Guts of Misery Born
Part I
Let's talk about guts, yes, and of misery born: A collection of people ragged, forlorn -- A group labeled kooky, inane, and irrelevant, a group labeled, badly, as a *rare* fringe development. True, some are just lying and working an audience, and some are mistaken by dazzle and dalliance. Some are insane, or afflicted -- accursed . . . but some tell the TRUTH for the better or worse!
First, a pox on you liars -- hope you're damned to perdition . . . hope you fry in some hell as a well earned condition . . . hope you're found out, disgraced -- run out on a rail, with bruises on your face, and tar and feathers on your tail!
Those just mistaken? Don't feel like losers! Read some books, take some notes, then eschew your abuser! Look for your proof on each side of the struggle . . . decide for yourself -- It's more fun, and less trouble.
Those of you challenged feel lost and alone? Your torment is real, and it goes to the bone? I don't judge you or hate you, even label you hazy -- enigma may drive you and make you, yes, crazy.
But those speaking forthright? You're the bravest of all! Your alien view has compelled the harsh call. At the risk of disgrace, and in spite of the penalty, you stand, take a breath, and engage the anomaly!
Now me, all I see are some lights on the fly . . . inconclusive, but strange, they are IN the night sky! I've studied the footage, and I've read the accounts! The enigma is rampant; It gushes from founts! Conspiracy LIVES! It is not in my mind. The *news* is a joke! If we looked WE WOULD FIND! But, the man holds the purse in his covetous fingers, and the *news* is his stooge, so our ignorance lingers.
So, those of you laughing, you're wasting your time; you've nothing to add; your smirking's a crime. Moreover, you're incurious; it's you that's quite mad! I think you lack bravery; your head's in the sand. It's YOU lacking courage; you *won't* understand. You DON'T pay your freight! Show some stone. Take a stand! There's more going on than you care to give credit. This paints you a coward at last. Don't forget it.
Witness their terror and frustration, and be, yourself, terrified and frustrated -- you tirelessly smirking, and ultimately unbrave skepti-bunkies. When the coffee's perked through, and it's time to throw the grounds on that eventual compost heap, it is just as Michael Lindemann said to me in conversation once, causing -my- continuous epiphany --
"Most of it -is- fake, " he said. "But some of it -- is not..."
Smell the coffee.
The *New* Continuity
(Ode to the abducted - Part II)
Your girl or your son or your wife or your mom -- or even dear trusty old dad. But someone you trusted for balance, you know; one whose foundations weren't bad. Someone whose flag really went to the top; YOU felt that their suitcase was full. No bats in their belfries, their bottles were corked; they were with-it and centered and cool.
Oh, they don't watch the telly, and they've been to good schools; the X-files, and star treks, while fun, are thought silly. They are solid, substantial, and worthy of trust; they are honest, forthcoming, and quite often brilliant.
You have years with these people, and they stood to be counted; they were covered, and focused, and current. They'd been there when needed, never talk of impeachment -- goodness ... efficacious, and recurrent. Cliched, I report they were salt of the earth, proud pillars of community -- they are kind and they're smart, and they all have good hearts --
... Then -- < *... disjunct ...*> (cruel despair (?)) ... And, a *new* continuity.
Oh, they're still the same, not to blame (not insane) -- they're undamaged, they're together, _they're_ OK. Embarrassed, ashamed, and taking the blame, they can still fill the bill, write the check -- save the day! They're the same, don't complain, but the fact still remains the reports that they make -- the results of their claims!!!
They say (!?)... that they're taken away in huge ships; they say that they're prodded and poked and then stripped. They're probed to emission, examined it seems, and it matters, or not, how they reasoned or screamed.
They make this admission (while they look down on the ground) apologetic and consoling that indeed ... it all went down. Then their eyes capture yours, and you can see what they've been seeing, and you wonder what the future holds for hapless human beings.
Horatio really DIDN'T have a clue, did he? There really WAS more to heaven and Earth than was contained in his pitiably incomplete philosophy -- wasn't there? We truly miss a boat when we turn from these people, don't we?
Without question.
The funny thing is, sources say, there may be millions of them. They may be preceding us into some new real-time model of actuality, and we shall, sooner or later, be giving them open minded attention. Presently we are admonished in the aggregate to ignore those that ignorantly bleat specious warnings that the sky is falling.
But wait.
Wasn't it the *falling sky* that whacked the dinosaurs (Meteors were dismissed as such!)? Falling sky reinvents the planet at the end of every geologic era, doesn't it? Don't we make feature films about it, right now?
I was raised on the "chicken little" story -- you know, the one where a brainless baby chicken gets hit on its empty little head with an acorn, and then subsequently PANICS the (oh so gullible) barnyard community to some kind of alternate …catastrophe and disaster... based on this simple misunderstanding regarding the *falling* sky.
Be aware boys and girls, there was a predator around to take advantage of that situation too.
I thought that the moral was to keep your mouth shut regarding what's outside your experience, or the consequences of inciting a panic, or that your fears are likely so much bull feces, anyway ... but I've come to believe that it means more than that. It means one must take pains to be sure, somehow, that there is (in fact) some real *problem (?)* with the sky, and then discover the answer to a more difficult, underlying, and _basic_ question ... how does one now make a *credible* warning when the sky really IS falling?
This is unsettling conundrum of the very real abducted -- just more pieces of a *real* falling sky?
CONTACT!
(Ode to the Abducted, Part III)
The moon was full behind me, and I was looking east; the stars stuck fast in cool-ish air like the eyes of wary beasts. Just sipping on my coffee, and thinking of my son, who's up and joined the Air Force (?), putting college on the run. He'll crew the fixed wing aircraft that are terror in the skies; he's on the road he's chosen, and he'll know of that which flies . . .
All at once a flaming bolus splits the night in quick descent! I could almost smell it burning like a solder gun that's spent! I listened in the quiet for the muffled sound of passage, and heard the booms (transonic) like a prophet's voice or presage!
I saw it then -- a small white light that grew in it's intensity; it didn't move, got bright as hell -- it had a *strange* propensity. It winked out when its brilliance made me raise my hands alarmed, though I reveled in its strangeness; I was gladdened, frightened -- charmed. I see the damnedest things in skies I *know* can have no end. Where anything can happen, it's an open mind's your _only_ friend.
~~~~~~~~~*non*~~~~~~~~~
The light winked out, but then resolved -- the structure of a . . . craft! It darted quickly downward on its silent swooping track. Reflecting silver moonbeams, it grew in girth and size. The color and the detail -- it stopped my breath; it filled my eyes!
With nary a bump it stopped with a thump, afloat in the air, overhead! Rubbed eyes are no cure, I am slack-jawed, perturbed, (no terror, no horror . . . some dread). Another few inches (?) my house is destroyed! I'm concerned beyond measure, and a little annoyed that I think of the house, a possession, a toy, when enigma comes calling, and I'm NOT overjoyed.
And I'm NOT overjoyed at this prospect of contact I've studied and dreamed of 'till now! It's here in my FACE, no warm up or warning; it'll upset my life, friend, and how! It'll freak out the wife, and derail my son; I'll never get work as a teacher -- I'm DONE . . .
I look and STILL it's hanging like my house's second story, though the normal sounds of night go undisturbed. The dog's are still not barking, doves still coo their late contentment; the night goes on, unbothered -- unperturbed. I'm the only one that sees it (?), and the only one beset (?), and I fill my lungs with air to shout for help!! Then a thought comes to my mind, and it is mannered, cruel (?), but kind (??), and I can't produce a whimper or a yelp. . . (???).
The first three paragraphs actually occurred -- are occurring. Yeah, I know, stop the internal dialogue. You don't know -- shut up.
If what remained of the seven actually happened to me . . . I haven't a clue what I'd do. Regardless, the personal responsibility of the occurrence is . . . weighty. Invariably, without regard to truth, you become another whacked-out saucer nut with a pedestrian story NOT even interesting enough to get you on a third-rate paranormal freak show. . . Meanwhile -- anomaly FESTERS!
I only speculate on what can be cruel and kind at the same time . . . maybe someone with *disturbing* news that tries to break it to you in the best possible way . . . consider, some ethical emergency room doctors must be cruel to be kind . . . more likely a set of circumstances and conditions stranger than can even BE imagined. STILL, it'll perhaps be like anything else in our conjectured reality in that you'll be taking the inevitable good with the obvious bad. And the good COULD be magical. . .
Regarding the charm of the magical: Children may be children and adults may be adults only because of the difference in technologies between them. Young children are at a very primitive technological level compared to their parents and teachers -- Brainiacs capable of feats reserved for super beings, able to weave scary magics the children can see in moving pictures before their eyes, *protectors* that never know defeat (for the lucky ones. . .).
Truly, I rankle at being treated like a child, but if I'm acting like a child perhaps it is justified . . . Wow -- that was the first time I used myself as a metaphor for humanity . . . delicious feeling! Come what may, we likely ARE the children in this sector of space!
Abduction!
(Ode To The Abducted - Part IV)
I'm borne away (!), and floating to a house-sized flying saucer! Then, through it's hull I'm drawn inside like so much smoke or vapor! The inside seems MUCH larger than the outside could enclose, and I'm amazed and frightened as I'm dropped upon my toes. Then the strangely *made* anomalous is assaulting all my senses; I struggle for my sanity; I'm lost, alone -- defenseless.
I'm on a promenade (?), it seems (such *alien* architecture); weird *beings* are walking passed me; I'm convulsing with conjecture. I'm about to shout "excuse me, what the HELL is going on", but one comes up directly, from the shadows -- *fever* spawn! It's *hand* is on my forearm, and it *says*, "please come with me", so I wonder that I've had a stroke, and dream outright; you see?
I've read of this, a cerebral crash, when part of ones brain just -- implodes. Your brain cells require a free-basing oxygen -- strange visions leap forth and explode! Moments remaining are weird hallucination, then comes the dissolution and some final obfuscation. Unconsciousness then slips right in, and no one can detect you, and as far as is determined you're beyond what you are used to.
Still, I must dawdle -- to explain what I saw (?), LED by some alien, along like a dog? I paused, for a moment, afraid and pissed off, "When was I ASKED "?, I sputtered and coughed. "Where was my warning, why'd you pick me? What is that SMELL? What do I SEE"? What was their program, what was this PLACE, why were they, suddenly, so up in MY face?
"We've read all your poems [g], appeared in my mind. "Every *thing* was alright;
every *thing* was just fine. This can still work", was then sent as a post script; "we've so much to show you, and you've asked for this trip! Don't think we can't *know* you -- no mistake has been made! We've watched your beginnings, and you've ASKED for this date."
"There's little respect in result of a 'snatch', " I replied in BLOOMING awe at what my eyes could touch and catch! I shook OFF the little alien and walked over to the *edge*. This was really happening then, I began to self-allege. I felt my arms, and smoothed my hair, and rubbed my face too hard. Well, I'll be dipped in shit, I thought, new smells came fast and hard. *Unsettling* (?) AND enticing (?), so completely STRANGE, unknown -- pickles in old cinnamon (?) . . . new pyramidal stone (?)!
Surreal and otherworldly like an international mall, the smells of different shops, strange new markets -- different halls. And then so completely pleasant that I filled my lungs like friends, and asked the little alien, what was that smell again?
"That is simply ship's air -- and different through the day -- the ship itself's a living thing, its smells from *faraway*. This ship has spanned the galaxy -- has lived apart from us; it's lived perhaps a billion years; alongside us (?) . . . two million plus."
I was standing at the rim up high, before me spread a basin. It was, perhaps, ten miles across (!?!) -- but hard to judge, I hasten. A *city* miles below me, it was grown (it seemed) from crystal, but blued with reddish highlights (?) like a flashlight or a pistol.
I felt the alien's hand, again, so lightly on my arm, "We must continue on our way ," it's terse, and I'm alarmed! "How long have you been watching us"? I asked, but stood my ground.
"We've watched your dim beginnings. What we show you will astound!"
History has always been written by the winners. Just the winners -- not necessarily the ethical, or the just, or the educated, or the wise -- or even the brave . . . just the winners. We have no idea what actually occurred before a time when true sounds and images could be committed to some kind of durable record of tape, disk, or stone; and much of THAT has been hidden or otherwise destroyed by, yet again, that ubiquitous winner.
Comeuppance!
(Ode to the Abducted - Part V)
I felt I had to argue. Why SHOULD they have their
way? Their approach so far was DISRESPECT; they'd snatched me here --
without a say! "You guys should learn some people skills," my hands I raised
in fists. 'Twas then it was the *probe* came up, "Whoa -- now what the hell
is this"!?!
I backed into a railing, behind me all was DOWN. The city glistened
gleamingly, the probe was glowing now. Why MUST they play abductor (?) --
when I know it's what WE'D do . . . I'd hoped that they're beyond the need
to bully me and you . . .
I hear, ". . . to 'bully' is not IT at all," (?) "it's process and it's
schedule; you're not the ONLY one, you know? Why ARE you causing trouble"?
"A simple 'would you come aboard' was all it would have taken! But you just
up and snatched me; please correct if I'm mistaken"! I wondered if they'd
asked me, then remembered I HAD begged... for just this thing to happen;
then the probe -- it touched my leg!
~~~*~~~
<Warp, . . . I'm on a table, and I cannot move, or shout! Now I'm getting
really scared -- is THIS what they're about? How much TIME has passed, and
what will NOW transpire? I feel like a lab rat, and I'm SHAMED -- my cheeks
on fire!
"OK you guys, I'm scared now. . ." I think out loud in fright, as all the
spunk has left me, and I really COULDN'T fight. The table slips beneath me,
and becomes a simple chair (?); I found that I could move at last -- leapt
straight up in the air!
"Please, don't ever DO that"! And as I shout that moot command . . . four
strange beings, just then, appear -- a weirdly solemn band.
They ARE the strangest group I've seen . . . in DECADES at the cinema!
Retreating in a dead heat race? My wounded pride and piqued bravura. They
ARE... a flower... head of cabbage (?), then a lizard with a veil (?), and a
grey is in attendance (?) with a mantis (?) . . . that's my tale! There's a
clicking and a snapping, and a flapping slurp or two, then the *mantis* rubs
its forearms and the music's sweet and true!
I try to match it's lilting tone; I sing a counter point in blue -- throw
'what the hell!' to here and gone; I grope for sense and clue! This is a
DREAM, my thought or guess, so I uncork -- be damned or blessed, and join
the insect's solemn song. Somehow I sing; it can't be wrong.
It's not just a dream, or as easy as that -- will they tell me what the deal
is, or will they boil me down to fat?
Of course -- there are those out there in
that unguessed vastness who *would* eat us. I imagine we'd have to make room
for them, too, just as they would have to make room for us..
Hitler won in the short term; Stalin won in the short term for as long as he was alive. Saddam has been winning for decades his pestilent, short term, and parochial little gains. All write their histories as they would have them written in the same manner as winners in the United States will write theirs. Not as it occurred, naturally, but as they would have had it occur --incomplete and complimentary.
It's why our kids *hate* us. We feed them a thin gruel of impossibly noble and largely fictional role models to measure themselves by, and the kids know (on a level they cannot yet articulate) that it MUST be complete bull shit. It is.
For my part, having bought in for so long, the reading of some primary references has ignited in me a healthy resentment! And I can articulate mine. For instance -- the Vatican could be torn down brick by blood stained brick for the real history that it must contain.
But what if there was an *off planet* repository of what *actually* went down in a history presently muffled and obscured -- a history occluded and unencumbered, and without an alien view. I'd like to see it, wouldn't you?
. . . But just how much truth does one want when heaven starts to fall? My only answer is that if heaven CAN fall, it probably should. Regardless, I'll take all the truth I can get. I say this in the full knowledge that I should be careful what I wish for.
Revision!
(Ode To The Abducted - Part VI)
Well, they TOLD me what the deal was, and confirmed my worst suspicions; we were quite a bit more rotten than I knew. We were ALSO far more beautiful than I ever had imagined -- re-fell in love with Human beings, it's true! The pictures of the past implanted deep within my brain were a cavalcade of memory and much more than mere refrain. I was floating like a spirit but a witness to it all. The *forgotten* shout a message, and I'm there to hear them call.
It was like "A Christmas Carol," and the Mantis sang the tune; the Grey insured translation with its probe. The Lizard handled *movies* and resolved them in my head, and the flower sent the _feelings_ of those shown. I was THERE where they would put me (like the spirit Christmas Past?); our record was a SEA and I could see that it was vast! The stuff I saw would curl hair and I could see it all. I was there for the betrayals, the deceptions, and the stalls.
I'd begun to almost hate us as I'd *watched* the forced concessions of the weaker for the stronger -- by decree. We were there to take the low road -- when we did we went *below* low (we could whimper up to shame on callused knees. The diamonds in the garbage hardly made up for the carnage that was spun out quick before me in this *vision*. Gratified, it sometimes worked, in spite of all the selfish JERKS making gains (but insuring imprecision).
There are some who won't succumb, so fast, to feed their worn sensations. They won't abide the sociopath -- work hard for his cessation. They won't betray their principles for porcelain bidets -- or land, or homes, or trophy wives, and other things that lay. They see that *stuff* one covets hard just leads to other *stuff*. They know a feast's been served, at last, and *plenty* is enough. It's these that are the beautiful -- keep the rest of us employed, keep our cups, near, overflowing -- keep our families close to joy.
It's amazing how they showed me. It's like they put me in the *room*! It's more than motion picture, it's got detail; it's got zoom! You can check out Caesar's nose hairs, you can watch Atlantis sink, you can see the megalithic move their stones and smell their stink. I was shown it all "unvarnished", and the truth DOES set you free when you know at last where's buried all the bones -- to finally *SEE*! Explained at last -- conundrums that had festered at my mind. Gone at last, the scales drop; I perceived that I'd been blind!
Humankind's a vicious beast not learning from mistakes? Religious fundamentals come from charlatans and fakes? Cultures bloomed and died, in ageless time, like desert flowers? The innocents made guilty while the *guilty* covet power? Priests and Kings cooperate to betray and fleece their sheep -- who rise up periodically to rage a riot's freak?
(Yeah, *watching* all this hurt like hell, but it's tooth work put behind you -- less is more you have discovered at the end. When all is plain before you (and the truth it CAN alarm you!), an open mind's your truest, finest friend.)
How to tell you where they took me, and the visions that they
showed me from the dimmest past to present lurid CRIME . . . It was brutal, it was harsh, but lots of flowers in the marsh; they were *artists* making records of our time.
I watched a leering Adolf and his Eva get it on (!), attempting what you'd call a carnal union? She was trying what she COULD to make him *happen* (get him stood) but his failure was predictable (gratifying) -- amusing. I watched the prideful and paternal, but still evil, hurtful pillars of a *well respected* culture holding sway. I saw space folk, from the stars, provide for Asian plains of jars!!! I watched "Vietnamese" secure their day!
Soon the visions were repellant, but so enthralling all at once, and all mixed up together -- bad and good with saints and chumps. "Stop it . . ." finally stammered from my freeze dried lips and mouth! "Stop, before my shame PREVAILS"! Was this what we're about? The *movie* kept on going like my wishes didn't matter. The truth ran hot and heavy, and my *world* dropped and shattered. . .
How would you keep from break down? What would it do to YOU? The only thing that's worse than truth? The ignorance of it, dude.
Besides, truth's a lot less ugly (I've learned) when it's admitted, addressed, and then put behind you -- a stone of the (more solid) foundation. The admission lends it a cloak of real beauty that can be worn -- justifiably!
Reconstruction!
(Ode to the Abducted - Part VII)
They went right on, in earnest, with their *movie* in my mind -- I saw the baby Jesus being born . . . And it wasn't like you'd heard it, the church's canon's obdurate. You find we ride religion's thrusting horn. Those stories in your bible are a *spin* away from truth; they complement a SECOND born who haunts the sky -- aloof. The writings firstly written would have had a different slant . . . than what we see comes after with its hard to swallow cant. Eve's, in FACT, a HERO, but the stories have been changed to incriminate the innocent who must suffer, toil, and strain. Enki was our champion, and he showed respect and trust. Enlil was a spiteful being and we filled him with disgust! Which of these would YOU call God, and which of these your devil? Which of these created you, and which of these caused trouble? Back is up and side is down and all you think you're knowing is a different thing entirely. You're snowed and it's still snowing.
The "flood" was *more* than carnage, oh -- the horror that was harnessed as the waves washed high from pole to quaking pole . . . Those that (still), were left, fed starving *gods* who were bereft (?) of mean supplies they took from mankind they'd controlled! And from these mean beginnings I could see that we'd been lemmings -- if applied, a real history would have saved our skins, and how. But we gave UP the "right to rise" for selfish Priests and Kings, despised, who live in lavish castles even NOW!
Though the flowers in our cultures gave us, always, fine improvements, "less is more" has been corrupted all through time. It was (and is) a callous few that keeps our Eden far from view -- just a few who profit HUGELY from their crime. Lost in jealous vaults are stunning wonders to behold, but they rock and roll the carts of an *elite*. There are answers making questions too uncomfortable to ask, so the covetous can keep what they have reaped.
Cancer (!) holds the *secret* to a healthy life unending, and Cetaceans *hear* a picture of our world! Light speed is no barrier, there are *speeds* that are superior . . . magic science, and its wonders -- are unfurled. None need ever suffer, live forever, never hunger, in a world less the strife that we have now. We could all be self supporting, living life's unending glory; we could do away with landfills -- live in paradise, right now! We could live amongst the stars; we could drive electric cars; we would have new friends (and foes) along the way. We could HAVE a real heaven, we could eat our bread unleavened, and be thankful for our chance to see each day...
~~~*~~~
The presentation finished, I felt confused (diminished!), and I wondered what it was that I could DO! "Any questions"? They then asked, but I was past that point, detached -- for I'm knowing what I knew was really true! Could I cop to implications straining seams of my cognition -- could I keep it all, and argue I was sane? Could I hold the mud of truth (without that *need* to stand aloof) from the conflict unresolved within my brain?
These watchers tell the truth you see (they showed it plain as day to me); a record (what you'd call) . . . MY *contribution*. Well, they showed what I was THERE to see -- the death of folks . . . my *enemy*. It was just as I remembered . . . people, dying -- uselessly...
So what's the point of my *abduction*, and what's the thrust this summation; what's the message in the meter and the rhyme? "What the hell's he on about"? detractors gnash their teeth to grout, the seconds tick frustratingly in time . . . I'll tell you one more time, small men -- it's just not good, I must contend, to keep your proud denial -- they are THERE! And I would know, though heaven fell, what they could WANT or what the hell -- if it painted God a phony... (?) I won't care! They'll keep their distance, naturally, and what they are, dispassionately, I cannot know or even deign to make a guess. But they are there in history, some folks that I can trust have seen, and movies that I have should cause distress! The evidence is physical, historic, and it's practical; it's carved into the face of living rock! Reported in the oils of the portraits by the MASTERS, it counters those pretending that it's not.
What my message DOES portend (?): is that we CAN NOT depend -- on them, your Gods and Devils, for support. We're on our OWN to save the day, to bring it home, or stay the fray (while our space borne fellows beckon... let's be sports!). An ELITE won't have *them* out there, and they'd keep our eyes away with their hate campaigns designed to callous knees. But when it's said and done, and all the damage has been done, they are there, still, none the less -- yes! Can't you see?
Some we'd think malevolent, and some we'd think were saints. We'd be wrong about the both of them, but the truth's a different paint! Judge a whale or a dolphin from your shallow point of view (?), and see a handless mammal that's below you, you've construed? The truth is they've intelligence you've never once imagined, the fact is that they're smarter than you even CAN imagine. The same with all the space folk! You've got your *good* and *bad* (though the sides can get all tangled with what's sorry and what's glad). That's why we get on OUT there; that's why we take the dare; it's rising and advancing to the folks we find out THERE! It's using THEIR reality to define a spot for US -- but find they test our metal as we board their cosmic bus.
Now -- or later, we _will_ be boarding that cosmic bus, and "tut tut, [as] it looks like rain... (?)" -- let's take the next one that stops.
. . . But be prepared to hear, "OK, humanity -- step to the REAR of this bus"!
Employ a little metacognition (that's think about your thinking) . . . and get over it. We have only our air castles to lose, and the multi-verse to gain. I'd go out to that new place where my reach approaches my grasp . . . feel the ephemeral bricks of a once proud heaven falling around me like angry tears -- but then I'd "soar to the infinite", too [g].
Renewal!
(Ode To The Abducted - Part VIII)
Then they told me something interesting -- what kept them hanging 'round (forgetting they've been HERE from the beginning). It was the 'individuals' they found were most profound, not the 'cultures' so obsessed with merely *winning*. Institution was, yes, boring as it pandered to position, was slow to cop to common sense, was backward and contentious. Nations (?) but a travesty that work to keep their status by milking individuals supporting them in gratis?
No -- it's the *single* mote of consciousness that delights but so confounds them... how it contests culture's stricture to survive! ...Producing works of art that simply fall from focused fingers, and to see beyond horizons so contrived! They'd lost that, how some ever, in their time between the stars, their consciousness predictable -- the same. Though they find us most uncomfortable, and unsettling to behold, we surprise (and so transport) them; it's the way they play their game?
Not watching for *amusement* (or just to pass the time), could they watch to engineer their own survival? Their boredom's killing them, and it's US that's teaching THEM to recapture what they lost and where they're libel. Theirs, though written truly, tested faith (as they construe it), but its "reach" had met its "grasp" in empty air? For all their science magic, they are soulless, and it's tragic; they approach in trepidation -- but they dare? It's our passion they review, enthusiasm -- they're renewed, and they *like* us just as well as they are able? But not enough for trouble (which we square, then cube, or double), so then not enough to join us at our *table*.
They'd think it disrespectful to disclose their wider path (?); they couldn't break their rules of intervention? It's the way they do their business that we couldn't understand, as our history is (and has been) in contention? It's them supporting secrecy (?), to wait our *leaders* out (?) . . . for us to issue forth from our *cocoon*? Our *leaders* keep us choked in cloaking wraps of their *tradition*, while they do not -deign- to wear them, this is true.
We're barely from a cradle that they see with ancient eyes. We're repellant and we're beautiful, respected and despised. We are feared by what we worship, and it's always been that way; God knew that when he *made* us; he KNEW we'd make him pay! While some have tried to slide us back to stone age modes of thought, it's most have kept the faith with them the former just *forgot*. Their *golden* rule is current; their denial is so plausible; it's up to *you* to test their faith, or perish -- as is possible.
"Any question's, Mr. Lehmberg,"? I would hear them ask again. I said, "Yes sir, but I'd bet you have no answer." I was answered to the brim right now . . . but questions come again somehow -- when answers are a question's fancy dancer.
"What, then, can I do," I asked, "with a story I can't tell -- a story all the *doctors* say is bunk? If I breath out just one word I'd be committed and interred -- buried in a rubber room, discounted . . . counter sunk. "
Well, they ushered me OUT of the room we were IN and into a mammoth sized hall. The ceiling was domed and obscured with soft mists (mists changing color) -- a carnival, or ball. And this a small space when compared to the ship (a fraction of its volume). There was nothing at ALL to hold it all up -- not a pillar, or a scaffold, or a column. And swimming and leaping or flying on by were our comrades and fellows of space. They flew and they jumped or they slithered along with a purpose, potential and singular grace . . .
But, while they're all talking a language they *speak*, and I understand all the sputters and squeaks... as a music in knowledge of time and deep space, I'm impressed so completely I'm shamed and disgraced. I cannot describe all the *people* I found, all the shapes that they took so bizarre and profound -- how some saw with *ears*, or heard subtle color or tasted with fingers, but *knew* one another . . . and they were (yes!) there, so denial was senseless, bereft of all logic, inbred and pretentious.
. . . In addition, the smells . . . an assault to the senses of an ape (not that long) from the plains -- Afarensis. Everything's catching the eyes in my head, my ears snatched away to confusion instead. All of it's new, and exciting, and fearful in beauty so strange I am made (truly) tearful. Oh, it's too much, too fast, (and I'm not sure I like it). I'm blowing a gasket; I try and I fight it. But it's just no damn use, and I slip to the floor, mind blown and knocked cold -- out in shock . . . through the door . . .
. . . through the door.
I'd like to think I was *stronger* upon waking up from that retreating faint, and in truth history demonstrates (unintentionally) that we human beings can get used to *anything*. Even people from space.
Too much has never become enough. We've _always_ adjusted to the new reality. We will adjust to this one. We will adjust to the one after THAT, fellow motes!
Water on Mars. Think of it, and have another epiphany.
Return!
(Ode To The Abducted - FINAL)
I come to myself as the ship is retreating. I wobble a bit on my knees, but it's fleeting, and fully awake (though ashamed of my faint), I'm reeling with knowledge I'd recently gained. I'm stunned, or I'm breathless, and I'm lost in *new* seas. I feel like weeping (but I'm off of my knees!)!
That was abduction! It's so inconclusive! It's ALL liability, and all too intrusive. I'm not even sure (if at all) that I'd gone! I'd heard the strange music, but I can't *sing* the song! I can tap out the meter, recite it in verse, or craft it as artwork and not be obverse. Then, watch as it's aired and is paid . . . no attention. If so, what the hell. It's my wage for contention. And . . . just like the subject of all of these odes, the story just told is ignored. It's the code.
That code is a guide: how to fit in your hole. How to bow and then scrape with your head in a bowl. How to fake your civility, put spin in your tale, fit in though it kills you, but ignore the detail.
I live a code to a rhythm I hear that is louder and stronger than snickers OR cheers. My path is less traveled, neoteric (or new), and my thinking's imbued with an AlienView. I'd spread mental wings and I'd soar to infinity, while I question your *values* and query divinity.
I'm ordered and driven, but can't give a damn if, then, what I'm expressing is missing YOU, man. So, I'll sing what I have to; I'll call them my songs. I'll sing it regardless... and right my -own- wrongs!
Things being equal (?) I'd rather be read. Oh, to reach out to touch a new mind with my head... That you'd open _my_ bottle plucked out of this *sea* and then live for a moment the message perceived... to be of some help to a *fellow* afloat, to ease a depression, or tell a wry joke. To raise up the spirit, to praise what is good, to tease out some answers, and laugh if we could. To have some agreement, a moment of respite -- some light, so the dark is a little less desperate!
But, I'll write what I write how I write when I write it. I write for myself though the subject be damned. It's honest and real and it's writ in good faith. If it won't be accepted (?) that's the way of it, man! But enough of all that -- that sentiment's hoary (I'll say what I say . . .), but the rest of the story . . .
I walk in my house, and everything's *normal* . . . too normal in fact, and I look at the clock. I was up there for HOURS (there's time that went missing), but *seconds* had happened back here on the block! My son hovered past me to dig in the fridge. The wife was her usual -- cool and abridged. The dog was on guard for what dropped in the kitchen . . . and I (?) . . . just a nut who had read to much Sitchin.
I'd pretend it's enough that I *know* it's the truth, but I'd hope for autonomy -- to study it through... have money to make up the difference one's paid when one works for the man as his tool -- just a slave. _Your_ blessing to live where a mind is set free to work out the kinks in an ethos -- you see? The TIME I could use to implode and preclude all the ethics of misery now professed and construed . . . THIS the small heaven I'd have here on Earth, as the scramble then ceases between death, and my birth... with MORE time to ask questions, and _live_ with the answers -- express the appropriate *paintings* and *dancers*... To hear the new music, to live all our dreams, to get off our rock, to ride the light beams...
And all of it possible -- as plain as a plow! And not from mere watchers, but our own folks, right now! . . . Confronted with life forms I've numbered in space -- no "races" of humans, but just ONE human race . . . we learn to cooperate; we learn to live free -- of our hatreds, our bias . . . insentient decrees! We work for inclusion and shoot for the stars, and look for the truths, then, out there . . . where THEY are.
Our abducted may point to existence (brand new!), with SOME of their stories reflecting some truth. We do a disservice to treat them as fools, ignoring their plight as a joke to abuse. We must open our minds, drop the scales from our eyes, and arise to that truth some avoid and despise. It is THEN we ascend to that place in the stars . . . that is THERE, that is REAL, that is RIGHT -- that is OURS!
No -- for the (usually condemning) record. No. I've never been abducted (...to my knowledge). But I can sense that place out *there* that is real, right, and ours.
I think it entirely possible that there are individuals here on Earth in some kind if enigmatic contact with the *potentiality of the actuality* of that place. I know that that conjectured place is being ignored by a criminally tyrannous mainstream, so perhaps it IS a place that can only be realized individually. This might explain the distinctly different and disparate kinds of people that appear to be engaged in this mystifying reality: the (so called) "abduction phenomenon." I don't know, but I want to. Though he heavens fall, I would know.
Sadly, were I to have been abducted, in fact... I could not disclose that I even had -- society DICTATES that I can share only that it was an "idle imagination" that was borne *away*. But I would angrily, knowledgeably, and righteously speak up for thousands who DO suffer *something*, and I think that a larger part of that (undeserved) suffering is attached to the sneering denial and derisive dismissal that these folks open themselves up for when they report their peculiar and even unsettling experiences to the intellectual cowards that are the rest of us! It shouldn't ought'a be that way, friends and fellow motes... EVERYONE, concerned and unconcerned, is done a colossal disservice.
Moreover, abductees are certainly not ALL crazy. The many that _are_ misinformed or mentally ill could be DRIVEN to it by a sociopathically motivated faction of the *purposefully* misleading. Further, abductees are preyed upon, I'd wager (ironically, from all quarters), as a result of the _authenticity_ of some of their experiences. They are (in many cases) sincere people pushed around by scurrilous liars who won't respect them -- doomed to live another hell on Earth of human design, manufacture, and implementation. They are hapless cattle to have their sensibilities butchered by anyone with an ax to grind and sniffing around for short-term personal gain. They are just another victim to be blamed . . .
Much of the tantalizingly paranormal may BE fake, brother and sister motes -- "but some of it . . . is not"! I should think that this compels your epiphany. It FEEDS mine.
Read on.
