From: Alfred Lehmberg <Lehmberg@snowhill.com> Date: Sat, 01 Jan 2000 10:00:02 -0600 Fwd Date: Sun, 02 Jan 2000 01:18:56 -0500 Subject: Alfred's Odd Ode #332 Apology to MW #332 (For January 1, 2000) High in Chinese mountains and on the border with Tibet, a team of archeologists were conducting digs, it's said. The routine exploration of a set of linking caves was detailed and scientific -- when they came upon some graves. The graves, arranged so neatly, were to yield what portends . . . yet another haunting mystery -- did it happen? Bet it did. The graves gave up their contents, and the men just stood aghast. Their mouths were hanging open for credulity was cast! Within these graves the bones were *strange* -- perhaps some kind of ape?!? The heads too large, the bones too small, and tiny (?!) -- how they gaped! "Ape men" was a silly stretch, these scientists were seasoned -- what kind of ape will BURY dead? They HAD to come to reason. And then it was they found the *stones*, and what *ape* crafted these? Tiny hieroglyphics spun in spirals one could see. How like a "stone age gramophone", they thought, and were to say, but that was nineteen thirty-eight, and this is present day. Twelve thousand years had passed to dust from times too dark and fabled. The disks of stone were ancient, too explicably mislabeled. Even those who had them had no clue what they were for -- dismissed as cultish objects, they are locked in Chinese drawers. The plates resemble records that a *caveman* would have played, a big hole in the center and the spiraled tight display. The glyphs display like feathers of a paranormal bird as they fan imagination in the way that they've been curved. There's nothing, then, quite like the way that they were crafted out. There is the plate of Lollidof (another Dropa shout!), which COULD be serendipity if there is a GRAIN of truth, but this just won't be talked about, so some can stay aloof. For YEARS the disks are studied, and they vex the greatest minds. The Chinese keep it to themselves not knowing what they'll find. They ARE so *strangely* puzzled; it's compelling, so bizarre, 'till finally they DO crack it (!), and we see just where we are. The contents are so shattering, tumultuous, and sincere that the lid is clamped upon them and they're silenced by the fear! Ridiculed, at present, by our sacrosanct *elite*, these are stories that inflame the mind, but for SOME demand retreat. Dr. Tsum (?) (our brave code breaker) likely opted for discussion. He saw the different paradigms in a burst of light's concussion? For years he argues quietly (he would fear the prison camp?), but then Peking decided. They would light that secret's lamp! The year, by now, was sixty-five, and I was still in school; a green-eared lad of fifteen years, a sophomore . . . a fool <g>. But I remember vaguely in a paper from a friend . . . which spoke of Chinese UFO's -- that "Dropa" word again. And today in nineteen ninety-nine, I see that word once more, and the story (plus some pictures!) rather put me through the floor. It WAS twelve thousand years ago, and from the trackless sky . . . descends a *ship* in trouble -- call it fable, myth, or lie. They land, contact the people, called the Ham (they lived in caves). Some are slaughtered for their trouble, and so end their hapless days. They're hunted down on horseback, "gaunt and yellow" -- not like men. Their *ugliness* transcends belief -- stranger *strangers* . . . sans some friends. Some must live to make it known that they are quite sincere, have peaceful, kind intentions -- and are really not that queer. They mix genetic *essence* with the people of the Ham. Those folks, today (?) -- anomalous, unexplained . . . a mystery, Sam. The "plates"? They're still the mystery, their construction isn't plain. Containing too much cobalt, and by *wattage* marked and stained. Electrical components would be "scarred" in such a way, and the plates have *other* properties. They hum when spun they say. In sum a scary story, or a message from the past, that it's true -- we're not IN Kansas, and the secret's out at last. Just another cruel enigma, wrapped in years of crass denial? The plates contest *reality*, so a look is NOT worthwhile? And we don't look, we ridicule, and mock, or smirk -- or worse, we're back-step dancing shufflers -- it's no blessing; it's a curse. A curse of shallow sightlessness, and a waste of useful talent, a choice for all the worst ideas -- the short view's selfish challenge. But for them we'd live . . . tall lives in space . . . in constructs that we made, respecting individuals, and the TEAMS that they would make! Satisfaction so achievable that it's in the air you breath, respect that's so forthcoming you can chew it with your teeth. Freedom that's decided as the common right of birth, education's focus is "you make your *own* choice", Burt! You're given information which might change the way you feel, and you buy in, the choice is YOURS . . . you strike an honored deal. Lehmberg@snowhill.com Pronounced *drohzz-pa*. Restore John Ford. ~~Ö~~ EXPLORE Alfred Lehmberg's Alien View" at his Fortunecity URL. http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/arecibo/46/ **<Updated 25 December>** http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/witches/237/lehmberg.html JOHN FORD RESTORATION FUND -- Send your checks and money orders to _me_, Alfred Lehmberg (cut out the lawyers, they got theirs) at: 304 Melbourne Drive, Enterprise AL, 36330. Strict records kept. $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, burned at the fundamentalist's stake.
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