I'm just ONE voice in this crowd, and though I've listened hard (...out loud!), so presupposing are these men who'd preach we are *alone*, my friend.

I have listened to these *learned*, read their work (excelled at college), and these do NAUGHT but stunt my soul with shallow minds like shards of coal. These pretend reality, dismiss the facts that won't agree, and counterfeiting history, just hard-sell old hypocrisy.

I look into a starry sky and see potential, depth and time. I realize that there's enough —of all the truly needed stuff— but pass on specious proclamations to sail our imaginations.

See, all that we "believe" or "fail," our rabid fictions, legends — tales... has happened in those yawning reaches ... inspiration's task to teach us. Lost in time and dusty space could live the creatures of some race who'd solved the problems we all face or vanished there without a trace!

We're advised *they* CAN'T be here — assign to *them* our limits, fears, pronouncing that they won't surpass... achievements WE are yet to cast!  

Still, we propound imagined *laws* and tell them where their line is drawn! Squirty guffaws given chance; perceive our errant arrogance!

We propose our churlish physics, airily, like fools not "with it". We ignore new paradigms if they don't fit convenient rhymes, and we don't care to spend the time to do REAL work — a likely crime.

We're a bunch of sad pretenders, charlatans and glad offenders living in a noxious past which gloats obscenely, if you'd ask. No one finds the facts they need all mixed with misdirection's breed to keep their status quo alive so they can *live*... while WE survive.

Hear them tell you "no free lunch", then bear down for their "culture crunch." Complacent, they're a charmless bunch; they just don't care. That's more than hunch.

Something's "hidden," no surprise, well wrapped within their maze of lies, and we can't put our finger ON our *strange* discomforts:  "fear" and "wrong."  

We're tied or mated to our fear in ways to make control more *clear*, and so won't question pretty lies that weave their phony web — disguised. Though, We have wives and husbands — children ... mothers, fathers, other brethren ... needing forecasts they can trust to plan a future as they must!

We would have things... "solid," "useful," "realistic," "substantial" — "truthful."

We grow tired of your "usual," grow cynical — have a snoot full! Riots in the streets, at last, when we discover what's gone passed ... that time just may be coming fast, when you're the one confused — surpassed.

I don't have the "facts", I'm told, by churlish goons and callow scolds. I'm the "liar," I'm accused, when I but show where we're abused, and offer that we can't get *facts* from cyber-thugs who grind an axe!

Something not admitted slinks behind facades of "fishy stinks," and it would change the way we FEEL to know, at last, what's true and real!

Someone knows the real deal, will take what they can grab and steal, and makes their judgment (if unreal!) as to, then, how YOU should feel!

I'm standing here, my leg is *damp*, they're saying that it's *raining*, champ!

Trouble is, I heard their zipper, hear the smirk inside their whisper, smell ammonia, (used asparagus?) — they should drink more water. Careless!

I can't believe what they propose; it's blown from Aristotle's nose — that saucers shan't command our skies, that time and space will prove they lie, that we are hidden, unobserved, so quite alone, and *undisturbed*. I don't believe their mechanisms; I don't go in for their religion; I don't *buy* their evening news, or think their system's not abuse.

These have earned my hard disgust. It grows as they provoke mistrust. Insult (try!) just makes me harder, more intense (increases ardor!), and I, at last, regard the sky — those moving points of light described, FEEL space (a living thing!) and KNOW there's more than what THEY sing!

alienview@roadrunner.com

www.AlienView.net

Oh, and ... you know who they are.

  ...A likely crime as I said. See, a conspiracy is always criminal. There is always a victim victimized. You, reader, to some degree large or small!  

I look up and hear Mozart and Beethoven. Offered an assumptive monotone of "How Much is that Doggie in the Window" in its place by suspicious systems, one can understand why I might be askance and akimbo in the offered's regard.  Bitten and shy, eh? Building Seven...  

Thanks, but ... I'll just keep looking up.