From: Alfred Lehmberg <Lehmberg@snowhill.com> Date: Sat, 06 Jun 1998 06:50:41 -0500 Fwd Date: Sat, 06 Jun 1998 09:07:38 -0400 Subject: Re: Alfred's Odd Ode #251 Apology to MW #251 (For June 6, 1998) Admitting I'm no prophet, or that brilliance isn't mine; I have few facts, and I'm re-miss in knowledge I should find. Smarter motes then me abound, as thick as fleas or flies, and battles with your *facts* should leave me hammered in your eyes. But then you make assumptions so your blacks and whites make sense, and your arguments get heavy, are encumbered -- much entrenched. And loath to leave the prominence that frames your *reputation*, you make prevarication or a senseless refutation! And then I have you where I've _found_ you, and we see your posits smell. You stumble in your pitch black room -- admit that you're not well. Admitting that you won't know more, or shake your fist at God, you stand at last, complete, revealed -- an undisputed knob. You say "not so," but you're not looking! Your eyes are on the ground! You clasp to you the insular; you push away profound! You're satisfied with white bread, though it rots you from within -- you are trembling in your countenance -- uneasy in your skin. You say your beads incessantly in a litany construed to take your mind from that which scares the hell right _into_ you. So pummeled by your nameless fear you wallow in your ethics . . . _made_ by you to hide what's dear -- destroying our aesthetics! Cut and slashed you cling to hope or faith which was untested. Your arguments miasma, they're discredited and bested. Contusions to your world view are the nightmares in your dreams; you look around and see the mess -- perceive you're not so clean. Your wounds now ooze an ichor 'cause you claim that they're not there, and will never let clean air to them, or let them heal fair. Shambling in this cyberspace like zombies, living dead, STILL you wish, exclusively, the dullest, whitest bread! The lid is on, on GOD knows what! Can't you feel it pressing down? Our spirit soars for reach and grasp, but we're mired to the ground! We fight old wars that long ago misplaced their right or wrong, and we elbow for position while we sing our *righteous* songs. The lid is on, on god KNOWS what! You can hear it in the air; the whispers that there's life on Mars . . . a type that's undeclared. Our permeated media is filled up to the brim with alien abductions, UFO's and black clad men! The lid is on, on god knows WHAT! It's in the planes we build. Aurora just the tip of monstrous icebergs crammed, and filled! What's the Hubble really seen? What HAS it found out there? Why are _we_ kept from the truth existing undeclared? The lid is on, ON god knows what. You keep up your distractions. All evidence inconclusive, even _yours_ with your detractions. Randi said, ironically, "There are those one shan't convince with the monumental evidence that is rich, and full, and dense. A believer's a believer and will _not_ relate to facts that are counter to a fond belief -- they're settled on that track." I cover tiny smiles with the fingers of one hand, thinking, that's an apt description of the skepti-bunky's stand! If you argue -- make assumptions, then they must, in fact, be valid. Assuming the forthcoming? Then be disappointed, Alice. Assume the *News* plays heads up ball, and check into a home, dementia has _consumed_ you, and you're senile to the bone. Assume that your religion has your interests at its heart, and be doomed to disappointment as you play your backward part. Assume an honest government, or an efficacious school, and become the spineless charlatan, charmless loser, or a fool! Lehmberg@snowhill.com Yeah -- well . . . you get to do that in a poem -- splash the right color paint around, see where it sticks, and watch who gets the angriest, or becomes the most irritated. That irritation, I've discovered, is proportionate to how worried the reader is regarding where, or how much of that paint actually sticks. Restore John Ford. -- Explore the Alien View? http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/arecibo/46/ "I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, while burning at the fundamentalist's stake.
[ Next Message | This Day's Messages ]
This Month's Index |
UFO UpDates - Toronto - Operated by Errol Bruce-Knapp