slipping beyond the event horizon of that indescribable concrescence... Looking forward to those of us that transition past the "spike," in that fashion that the ancients would look to us? What would we perceive?
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Whew! Enough! Sorry about this explosive gush of Utopian optimism! I feel like I've been channeling Terence McKenna. I don't know what came over me! My muse was insistent—would not be denied! The spirit was, in fact, upon me as I wrote this, largely in one sitting... I won't apologize for the expression. I'll write what I write as I write it.
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But as for me? I'd aspire to that point described and make my own "rapture." This seems to get more possible each day. Can't you feel it?
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No matter, if you can't. I'll feel it enough for both of us. [g].
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Read on!

The Choice...

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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!

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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?
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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!
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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Better...
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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.
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We're breathing on the cosmic! It's a choice!  "Heaven on Earth" is a choice!  Doesn't anyone else feel that!
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Restore John Ford!

Similarity Across Scale...

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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.
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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.
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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...
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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
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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!
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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!
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...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.
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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!
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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.
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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...
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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.
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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.

Where Do They Go?

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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.
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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!
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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!
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...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.
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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?
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...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.
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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.
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"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."
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"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.
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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
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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?
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...Sometimes it was for weeks...eh?  Where?

Restore John Ford!

It's True!

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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.
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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!
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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?
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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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:
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I won't be cowed or bowed.
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...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.
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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."
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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!
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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!
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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.
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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!
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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?
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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.

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

...A Likely Crime!

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READ BY AUTHOR

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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.
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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...
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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.
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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!
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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!
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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...
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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. 

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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!
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Yes, we pronounce imagined "laws"—tell "others" where their line is drawn! ...Squirty guffaws messing pants at such hubristic arrogance!
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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.
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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."
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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!

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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.
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We are wives and husbands—children ... mothers, fathers, other brethren ... needing forecasts we can trust to plan a future as we must!
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We would have things solid, useful, realistic, substantial—truthful!
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...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!

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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"!
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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!
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I'm standing here, my leg is damp; 

you're saying that it's *raining*, champ!

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Trouble is, I heard your zipper, know the "smirk" and see your whisper, smell ammonia, (used asparagus?)—you should drink more water, "Careless"!
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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."
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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!
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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!
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...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!
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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.

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

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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.

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

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

Restore John Ford!