ITS: The End Of The Story

ITS: The End Of The Story

by Alfred Lehmberg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May confronts the monster...

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

It's what ITS did...

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

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

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

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

Notice the sequestered witness drawings...

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

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

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

flatwoodsmonster.com

Read on...

...I Would Live *Forever*...

I would live forever. I would live to seed the stars. Why, I'd live to see the glad demise of petrol-burning cars!

I'd dare exist in silent space in cities that we built.

I would sip a comet's water. I would farm that comet's silt.

The Earth would be a garden when her language we could speak. We would decrease human numbers... "Less is more," is my critique.

At last, when churlish kidneys went the way of facile flesh?

We'd switch out two "brand new"ones; I'd continue—be refreshed!

I'd needed brand new kidneys, and my fellows used the rest. Flesh is more respected, see; respect's now in neglect!

...I'd live to see our "Asteroid Belt" restructured living space.

We'd build it and not take it... ...to ameliorate our prior disgrace...

We'd treat each other decently. We'd live for one another. The Earth herself? ...A living thing! We would treat her like our Mother.

We'd take her lesson to the stars. We're creatures of her art!

We'd live like we had common sense; we'd live like we had heart.

...And once we had this change of mind, the skies would open wide; we'd find it filled with stellar folk... ...strange folk who used to hide.

Though now they'd hide no longer, see?  We'd discarded errant shame...

 To see them as we'd see ourselves, self-aware and sane.

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

So, they engineered a cloned frog without a head… Yes! I want it. Please continue the research. I'll pay the freight, psychological and pecuniary, on spec... ...but, at your peril! 

Create nothing with even the barest potential for the remotest consciousness! I'm a player only when it's me paying for it. If I have to die... ...well, I have to die, don't I.

...But, I should be able to grow my own replacement flesh—I would live *forever*. I will answer the ethical questions as I go along at select points in the next few thousand years, and that ongoing quest will be driven by asking who has to pay so ...I... can *play*.  Do you grok the implication, reader?

Consider longevity juxtaposed with population... I can cop to the egregious perils of overpopulation; most can't or won't at any level of our society, especially on the institutional, governmental, or ecumenical levels... To cop is to sacrifice, to sacrifice is to endure... enduring we explore... ...that part of the universe created to know itself... ...herself? So, where to go...

A lot of living space can be made from our ring of asteroids. We could be a shining bracelet around our star, just to keep things in perspective. If we can think it, it can be so. Who says we're not God.

You know? The only real way to ensure a quality human being may be to bring the total number of humans down to a level where individual humans are assured of some respect... ...to start! Love the fetus, sure! But only if you love the child too... ...and then the nursing home denizens these children grow into.  Consider, instead. 

Individually sire only once. Do this and our population is painlessly curbed in a single generation, no muss no fuss!  The individual is key!

This is an individual thing. It is from this individuality that teams of real quality have their provenance. Can't you feel it? Again, the individual is key.

...Living *forever* does not seem to add to that. Or does it? Can it? Should it?  I would find out. Scary.

Still...I'd live longer than I'm presently *allowed*. Not because I'm scared to die so much... no, that's a terror of the known unknown. It's because I missed so much of what was here. You know? Space, Time... Surface area?

Out in the asteroid belt, I'd live as far as I could *see*. Unfettered consciousness is a precious, precious thing... ...at the very least it should be.

Read on.

At The Gravesite...

Lieutenant John Jones

There were these fellows, brave stalwarts in the service of their duty, their honor, and their country. Some scant weeks after their own Fourth Of July, let's pretend... it's now somewhat later, September 12th, 1952... are you with me?

Walk with these men. Stanger steps are seldom taken. 

Fading into these boots...you're a flight officer in the nascent Air Forces of the United States in 1952. This writer was four, then. You've been assigned to an airbase on the near-deserted azured green and frothy white coast of panhandle Florida. You are trained and educated to be part of the pool from which would later be drawn moon-walking astronauts. You're not arrogant, only appropriately confident; see, with few contenders of this Earth? You and your brothers would compete in an aspiration to rule Earth's skies. See links to the torrid tale at the conclusion of this piece.

As fate was determined, you go, and oddly, missing in action. It's ostensibly a "training mission," but it's the combat aviator understanding the difference between flying in training and then flying in combat. 

The only difference is the but slight increase of stuff in the air to hit... canopy breached, hot metal flashing through the plexiglass faceplate of your helmet and taking out a side of your face—churning your brain in the bucket of your headgear and then flopping down over your remaining good eye. It happens in training. 

As it turns out, the evidence would point to you flying into some alternative training, Special High-Intensity Training, seriously strange and more terrifying, even, than that alluded to encounter with shrapnel... or an enemy for which one is trained. You didn't sign up for this, even if you would have.

Big sky, little bullets, sure, but then there is the unknown unknown really filling the void of one's unspeakable and imagined loathing! See, you had never trained for what it looks like you were sent out to face.

Actual telegram received by the family...

Ultimately, your folks get the dreaded telegram, a well-known horror of the gold-star family saved like it was written on the skin of you, their loved one... and it rather was. ...Notification that their son or daughter was missing and in dire straights or dead. 

There can be literally no amount of gold stars making the slightest difference... then add that they're never getting a hint of the truth, your memory for them having been "the dead guy blamed for his own misfortune" and needless demise.  An errant pilot, erring. This writer was a military Master Aviator. No pilot wants that as their legacy.

All hopes, then, are coal to a mourning Newcastle... your folk's misery, abject. Then they hear from a man in support of those responsible for what has all the appearances of an Air Force cover-up...

After the board examination of the military, there would be this small stone, quickly forgotten and overgrown. Beneath it lay forgotten dreams... and a sacrifice which has been demeaned.

After the Air Force had washed their hands of him and later on even denying his very existence to Field Investigator Frank Feschino (in two separate inquiries to different agencies trying to get to the bottom of the strange affair), he found the grave and family of Lieutenant Jones.  

Later on, and after many years, Feschino would return to the grave site and plant a few flags for 2018's July fourth. He would have to give the plot a spruce up and then brush time's detritus from the engravings...  remembering. Respecting.

Here lay not the man, one is reminded. His bones, aircraft, and radar operator were never recovered or seen again. Presently, he is but a memory wrongly remembered and dishonored for the convenience of suspicious secret keepers. This writer says true. Feschino would aspire to put that to right.

Frank C. Feschino Jr. would pose plot-side with a Newspaper article chronicling the 1952 affair. This affair would give even retiring Stanton Friedman pause, among significant others. Friedman would provide Feschino support, assist in the investigation, and write the fore an afts of all Feschino's books. 

One wonders why one couldn't be moved to call this an endorsement as close to a death-bed confession as respect and "an appropriate" allows, forgetting... live long and prosper Mr. Friedman! My point is that a guy like Friedman with an unargued reputation is all in on the premise. Stepping down now as rather undefeated champion... ...seems he'd be more careful with a respected legacy... unless...

Regardless, Friedman would agree, I believe, pointing out the supremacy of the directions data takes... data... unspun, it is truth.  That should mean something.

Respectful remembrance at the grave
of a forsaken hero betrayed by a
supposed need for secrecy. 

Seriously? Full-on air-to-air combat? An undeclared and secret air war with ET? ...Endeavoring not to presuppose, the perspicacious follow data for its leadership, it's shown. 

READ THE FULL STORY

Part I of VI

https://alienviewgroup.blogspot.com/2017/08/our-heroes-betrayed-part-i-of-iv.html

Part II of VI
https://alienviewgroup.blogspot.com/2017/08/our-heroes-betrayed-part-ii-of-iv.html

Part III of VI

https://alienviewgroup.blogspot.com/2017/09/our-heroes-betrayed-part-iii-of-iv.html

Part IV of VI
https://alienviewgroup.blogspot.com/2017/09/our-heroes-betrayed-part-iv-of-iv.html

Thinking you know, and knowing not, but pretending you know not when you do know are likely equally egregious, societally toxic, and just no way for sentient humans to live their lives.

Read on.

..On Topic...

"Your writing's off topic on matters of politics"!
"Your subjects distract and, at best, just annoy"!
"What do you gain as you bad mouth our Nation"?
"Where is your loyalty, and where's it employed"?

It's "political" matters that bear obfuscation.
It's your sullen disgust where the UFOs hide.
You'd feel much different were you born in Burundi,
I'm loyal to self.  With the self, one must ride.

"What's all this blather regarding 'conspiracy' "?
"Why do you brood on old history gone passed"?
"How do you qualify "others" from space"?
"Why do you dwell on the miserable past"?

ICE/GOP/RNC fill the papers!
Our history's GONE, *we* don't KNOW what occurred!
Life from some stars are conclusions of science,
And I "dwell" so the "past" will, at last, be preserved!

"What is your profit, if what you say's true,"
"And too few have the rest by the balls"?
"Your success is deterred, as you gain further notice,"
"Even death's more 'assured'—can't you hear its dark call"!

...Not in it for profit—I write what I feel.
I don't want you confused that your care's in their heart.
It's the writing itself that provides me a wage,
And my death will become them that, each, take their part!

"Work's more impossible, the word will go out."
"How shall you teach to a classroom of kids"?
"How will you square all the 'lies' and the 'dissonance'
"To collections of young minds who don't know what's been *hid*?"

I'd be teaching in classes of kids who "don't matter."
My students don't read, or divide, or subtract…
I'd have tought them the truth as I felt that they grokked it?
But the point is now moot, folks. In all truth, I was sacked!

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

Very highly trained militarily, a summa cum laude college graduate (Did you check that, RRRichy?), I'd taught in "special ED" classrooms.  While I did teach... (heavy sigh) ...I would go to bed, every night, knowing, unquestionably, that I was doing a GOOD thing!  

The obligatory shaving the following morning was never a problem like it was on active duty. In a self-mending mode, perhaps I was on the way to forgiving myself for my participation in Viet Nam...

Viet Nam? Let me tell you about Viet Nam. My participation in opposition to that nation of people was a rook, a farce, a sham... and a complacent atrocity.

Since the beginning of their time, I'm betting, those unarguably astonishing people have beaten back every attempt to subvert or enslave them. And with success, reader! Success!

Decades ago, right after the first world war, Viet Nam (believing our own press releases?) came to us for association and aid. Wilson, Truman, and then Eisenhower rebuffed their every extenuation... ...fueled by callous, indifferent, and inhumane racism when the period is read to!

It figures. The United States is legendary in racism's regard!  Where did Hitler get the idea for his Final Solution?  The answer's not comforting.  See, the US was hugely successful clearing out its own native population of "undesirables."  Quite an endorsement for an observing extraterrestrial, eh?

Back to Viet Nam, the French tried to continue their exploiting and unethical colonial imposition, ongoing for decades, until the "little brown men," tired of the abuse and disrespect, ran imperialistic Frank's fat froggy bottoms from their Asian soil like squeaking white roaches! In a pique of punctured euro-centric pride, read "white pride," the United States tried to bring Viet Nam to heel... and was in turn driven from the land squealing like Ned Beatty in "Deliverance".

Once we were gone, the Vietnamese let the Soviets know where the bear went through the buckwheat, and then, not to be outdone? They kicked Chinese BUTT, friend, when Peking started to make its incursion from the North. Verily, Viet Nam has resisted ALL historical attempts to treat their sovereignty with anything but the most profound respect…

These people beat back the late 20th-century WORLD, and SURVIVE to tell the tale, reader!!!

...Too, left alone? They seem to be leaving their neighbors, and the rest of the world... astonishingly... ...alone! That's raw idiosyncratic credit right there, yea and verily!

...It rather paints them as UBUR-MENCHEN—doesn't it!

I respect them.  Anyone with a sense of fair play should.

Again—years later... after decades of misery, tragedy, and recovery from destruction... the people of Viet Nam are once again making overture for association and aid. Hopefully, this time, we will bind ourselves to them with bands of honesty, trust, evenhandedness, appreciation, and the love of respected brother/sisterhood.

Why, we should try to mix our essence with theirs ... the only people to squarely beat us in a war, we better make them friends! Hell, if they'd have us? We'd do well to offer them a Statehood!

We tried, stridently, the alternative, and it blew up in our arrogant faces. The people of Afghanistan and an outraged (because we scare the hell out of them) middle East will likely serve us up a second helping for our arrogant effrontery...

For my part, forgive me, people of Viet Nam, I knew not what I was doing… I do now.

Know that you have my support, my admiration, and my respect. To the survivors of those lost on our side—read a new book, become informed, cop to our hideous, unbalanced, and contrived nationalistic blunderbuss of purposeful shortsightedness... ...the utter waste of the lives of husbands, brothers, and fathers... sisters, mothers, and wives as grease for the wheels of an entirely unrestricted corporatism! COP!  Then we can move on.

We were "beaucoup number ten" and "tres dinky-dow" to the Viet Namese et al at the whim of reptilian corpocracies! Let's admit, and get over it! Demand our government give Viet Nam the recognition deserved.

It's just the way to get UFO's to come out of hiding—probably the only way, and an illustration why I always write on topic. You have to drain the swamp (excuse the metaphor) to even SEE the corporate alligator shredding merrily at your butt-cheeks.

Why do I "hate America"?

Why, you witless hypocrite and flatulating gasbag! I love America to a depth and breadth you have forgotten or have never known... I'll bet EVER known! Moreover, you scurvy wing-nut bigot, I've proved my love with decades of volunteerism and real service while you have likely sent others off to fight a war YOU started... but wouldn't fight yourself! Coward! Hypocrite! Swine!

You can kiss my unwashed ass right after you tell me why YOU hate America!

You know who you are!

I'm just getting warmed up...

Read on.

The Binnall Initiative

Binnall's America

The Binnall Initiative

by Alfred Lehmberg

Tim Binnall, host of the hugely popular Binnall of America, is sadly winding down in excess of a decade's worth of stellar initiative regarding what future times could celebrate as a singular achievement in popular, if arcane, culture. That's the gist boiled down to the fecund succinct.

This initiative alluded to would be Binnall's massive, if credible, aural observance of what sleeps in paradoxical shadows, lurks beneath unkicked stones, and haunts our dreaded self-aware with truths more real than the more conventionally held comfortable ones... "truths" allowing for one's sleep and their imagination's relieved succor.

See, Tim understands, I think, that human beings are not well served allowed to be too comfortable. Wise.

The cognitive discomforts provided by a Para-existentiality, that science beyond a mere reductionist science, real things bumping in inky stygian blacknesses of the avoided and prohibited teachings found in hoary and forbidden indexes... and other things... these serve us by preparing one for a regard of a revealed stygian blackness alluded too. He really is the best at what he does...

What Binnall does is introduce first-time voices or far-flung accounts of fascinating discussion/instruction one has never heard before. A rush continues.

These are subjects regarding insights on matters one likely doesn't understand they might need to know... or even be interested in, but find they are and with regard to the former, do, reader... I did and have!

Secondly, he intelligently expands on the fields of those already well introduced. These are thought well known and understood, but due to an incisiveness missed by even your more competent garden-variety podcaster, the listener is disabused of that notion hearing Binnalls interview with same. If you've heard the interviewee to the point of nausea everywhere else, Tim's interview shows you didn't really know the person, at all.

Stanton Friedman waxes beyond the contents of his classic suppositions to a new synthesis. The late Jim Marrs blooms outside the wheelhouse of conspiracy to breathtaking cosmic reflection. Jacques Valle expounds past statistical analysis to analysis of things remaining unidentified but observed for what they do: crippling human hubris!

Three dimensions become diminutions for four dimensions... then five... six? Hyperspace is explored to a degree. One wonders where this all comes from.

Indeed, explanation evolves that Binnall is a self-made man cognitively leaving far behind what most others see far before them, still. He indeed soars and cleaves in the tradition of a Monk Bruno. Like Bruno, sincerely, in a less enlightened time of the past (or a looming future one?) Binnall would likely be burned at the stake.

See, Binnall, well accoutered with a Bachelor's in 21st Century Communication, actually read the material, completed the "insinuation flow computations," did the professorial homework and "evaluative para-chi-square," and then grokked the subject in requisite fullness... before the interview. Competence... what a concept, eh?

He'd ask his efficiently fulsome questions and then get the hell out of the frame! I never heard him get in the way. Rare skill that (Bell lost it and Noory never had it?), and a skill key to his effectiveness actually, because he did what is so hard to do when you get to his level or make his achievement. He never acted like he was part of the story or over-filled with himself, just a person as interested in the subject as the listener might be. George Knapp has it. Ian Punnett has it... intelligent earnestness, infectious and compelling... Ego and hubris well checked and oozing professional affability from every pore. A true genuineness abounds.

...And revealed, the lore! UFOs are real! Bigfoot interests anthropologists! Ghosts abound! Horses, reader, are NOT the animals you thought they were and a few of the persons associated with them harken from a different age!

What weirdnesses prevail in "prohibited areas" and in the depths of our oceans and the reaches of our National Parks? Dive and stride forcefully to find the surface of the Binnall experience remains untouched, much less scratched. Untouched, if wholly available in those aural pools aforementioned, are ten years of infectious oral history from some of the greatest talker/tellers of our time! There for the taking! Touch them!

I've taken them all! It was always good. It occurs to me I might send Binnall some more cash... and shall! I digress.

I'd mentioned that Tim did the research, on hundreds of guests, perhaps absorbing a synthesis of his own with regard to para-science, the esoteric, the unfathomable, and the occult. Seems like that could be a good book... I digress again!

Still, moving back to BOA inter-spliced with the preceding iterations of abject conundrum and worrisome mystery were documentaries on the natural world, the fabric of society... the history of history... What strange and otherworldly parallels must he have noticed?

What has tracked truth or signified silliness? What serendipitous conclusions can be drawn? What can be readily dismissed out of hand? What can he tell us regarding that fruit gathered from his industry of a singular research?

...But all this may be over is Binnall's disappointing intimation. What!? I owe him too much: a decade of intelligently decanted arcana and esoterica, a strange aural wine allowed to breathe as imparted pieces of information oft-ignored for cause and cowardice. I drink deep. Finally, Mr. Binnall is owed for serendipitous contact with persons the caliber of Lesley Gunter and Reagan Lee, just to start, a living library of hope and hopefulness that there is more to heaven and Earth than is dreamt of in a Trumpian religiosity dry as fetid fish food...

Fear not! This is not the end of the Binnall initiative, only the end of the beginning, this writer gathers. One would hope there is a nationalization of the slow-burning Binnall phenomenon in the works. Verily, we would all be well served to become interested in what interests Tim Binnall. Listen for him. Read on.

Tim Binnall

Mal-Inculcations

Mal-Inculcation insured our compliance.

To question their "truth" was dishonor.  

The reality was a dystopian rod: 

predation and compromised honor.

Distracted by football too early to care, 

I was distant and coarse to the feeble. 

I hadn't the courage, bereft of a pair, 

then I killed, or had killed, *ethnic* people...

Now?

I'm insulted by *patriots* ...most manner and stripe. 

Conveniently placed... divine rightists. 

Wattles all shaking, awash in their tripe, 

compassion is where they're the lightest.

"My country's right if wrong," 

assert these rich behind their walls. 

They're making all the rules, of course, 

so they're using all their stalls.  

See it won't matter "right" or "wrong"

—Democracy be damned. 

You have it and they want it, friend?  

Then you're the one gets jammed.

And I bought it, wrongly thinking, 

that the States could do no wrong. 

See, the word I got was missing massive chunks! 

I was flushed with "founding" fathers 

who were steeped in "golden" glory 

when research was clearly showing 

some were glad psychotic skunks!

There are oceans of difference 'twixt primary sources 

and the textbooks you'd hope not deride them. 

See, textbooks produce only fatuous heroes... 

and, few of these worth any worship or diadem.

Our textbooks are PAP! These degrade human spirit. 

The kids are aware of the con!!! 

Their mommies and daddies have bought in regardless... 

or such "crap" would dissolve and be gone.

The UFOs hide in this cognitive dissonance!  

They soar free as birds... where we will ourselves blind. 

These watchers must wait for a moment of incidence, when, 

at last we achieve individual minds.

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

Read on.

UFOs And Causal Motery...

Borne of needs for any of us;
there is no "we" without "me."

UFOs And Causal Motery...
by Alfred Lehmberg


Individuality! Individuality is penultimately required with regard to even the beginning "perceptions" of what later came to be called "UFOs." What did the observing person see? That guy!

We won't digress to the UAP... these are other, less brave, appellations and would be employed, to detriment, later on. Individuality, and the ability to endure neck pain... passed these things? It's only time necessary looking up, out... and certainly in. 

Crystal? ...Seems ya gotta be "free" to be able to "see"? 

Individuality; however, remains a trial, a travail, and a toil, worse than mere neck pain because it is a resumption of individual sensibility, reader, and a return to personal responsibility lost as a result of flowing with the herd on the salient issues. It's a shock, yes, but a productive shock because it encourages individual accountability and corporeal sensibilities accommodating an efficacious social web larger and more powerful than oneself! 

A Base shelter to be availed, reader! A social web absolutely required to the stewardship of a 21st Century's 350 million-odd human beings, just in America. 

...Faith is hard-pressed to feed the faithful! Sustenance will be coming, or not, only ever of themselves, and by this writer's watch and warrant. Salvation, too.

Also, it encourages a certain singularity of what this writer suspects might be a constructively efficacious spirit, it's further pointed out. "Woke," in the current colloquial. We'll table for now how it is the sun source of all novelty and our only salvation... but briefly, if we have respect for the sensibilities of one another we have our salvation, soup to nuts. Any God at all may have been a zero-sum function in existence's equation... perhaps even an invalidating one.

All of the preceding, it's submitted, is preferable to entirely living off the cues of  "compromised (and compromising) insiders" and slavishly going against one's own more innocent and humane personal intuitions... and best interests, again by watch and warrant.

This, the reader's individuality, is the final target of the "manipulator," or "society," or "culture," the reader might presuppose. It has always been thus. See, the coveted object of any culture—not remotely your friend—is ...You, reader!  Isn't that ironic?

"YOU"... that which you make, and the water that you, metaphorically, heat and carry! Their institutions evaporate away in their own imaginations when YOU withdraw your support... your work... your initiative... your money! It's why they try so hard to keep you... if they think you may be valuable to their "cause."  With 'em, ain't agin' 'em!

You're valuable if so much as... warm... but compliant.  Though, always be prepared to fall out of their inconsistent, wayward, and fickle favor. Buyin is required at 100%! Life turns on their dime, and they keep the change.

This explains all their rage and retribution as they too easily begin to accept that you may have slipped away from them in some way, provoked, it matters not, by their thoughtlessly practiced and self-serving psychopathies. The reader's value (now measured in their open mendacity because they have knowledge of the reader's potential as an obstacle regarding their deleterious and self-serving agenda) is ironically confirmed, if in reverse. Be proud!

This all begins to occur, I expect, when one starts to listen, not to the one mal-inculcated for each of us in support of the few at the expense of the many, but to their individual conscience, the little voice inside... The one asking, "Were it me?" 

A necessary digression, one must always ponder, "Ok, it's me I observe. What, then, were the observed... me?" Turn, then, as the observed, and observe the observer. Become the observed, observing. Much, faced, is learned.

A person compelled to self-evaluation of conscience is why the reading in a forbidden index is forbidden... the known unknown exists... and what about that unknown unknown?  Nes't ce pas? The idle mind is not a "devil's playground." No, it's that it is a "playground," at all! The Forbidden Index won't fill the passed plate, legitimize the tithe, or get the Deacon's office furnished. 

Apart from the math, the peer-reviewed science, and primary- reference history? Forget everything you learned in school.

The purpose of their *school*, then, is to promote their concept of a *reliable* citizen. Read instead? 

Read "malleable" and "easily intimidated" employee, reader... tool/beings with rotted souls dry as chalk dust pushed around without difficulty... spiritless robots... What does the reader's intuition say with regard to that? This writer stands on the shoulders of Giants reporting same.

To that end and culminating in crass manipulations from our groomed psychopathic society, then, there are grievous distortions made to the TRUE histories of each bit of consciousness in the society or culture, and that aggregate consciousness, therefore, inhabits, as a result (!), contrived castles in the increasingly polluted air! Look around you! Currently, it's OK to dump coal tar in stream beds. UFOs must fade from view.

These inconstant castles evaporate, by the way, the moment that it is convenient or profitable for the non-elected privileged autocrat and his eagerly grasping minions to evaporate them. I digress.

Very little has actually happened the way You (and I) thought it did... remember. The way we were taught it did... The way we were told it did. Trust betrayed then. Trust betrayed, still.

A walk on a summer afternoon beach at Panama City, Florida—in July when MTV is there—is to be surrounded in the purest hokum of precancerous skin, conspicuous consumption, and contrived presumption. Suntan oil, ass tattoos, and balloon rides from flashy corporate rock productions...immutable chaos in the corporeal, one would think... then it pops like a soap bubble.

Contrast it with the same stretch of beach on a deserted day in a coldly blustery November to see how tenuous reality really is. Move in time 1000 years past and future and see surface areas change, the withering then blooming skin of a living thing. 

One comes away somehow knowing that the gray November day alluded to is vastly superior to the July one... and on more levels... even if empty and tortured, hounded by the sea, and threatened by the sky... ...but it's real. The one in July is a wasteful fantasy of meaningless personal risk, alcohol poisoning, and even a fatal venereal disease...wind's dust.  Undistracted, though, one can perceive the real chaos of the cosmos! Let your cometary blaze mean something for your fellows. There is a reality! It's just beyond the grasp of talking monkeys... currently. Future looms.

That was the lesson of the Matrix series, eh?  Lice, bald heads, and ultimate sacrifice were a magnitude better than thinking that the matrix was the only reality and that it was not able to be manipulated by the informed user like an iPhone or an iPAD, you know? I suspect that lesson is plain, and very much so. Is what's real, really real? Well, just my neck pain says that sometimes, it is.

Regarding the aforementioned UFOs (another probable reality without regard to conjectured provenance!), I am amused how every "name" authority worth academic salt can pontificate his relative surety of intelligent life *anywhere else* in our ever-expanding multi-verse, but will not cop to any potential that that astoundingly already admitted intelligence is peering down un-guessed at instruments at us... this very moment! Is, in fact, standing inside our *closet* with us as we furtively and hypocritically grope our "detested" cultural genitals, abusing same... ...or that we shan't feel hot alien breath on our embarrassed cheeks even as we begin to listen quietly for it in our culture-imposed darknesses.

The 'other' exists as sure as an itchy nose. ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose ...itchy nose... It is the ultimate sedition... Feel its breath on your reddening cheek, and be elevated.

Read on.

UFOs!

Seven Categories so massive they must give pause... 

UFOs!
by Alfred Lehmberg

UFOs. Yes, there is quality anecdotal evidence. It is compounded with well-vetted photographic evidence. Ladle after lurid ladle of documented historical evidence is stirred in...

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...Just the preceding gives every indication that a ufological contention regarding observed phenomena must be more real than not... Yet, we tarry, mope, twitter, and futz.
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Verily, we strut and preen our too-casual corporeal happenstance in the universe as alone, inviolate, and immutable... Only, we are hugely complacent where any thaw-released bug or loose cannon asteroid, the merest exhalation, even, of our uncaring star, reduces us to a stone age of hapless suffering and cruel despair... on a good day. 

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Life turns on a dime and keeps the change. I digress.

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UFOs! When the preceding is framed by the serious historical artistic evidence, then qualified by the available physical evidence, and then compellingly buttressed by any conclusively personal evidence—if you have some... I do... thousands have—I can only be annoyingly astonished by the continued reluctance of some to face the highly strange music that just cannot be forever marginalized...

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UFOs! Six stunning categories in an almost un-language-able churning urn here iterated. UFOs, even as it's seriously admitted in the mainstream media that the military has recently spent secret millions studying... Yes, studiously studying what is and had been "skeptically scoffed" and "scientistically (sic) dismissed" by the suspiciously braying and wholly uninformed negative nay-sayers among us functioning as vested system shills. They've a dog in the hunt, one can discover.

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UFOs! A seventh category can be considered concerning a hard mathematical conjecture suggested by the famous Drake Equation, an equation but fleshed out by the late Amir D. Aczel (Ph.D.) in his book, Probability One.  
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Simply put, the odds that we are not alone in the universe are so close to 100%... (99.9 ...on into a marching line of unendingly fractional nines...) that there is finally but one chance in one that such is so. Certainty then, and "certainty" more so now given the "universe" seems to be found to be orders of magnitude bigger than we thought it was when Aczel wrote his book!

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UFOs! McKenna, Vallee, Strassman, and Hancock et sig al are quite clear that *Others* truly abound... without regard to where or how they've manifested themselves... and not for the reader's convenience. No... 

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See, we're not alone in our little hubristic closets of cultural squalidness—closets we regard as secret and unobserved. Ha! Every infidelity has a witness, reader!
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UFOs! Friedman, Dolan, Feschino, and Hastings are profound on the subject of obvious others manifesting themselves in interactions with our most powerful weapons, conflicts with our air forces in secret air wars, involving themselves in secret agreements with breakaway civilizations and perhaps even contributing to unadmitted technologies alluded to? None of us has a clue what's really going on, and the best we can do is vote the lesser evil every time so as to become a lesser evil over time. Hope's supposed to be eternal... untested "faith" may our greatest self-disrespect.   
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Watching UFOs! Observers observed! 
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These conjectured others are appalled witnesses as we socially defecate in our societal beds and push it down with our graceless and uncaring feet. Disabuse your nose of its less than valid "elevation," eh? We are not alone. The suggestion is ludicrous. Can't that be seen?

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Feel the acceleration? ...And per second, per second! Hyperspace looms!

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One recalls that Lightspeed and Singularity of Hyperspace were to have happened around the end of 2012, friends and neighbors. Perchance to soar and cleave beyond the parameters of a mere dream... We didn't fret, though, that 2012 would come and go without a visit, proper, from hyperspace elves... there was no small relief I'm betting. 
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No. The asymptotic curves of existential reality remain to be what they are and a piercing of the existential veil seems imminent, still. ...And hasn't a veil been pierced, reader? Explain the chaotic state of the world recently.

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That's not entirely from the aggregate "woo-woo," eh? That's the feeling of the high-domes and prop-heads of a jealous mainstream *academentia* (sic), fellow droobers... and so, this writer's considered suspicion. UFOs will have occupants, and those occupants merely fractal alternatives to ourselves!

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 UFOs. Buckle-up, fellow travelers!  All vetted measurements of a rational prognostication on the state of affairs are straight up and asymptotic as alluded to!  Medicine, technology, going small, and looking large are other masses becoming infinite! The hyperspace gates swing open to, well, "infinity and beyond" if you'll pardon a prescient Buzz Lightyear—doesn't make it any less descriptive, but... don't take my word for it. His is enough. We are not alone.

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...Read on.