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From: Lehmberg@snowhill.com
Date: Tue, 13 Jul 1999 11:52:07 -0400
Fwd Date: Tue, 13 Jul 1999 11:52:07 -0400
Subject: Alfred's Odd Ode #307

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To: UFO UpDates - Toronto <updates@globalserve.net>
Date: Tue, 13 Jul 1999 07:34:56 +500
Subject: Alfred's Odd Ode #307
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Apology to MW #307 (For July 10, 1999)

I live to sing the music of a sort that won't pretend what the errors of our
past produce today. All the terror raining bombs, insulted Arabs, wounded Jews;
all the hate that's running rampant while some *Christians* hold their sway.
Still the saucers struggle in the blackness out of sight, and we cower in indifference
to pretend that wrong is right. We sacrifice the *least* of us to pad our feathered
halls. We pump the tits of brainwashed girls to make them take our fall. We
tear our eyes from lights that fly. We laugh and smirk and don't ask why. We're
mired in mistakes so plain they make us senseless, cruel -- insane.

Make a man a public figure, choose him out -- make _him_ your nigger! Place
him on your pedestal -- then hold him up for ridicule. Listen to his radio.
Hit his site. He's getting bold (?) -- then cast him out you fickle snitch!
You whining puling spawn -- you bitch! It all comes down to you at last. It's
what _you_ catch in nets you cast. You! So safe and in position spewing gay
jokes, and impositions. Wrapped in your convenience -- proud! And at the suffering,
laugh out loud! Your son is ravaged -- used, abused! Tormented! Savaged! Depressed
and confused! From where would come your laughter then? You are a clueless _jerk_
my friend. Art comes clean. It's _you_ that's dirty. You're knowing who you
are -- eh 'berty?

Conspiracy's alive and stark! Insidious and plainly dark, it thrives too well
in quick denial -- is nurtured by reluctant trial. It preens itself in your
detraction, growing in your crass inaction! I _agree_ the water's filthy, but
save the baby -- could we? Will we? We're mushrooms to the unelected. We're
in the dark, fed shit -- defective. We don't have a wit or clue if what we're
told is "nothing's new." Faith and trust is what's pretended, crass betrayal,
instead, extended. Nothing's like you think it is; it won't conform. It's falsely
glib. You say it's false, and then stop looking -- blinded then to looting --
rooking. It's like you *know* and just don't care, contributing to the angst
that's there. In a bubble thought secure you rationalize your lies -- inured.


Hidden in this churning madness, caught up in elitist gladness are the truths
that we would have if we would cop to what we've said. Hallowed treaties by
the score, around five hundred, *slightly* more -- ripped apart by Uncle Sam
to fill the vaults of shadow men. Fixing prices, built in failure, planning
for a short-term nadir, building walls they hide behind for insulation's sake
-- contrived. Knowledge _is_ the power, friend (explains our schools that just
pretend). Autonomy is what we're missing, teams have power beyond dismissing,
but that is what the man still fears (above all else) it so appears.

Flying in the skies like crickets, *somewhere*, it has been admitted, are reflections
of ourselves that look and wonder for themselves. They're not here 'cause we're
not there (?), our science says, but oh -- contraire. Better that we treat them
like they're watching us prepared to strike. The evidence -- historical, photos,
papers, anecdotal, are the tips of massive 'bergs that float serenely unperturbed.
We're not LOOKING. We don't admit it. We're lost to our indifference with it.
Our focus is on learned sneering, proudly bloated profiteering. We've no thought
beyond tomorrow, and _that_ is our collective sorrow.

Lehmberg@snowhill.com

Everybody's dad dies -- doesn't make me special, but my dad was a lover of
Words, and his passing deserves some kind of notice in the habitats and environments
of words.

He was a scientist, a published author, a poet and, undeniably, he was one who
had remained curious about things. An artist, he was noted for his flamboyantly
creative and efficacious manner. While not occurring in a manner of statistical
significance <g>, he could admit that he was wrong.

His accomplishments are widely and interestingly varied. He's done everything
from work with Stanton Friedman on project NERVA (an early, and working, atomic
engine) to oil exploration among alleged headhunters in South America. A political
independent (a little too right for my taste <g>), he kept an open mind that
was an inspiration to many and an astonishment to the rest.

All unquestionably intelligent persons would agree that he was the very soul
of rationality, and he had an edge. He had the courage to profess that he felt
it likely there was a solidly esoteric foundation to the UFO conundrum, and
that it deserved unflinchingly serious study -- for example.

Alfred Lehmberg II died Tuesday at seventy-six, laughing with his family almost
to the end. I will miss him, as will anyone who knew him.

For a taste of him, visit his Web Site at:

http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/witches/237/lehmberg.html

Restore John Ford! <Dad always knew Suffolk County was crooked -- said that
it had been that way a long time>