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Location: UFOUpDatesList.Com > 2002 > Jun > Jun 20

Alfred's Odd Observation #20

From: Alfred Lehmberg <Lehmberg@snowhill.com>
Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 17:47:46 -0500
Fwd Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 19:17:07 -0400
Subject: Alfred's Odd Observation #20

Alfred's Odd Observation #20 (Thursday -- June 20, 2002)

What do you want from me, oh scurrilous and whiny CSICOPian? I
_see_ stuff. I say that with respect, also, to 'stuff' on more
than one level. Every morning of decent visibility I go _out_...
will generally provide me with an opportunity to make the
substantive report you read here. There have been many sightings
since the last accounting in #19 which would have been seen by
anyone with me (that is, anyone with the willingness to actually
go out and _look_. anyone one with the most minimal courage to
_see_ ... anyone desiring that reality LARGER than the one
metered out to them from their stingy mainstream's homogenizing
info-nipples). I saw weird stuff, again, this morning...

When a certain kind of guy has an inordinate amount of time with
which to 'look', he _will_ look, I think. I've been blessed (or
cursed depending on outlook) with just that kind of 'inordinate'
time, and I _am_ that certain kind of guy I'll later (and _most_
self-indulgently <g>) try to describe in this piece. It all
adds up to a genuine desire to find out just "what the hell is
going on." This is a desire that more of us have than not, I
believe, and I am in a position and have the time to have a
really good look for it, try to digest what I'm seeing, and then
report it to the contrarily involved, distracted and otherwise
employed in a useful, periodic, and entertaining kind of way. No
fiction here.

On reflection (?), just coming up on my first, more or less,
dedicated 'decade' of looking for the 'ufological' and trying to
develop some inclusive kind of knowledge base and general
sensitivity for it, I find I'm still able to pay the continued
price of its prosecution -- _be_ that kind of guy I will
describe... continue a _protracted_ period of personal
investigation, and a provide a good report on my, continuing,
wide-field exploration! This is forgetting that it doesn't have
to mean a damned thing to you, respected reader. The heartfelt
expression is going to be there, regardless. It's a record, and
a truthful one at that. It'll get read someday. [g].

...And let me make a quick digression with regard to the reader
wading through my "affected" writing style... It is done, simply,
the way it is done out of respect for the language, and in
extension, the reader. I'm not going to talk down to the reader,
no, or poke teasingly at the reader's lowest common denominator!
NO! Expect an intelligence, and many times _get_ an
intelligence. Expect Homer Simpson and get him _every_ time.

I am going to use, arguably, the best word available, in my
estimation, _regardless_, laddies and skepti-lassies! They
aren't words that will be used only one time, good reader, they
will be used again and again, in all my pieces fore and aft, for
good reason. They are words that open up new dimensions in time
and space for the individual that goes to the trouble of finding
out what they mean that _first_ time... a simple cut and paste
into 'Google' on the internet for instant gratification and an
expansion to the interior of a reader's intellectual bubble!
Grasp closer to reach! Take a step up on a new definition and see
farther than you did before! Finally, I write the best, most
considered, and most respectful kind of language I am capable of

I can do _no_ less in as much as you are reading it! I _must_
respect that. Moreover, different words put the reader's head in
different places, and with the fact of that dwindling commodity
(of diversity) evaporating rapidly in a contrived global
homogenization of slothful mediocrity as you read. the reader
needs all the difference she can get her sweaty little cognitive
hands on, whether he knows it or not!

The kind of language I'm talking about (and trying to employ
here) has an appreciation imbued by the user to treat the
language as if it were a box of verbal paint. In it are
aspirations to make every word a picture, every sentence a
portrait, and every collection of sentences a virtual holograph.
All things being equal I'd write in a language that begs to be
revisited, like a song, or like classic words of yore. That's
what I aspire to here, with no shame, no embarrassment, and no
guile. I would be of respected service, as would any sociophile.

Words _are_ paints and magics and tools and weapons! They travel
in time, and are as eternal as they are made and preserved. They
are teachers, leaders, and entertainers. They are efficiency.
They are efficacy. They are immortality!

They are the very COIN and FABRIC of cultural memory! In as much
as they paint better, more durable and longer lasting pictures,
they are the ART of primary expression! Our culture will survive
much, much longer than those of antiquity because (outside the
threat of idea [and therefore book!] burning CSICOPians, or the
electricity stops working), the consolidation of it is going to
be very hard to forget. Believe it!

What kind of person am _I_? Why should the reader _remotely_
care? I'm not suggesting that the reader should, really, but
that I _am_ in the process of telling her about some pretty
'twitchy' stuff, so I feel obligated to qualify my
inquisitiveness, justify my conscientiousness, and predicate my
truthfulness for her -- if I can. Someone's going to write this
stuff, I've a premonition, and as I have the means, the desire,
and the attitude to write it myself, I will. Read or not. It's
_almost_ the same to me. [g].

I'm the kind of person who _will_ blow his own horn once in a
while... because if we don't it's not too long before a _funnel_
is made of it, and it loses its ability to even _be_ a horn.
Pretty soon, there is NOTHING around but "funnels" (the
Bush/Ashcroft master plan?), too hesitant to contribute to the...
efficaciously fertile sonic cacophony! That's part of the
present problem, ladies and gentlebunkies! Give me the "Rebel
Alliance" over the "Empire" anytime, if you'll forgive the George
Lucas reference.

Who would I aspire to be eventually? Consider the rapidly
depressurizing airliner. All the yellow oxygen masks drop down
in the emergency, and you put your neighbor's on him before you
put your own on yourself. You've been admonished by the flight
crew to put your own mask on _first_ so you will be _around_ to
help a struggling fellow passenger. It's like that. I've got my
mask on in the time allowed me, and I might be able to offer
suggestions facilitating a better seal on yours... I would
aspire to be around to serve, indeed, I've volunteered for
service all my life, doing all sorts of jobs no one else wanted
to do. That's over!

I'm an artist. I'm not the only one who thinks so. I say that
straight out and without pretension. An 'outsider' discovered by
Dr. Faye Earnest of Enterprise State College (who produced a one
man show of my work decidedly award winning), I represent the
art community with no formal training in it. I push the
materials or media around in ways that satisfy me, without
regard to convention or tradition and so I am unhindered by the
"conventional wisdom" of what "does" and "does not" work. Words
are just another box of paint to me -- another art to reflect
what is perceived as truth. I do what an artist does. I don't
_know_ any better.

I'm a whistle blower. This is a quality that I didn't realize I
had until very recent reflection, years after the fact,
demonstrated it to be true. In the military I would flirt with
disloyalty to my superiors when they would operate in arbitrary
manners that, knowingly and thoughtlessly, abused the troops. I
blew the whistle on them. I was instrumental in getting more
than a few of my superiors relieved. This cost me, generally, a
career above the company level despite being awarded four times
the recognition for meritorious service as the usual officer in
my grade. I turned down my _last_ promotion, awarded on the
_second_ consideration when it was discovered by the promotion
board that my failure to get picked up 'first look' was a result
of one of those 'superior' officers I _should_ have helped
torpedo (very justifiably... he lied, cheated , and stole...
nearly killed a guy thoughtlessly in a field training exercise),
to leave the Army at last after 23 years.

I'm paying a whistle blower's freight, still, with pride and
satisfaction! I've been denied friends (such as _they_ were),
opportunities, and about a hundred thousand dollars in lost
income to prosecute what, I have strong convictions, is
rightness to a _high_ degree!

Continuing on the thread of "whistle blowing," One can only
imagine what my experience was like in my subsequent career as a
Public School teacher... oil and water does not begin to provide
an adequate metaphor, but upon coming from a military operation
that had to work by definition, my sagacity was by no means
appreciated in an operation that does NOT have to work, also by
definition. I was treated generally (and from the beginning) as
a pariah despite the fact that I was on my very best,
appropriately subordinate, behavior. Though I could not ignore
hypocrisy and malpractice without at least asking probative
questions about it. Anything else makes my stomach hurt, and why
should _my_ stomach hurt when it's not my problem and a result
of the unethical actions of others? Why should yours? The reader
will just have to take my word for that, but it applies in the
ufological arena as well.

I am a "Boy Scout", philosophically.  I believe all the stuff I
learned in school about honor, truthfulness, and fidelity, and I
was nonplussed, to say the bleeding _least_, upon discovering
that that was, decidedly, nothing but an artful dodge, mostly,
used by otherwise unrestricted psychopaths to secure unethical
advantage because, honored reader, they were not compelled by a
society (they controlled) to follow the same rules that you and
I are compelled to follow. Honor, truthfulness, and fidelity
have earned sneers were there should have been citation, loss
where there should have been efficacious gain, and rejection
where there should have been ready acceptance. I would ram those
easy sneers back up some of those sociopathic noses (or
alternate avenues to where the sun doesn't shine) and _will_,
given the attention of an interested reader. Who are "they", the
aforementioned psychopaths? Already asked and answered. Check
the archives.

I'm a trained military observer (I used to teach observation
techniques as a flight standardization officer in the Army) as I
hope this series has demonstrated. I'm not given to taking
apples for oranges, pelicans for costumed super heroes, or UFOs
for thrown pie plates and satellites outside their forecast. I'm
_not_ a believer, but at the same time I am _not_ a reflexive
_disbeliever_. I cannot accept; however, especially given even a
clouded history of our own species, that we are the center of
the universe, the crown of creation, or even the shining buckle
on God's three corner HAT! I don't believe in gods made in the
image of those who would have me do their unctuous bidding. Like
George Santayana, I am an ATHEIST in that regard.

I'm a writer. I write nonfiction that takes what I would think
is an enthusiastic and creative delight in the craft. I want to
inspire a reader, enliven a reader, stimulate a reader. I would
encourage a reader, revitalize a reader as I have been
revitalized by reading, and, finally, I would challenge the
reader as I have been challenged.

I am eyes with the TIME to look. Look _with_ me! I am ears with
the MOTIVATION to hear. It is there for you to listen to. I am
voice with the OPPORTUNITY to speak. I'm speaking now. Like
eating and breathing, I am compelled to produce these ufological
reports and expressions because I sense in them (or more, in
what provokes them) a 'truth' that will likely not be
forthcoming from any other quarter. Call me self absorbed, I've
earned it.

The aforementioned truth is detected between lines of cross
purposed communication everywhere else, between the very stars I
observe at night, and I suspect that it is a truth that is at
the base of many other, subordinate, truths. Know this -one-
  truth to know many more. UFOs are real, by way of example, and
I think everyone intrinsically knows that, even the most gravid
CSICOPian skeptibunky at _some_ dank level or in _some_ dark
recess or cavity.

I see stuff in the night sky, at any rate, that is not remotely
addressed in the wan pontifications of those with a CSICOPian
cant, and I shall not hesitate to point that out to same.
Individuals of the aforementioned bent (individuals and
collections of these individuals who continue to pound straw
into their nineteenth century sensibilities, fifteenth century
mores, and first century philosophies) can just bloody well get
_used_ to my earnest dissection of them as long as I am able to
stab a key with an index finger. I _enthusiastically_ encourage
others to do the same!

It's only what I have been allowed the time to do. The lap-dog
mainstream should have allowed a more consuming employment for
me. I was just fine (and performed splendidly) as cannon fodder.
...Sorry that an employment of that same capability (in the
interests of the rout and general destruction of CSICOPia?)
scorches CSICOPian prairie oysters, but that's the way the
saucer crashes! <Big Smile>

I just can't feel _very_ sorry for him. He's the mainstream
himself and so has his reflexive support built right in.
Ironically lonely, he is never _alone_, our intrepid
CSICOPian... Isn't that right, Mr. Novak? Isn't that correct,
Mr. Thompson? Buckle up... enjoy the dying thrashings of elitist
Empire, something better is _sure_ to rise from the dust and
ashes. [g].

.That's enough. I remain watching the skies. Read on!

EXPLORE "Alfred Lehmberg's Alien View" at his VSN URL.

JOHN FORD RESTORATION FUND -- John will be released eventually.
He'll need a tax free cash stake to get on his feet. Let's put
one together for him; the bigger it is -- the more attention he
gets. It could have been you. E-mail for detail. $350.00 pledged
-- $200.00 collected!

"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite.
What others see from afar, I leave far behind me."
- Giordano Bruno, scourged by the scabrously specious scurrilous.

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