`How About Some Change?’

How about some change? Let’s serve it up with a full awareness that it is exactly what everyone wants. Lets just take what we believe needs to be done, with no connection to reality, but rather a storybook story where every body is the same as everyone else, where we all drive inefficient little clean cars with perfectly inflated tires, spend four hours a day separating our garbage into five or six different containers (Lest we be fined!), spend hours waiting in lines-everywhere, make nothing, buy just what we need (decided by an all-knowing government agency), possess no weapons, eat organically and as a vegetarian, don’t drink, do no drugs, and never overeat or become fat, all have access to a barely competent health care system, accept communal property ownership, realize that all you earn belongs to the state (They will take your money first – take what they need – and give you the rest), there is no rich or poor, the whole world loves us, there is no need for a Constitution, or a Bill of Rights (Because these are evolving documents), there are no criminals (Just misguided, or ill people) – therefore no prisons, there is no need for religion (Clearly the root of all evil), count our carbon dioxide exhales, and our carbon footprint calculations so that we can be taxed fairly…

‘Imagine!’

Sorry, I am probably the only person on the planet that really dislikes that John Lennon song. I despise the Pollyanna way that some folk have always thought that the way to a utopian world is to throw out the baby with the bath water and create some ridiculous world that denies the human condition, or human propensities. There has been no end of human communal/governing experiments – from the small Shaker Communities in the  mid 1800s to the failed Communist Society in the U.S.S.R. The hardest thing is to have the proponents get that it doesn’t work. In the last fifty years the progressive movement has spent most of its time pondering the ‘what if’ in their theories. That no concrete form is ever thought up is because they believe that their theories are perfect and correct, no proof needed – failure is not from the flaws in the thinking, but in any scapegoat available. I have even heard an acquaintance of mine explain that the only reason that Communist System failed was because the evil United States, through Cold War machinations, stressed and forced the system to spend its assets on defense, and not its people.

It may come down to a psychological conundrum- human beings do well in small tribal groups. The greatest number that I have researched being thirty. So with family and friends we all have about a thirty people tribe around us. Now in reality, if all your friends are on Facebook you need to get a real life. (All right – Facebook is pretty cool in a six-degree kind of way!)

In my hippie days the concept of a perfect world stemmed from the idea that my tribe is cool and wouldn’t it be great if the tribe could extend to all humanity.’ Hey man- pass the dub over here – I am having a moment.’ I built houses and Rock and Rolled – my friends went on to get their Degrees, get tenure, and teach Marxism to empty-headed naive young people- who grow up to be Lawyers, Community Action Folks (God Bless them each and every one!) and presidential advisers. Do they not have Liberal Colleges in Hawaii and Chicago? Don’t the rich have too much and the poor to little? Wasn’t that muddy, nasty, mess at Woodstock the greatest human event in history? Okay maybe that was pretty cool in a counter-culture kind of way.

Putting aside my snarky – probably construed as Right wing -hate-mongering – all not true. In my early years I was an Illinois Democrat , that’s right, the very Party organization that produced President Obama. When I saw the party hijacked by the ubber-socialists I backed out. .When I found that a small business person was under financial attack from both parties (I was one!) I spent many years being anti-politics and pro business (Translate to ‘Let the individual succeed.’) I watched corrupt unions bleed off their members and betray their trust over and over. I decided to join the GOP and work toward a centrist view and support for the little guy, ideals that the Democrats abandoned for the – ‘Everybody needs to work for the Government and every one who doesn’t is a ‘say no’ republican.’ – agenda!)

So what do I believe? You may be amazed at how easily I roll from one side to another – something we should all do. Here  is some of it  in a serious nutshell.

1. Focus on jobs. I wrote a piece to Congress 20 years ago that used the metaphor of an old growth forest to describe where I believed the state of business would be in the near future. It was my humble belief that the old trees like the mega-corporations would kill off the small growth, or small businesses below them. Small business hires 80% of the people in our country and yet the Government continues to heed the needs of big business and ignore small business needs. Big business can afford large campaign funds and pay for lobbyists. Sorry – we lose!
2. Help small business grow. Not by taxing and creating a new bureaucracy, but by cutting taxes specific to small business and creating startup incentive programs in depressed areas and enterprise zones. Reduce Performance Bond cost amounts and create a small business surety fund to establish affordable guarantees – this will allow a larger base to participate in Government Contracts. The same Insurance program could also make SBA loans easier to acquire. For all the talk and politics the most difficult problem for small business is capitalization, an age-old problem. The mantra goes like this: ‘If I had the money, or credit, I wouldn’t need to borrow the money.’ Solve the capitalization problem and you put the country back to work.
3. Health Reform is a fraud and not because of my political affiliation. Here is what is true. We need to wrestle power away from the states and there is the rub. The individual States have authority over the health and welfare of their citizens , as guaranteed by the Constitution. Taxing and regulating Health Care within the borders of the State supply the coffers and the election campaign funds at the State level. Will the States give up this power so that we can all have affordable Health Care? If Health Care Providers could sell Insurance in all States the cost of Health Care could easily be cut by a third. (Business 101- the same simple system Wall Mart and McDonalds uses.) So why can’t we have it that way – because Congress really does know how much money is available and they want it. The States will not give up their revenue, just so Congress can fill its coffers, and if you think that the Feds, upon gaining this ability, will pass the savings to the taxpayer, you are an innocent, think the world is full of butterflies and rainbows, and I know you haven’t ever seen an ‘R’ rated movie. It is not in the nature of Bandits to give up their spoils easily.

3.Tort reform – this is a contentious subject. Some would say that big Business needs it ass kicked every once and awhile. Others would say if we controlled the payout by establishing a top-end amount it would create savings for the consumer. Why is medical malpractice so high? Because there are so many cases and so many people prove their cases. Negligence + successful lawsuit = $$$ Why do Big Companies get sued and end up paying out millions? Negligence + Successful lawsuit= $$$
Two things have to happen:

One – before there can be tort reform for medical malpractice there has to be a termed medical review board (Of Doctors) with the will and authority to police their industry. Hiding incompetence behind corporate veils and allowing an incompetent Doctors to continue to practice is a major problem. The same could be so for Nurses, Hospitals, and Nursing Homes, but not Review Boards of unqualified bureaucrats, Politicians, prestige seats, and certainly not another tax sponging Government agency.
Lawsuits over a certain amount need to be reviewed by one of these boards before a lawsuit may be filled – there can be no power to stop a lawsuit, but it will shorten the time duration of a trail by giving clear evidence and opinion.

Two – Establish a fair top end for settlement and establish fair fees and profits for attorneys, taking into account that most cases accepted without cost to the client. The chance of this happening is almost nil. The ‘Practice’ of law has become a drain on our economy. I don’t advocate its demise, but believe that the ‘gravy train’ as finally come to the station. It’s time for that’ Industry’ to begin reigning itself in. Will it? Probably not in any substantive way. – most of the Right Honorable Members of Congress are Attorneys.

That’s it for my two cents. I’ll get in on Cap And Trade next time. I’m just an old guy sitting in a diner and this is my point of view.

Ken Lehnig(c) 2010
Visit:

http://www.klstoryteller.com

http://www.sonswagger.com

http://www.swaggerclassifieds.com

Just Rock and Roll

I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with my blog. I logged in and to my horror I see that I haven’t written a thing here for two months. Yikes!

Okay, here is the reason – I know that if a person rationalizes, defends, or justifies a position that person is full of sh**. But really I have been ridiculously busy. I write a monthly article for Majestic the newsletter for the Lit.org writing site. http://majestic.lit.org/wordpress/ as well as keeping up with content at my site http://klstoryteller.com

How’s that for excuse making with shameless promotion stuck in?

But here is the real thing and one I am excited about. I’ve been a songwriter/singer/musician/poet for my entire adult life (since 1964) and have been a solo artist, or been in bands, all of that time. When the web became user friendly I used it to promote whatever I was doing. One of the site- types I discovered were the music community sites. In the beginning they only offered mp3 uploads and photo galleries and it worked well enough – if a little tech-difficult. As the technology improved, and got friendlier, the sites became wonderful tools to be seen and heard, Video uploads and players were a plus. I am on a lot of music promotion sites (Google Ken Lehnig) and I will tell you it does help if you are dogged about promoting yourself face to face – and then use your web presence as a credibility card, but often just shows that you are a geek.

So being A guy who has a mental disorder that demands constant busyness I started a new venture  ( ’cause I am crazy!! ) With an old friend and fellow songwriter, we decided to put up a new music community site. Songswagger.com

It sounded like a great idea. We researched and purchased the latest software. Then the fun began – we redesigned the look of the site and started testing all the features. A solid month of eight hour days later, because we are mini-geeks and often sat with perspired brow and armpits – staring at a screen that seemed unwilling to reveal the secrets needed to make a particular function work – the site is up. I put my band in as well as my solo stuff and loved the ease in which the functions work.

So now- a couple of songwriter/musician types have put up a site for songwriter/musician types. We are committed to giving artist all they need to be seen, sell their songs, their goods, and themselves. The journey has begun and we will see where it goes – ready for the ride. Come and join us.

www.songswagger.com

When Computers Die

The computer screen lit up and my rebuilt compute whirred into life. The poor beast, overworked and laden, gave up the ghost two weeks ago. It’s little brother, my trusty laptop, did not hold up the task of taking its place. It too coughed – and hiccupped – and sadly died. I sat in my black leather chair, in my office, and began to weep. The realization that I had been cutoff from the world, severed most cruelly from ghostly relationships, tended so carefully across the ether. No more was I connected to my vaguely artistic works peppered hither and thither on the strands of the world wide web. I was overcome with a deep dread – I had been slowly cyberized, over the years, by trying to master these devices. How was I connected to the world? Not by handshakes and hugs, but by directed bytes, e-mails, and URL addresses.

I steeled myself up, pressing down the fearful flutters in my stomach. I was going to be strong. I would take my devices – for that is all they are – down to a computer shop where would sit a maven, an expert, who will take my broken wings and once again make them fly. Soon all would be well. The magical diagnosis was performed and the worst was revealed. They were both old and worn, just like me. The rush of empathy nearly overwhelmed me. Then that which must be asked – was asked, “What do you want to do with them?” I was shocked dumbfounded. ‘Had he no heart?’ I thought. These have been my partners, my companions in arms. We have taken every battle with stout hearts and drives. We have, together, written over five hundred thousand words. They sat there patiently while I sweat and ached to nudge some morsel from an unresponsive muse. They assisted me in writing all those query letters and felt, I’m sure, sympathy when the rejection letters came rolling in. Do I just cast them in the garbage heap? They deserve more.

Then the brilliant and blessed A+ certified genius said, “Why don’t we drop a new, larger, hard drive and double up your RAM. Then you just reload your operating system and your software and your good to go – won’t cost you near as much as new computer. Your laptop just needs a couple of larger sticks – RAM. Easy!”

The light of heaven opened up and I heard the entire Muse’ singing in a combined chorus of Alleluia. My freinds could be resurected. I could see the clouds breaking and all those past writers, who struggled with mere pen and paper, all were giving me a ‘thumbs up’. So generous those previous others who made there way without spellchecker, and the Internet. We computer literate writers, of today, give a nod to those who loved their fine quill and expensive inks, who toiled away pounding the mechanical keys of an old Remington, tossing mistyped pages of incoherent thoughts into the trash.

“So, what do you want to do?”

I blinked as the vision passed and looked, watery eyed, at the techno maven. “Fix it! My food man, my techno savior, boost the power – boost the memory – get me up and on line as soon as your are able. We have work to do”

“Come and get them at five!”

The shakes began. “Five? That would be six hours.”
“Yeah! About that.”

“What will I do?”
“There’s a Mc Donald’s across the street. They have chairs and a big screen TV. Have one of those iced-coffees – they are good. I’ll have two or three every day.”

“I turned and found my way to the place he suggested. The iced-coffee was pretty good, as were the four cheeseburgers. I watched Fox News and was brought up to date on the state of the Democratic Party and all of Obama’s failures. Five o’clock came and I, much enlightened, found my way back to the shop. I took my electronic patients home, spent the rest of the night loading programs, connecting modems, setting up e-mail accounts, and having a wonderful time.

Even though life has its ups and downs – its all pretty good. Isn’t it?

We are all in Wonderland!

The world has gotten to be a pretty weird place. I can remember the, often entertaining and sometimes aggravating, antics of our leaders as diversions in an otherwise wonderfully dull day. The News faces on television would lie to us with broad trustworthy smiles and we would nod at our televisions in rapt attention, not believing anything we were told. Well, you could act like you believed, so that your conversations around the water cooler would be hip and socially aware. No one really took it seriously. Hell, I was raised in a time where the atomic bomb was a real threat and that we foolish people thought that telling our children to climb under their desks, putting their head down and putting their little asses in the air. That was going to do what? …Save them? You can’t lie bigger than that. We are numbed and immune. So why do these Demo-rebublicon idiots look so surprised when not one believes a single word they say.

‘No, of course I didn’t read the bill. We never read the bills. We have staff members who read the bills. No, I don’t know who specifically wrote the bill, but we have people up here that tell us whether to vote for it or not. It’s a good system we have been doing it this way for decades. I mean,really… the bills are 1200 hundred pages long who has time.”

No – don’t read that as a partisan stand. I think they are all deluded and being conned – as we are. Stuff rolls downhill!!! Some are just robust in their presentation. Egad! Our Speaker of the House is as far removed from reality as it is possible to be. I know she comes from ga-ga land, but even there ( San Fransisco is a lovely city, I must say.) has sane and clear headed liberals and a smattering of ‘right’ minded conservatives people. So why does she just step in it day after day? Who are her advisers? It as if the whole Congress as been slipped Peyote in there afternoon cocktails. The name calling and mind locking came to a peak when Bush was the President and it appeared that he was oblivious to the criticism. He started this mess and, by God Obama’s gonna finish it.

Now we have a card caring Disney character waving his hands and smiling out slogans and beatitudes. “I’m for change! I’m for choice! No wait! I”m for change! Wait – a lot of people want me to do more so I’ll just keep doing more.”

Mr. President , with due respect, who are these people you know and why do we care that they want you to do more?  I know a lot of people that would like you to do a lot less. I don’t want you to do another thing, except sit comfortably in the White House, smoke some cigarettes, and wait for the hard working and industrious people of this country to climb out of this hole. Then introduce the change you would like to implement – but first stop talking to the Cheshire Cats.

I say that not because I dislike the man, I say it because I do like the man and his radical peeps (Cheshire Cats) are wrecking him, and the country, with a 100 ton sledgehammer. What is he hearing and who is talking to him? He isn’t listening to the people. He wants to ‘change’ everything – anything – something. Does being elected give you a mandate to do as you please?  The people of this country are scared and insecure. The economy, the clear failure of a system rife with creed and corruption, is in a shambles. The loss of jobs and people’s homes is a serious problem – not a statistic. The job of the President is to soothe our fears. Lead us to some normalcy, not further provoke us with a bigger more intrusive goverment,  more taxes,  and fewer jobs. Where is the sense in any of this.? Do you jam your political agenda down our throats just because you can?

Yes the country went to hell when Bush was at the helm – so fix it – don’t change it till its stable. Do we need health care reform? YES! Do we need to look at sustainable energy? YES! Isn’t that what the National Department of Energy, created in 1977, was to do? How many people work for that gigantic money pit? A 27,000,000,000 dollar budget … for what? So now we need ‘Cap and Trade”? Are you all kidding? So what are those Dept. Of Energy folks doing, besides collecting salaries. President Obama, instead of mis-speaking about the effectiveness of the Post Office, it would go along way for the citizens of this country if you would, or could, report to us the great work any Government Agency has done. Show us any evidence of planing and meeting goals. I know very few people in Washington have ever had to make a payroll. Bring in some small business people, not your Big Corporate buddies, and ask them how to set goals and meet them. Let’s have the Departments and the Agencies,  now in existance, show a little productivity. Mentoring from entrepreneurs would be a start.

To all you elected leaders, you have got to take stock of the concerns of the people. Lay aside your liberal and conservative agendas and let the smoke clear. Things need to be fixed – so sit down and figure out how to fix it …it’s why we elected you.

Right now it appears to all of us that the people running this country are all pot smokin’ caterpillars, sitting on mushrooms, and all elected and appointed officials are all power mad white rabbits. Alice is still shaking her head. And no amount of explanation from insane Caterpillars or the Cheshire Cats will matter to us. Keep in mind, you believe what you believe and you have the power to act on it – so make sure that what you believe is the truth.

The Stairs

STAIRS

I have walked down so many halls all one to another. Not a person or sound except the sad moaning and weeping that echoes off the featureless walls when I am desolate. But I stroll endlessly on and on. I have walked for years it seems. Walked in search of my immortal soul lost in a memory barely held on. So endlessly hard this task. I never swerve. I don’t sleep. I don’t rest for there is no relief from the fatigue that permeates through me and weighs me down.
Then there they were…what branch of corridor did I stumble into to meet this horror? Stairs!
It was the stairs that made me even less. It was the stairs that took my nerve. Comfort I took in the sameness of this place, this hellish place. I take the walk to clear away the sins of life. I took it not for a simple race but held it in patience to atone for all life’s mourning strife. No person have I seen these untold years. No person to try to justify the reasons for my actions or those choices that ended in disaster or disappointment. Where are those who orbited me, those more important than I did ever know? Where are those souls I dominated or those who dominated me? Where are those people to whom I lied and cheated? There is no one to see my repentant tears, no one to stand-to judge and call out my penance. Not one person to tell me why. Where is the Judgment, where is the Throne for me to kneel in disgrace? Where is the welcome Fall to earned flame? Just this endless gray, this forever – corridor and then these cursed …stairs.
And now I crumble in the mist of eternal gray staring at these stairs. I fear …it grips me and holds me down. Yet I can no longer walk pondering these questions. I have run out. I haven’t one thought other than wondering at the nature of these stairs. I can’t bring myself to take one step up these too bright tiers. Dear God did you put me here to learn-to realize some revelation? But none has come. Life affirmed or denied have I pondered and have come to no answer. It was not all bad or all good. Some things happened to me and I was carried along in a current. Some things I did myself from anger or did without regard or care. Some I held true and some I denied. Some things I did for the best and bore the sting of misunderstanding. I took some to me and threw some away. And for all my mussing no answer came to me. For the good I did was shadowed by the weight of rue and woe. I wasted much in depression, in tears of regret and in a self-image carved by the eroding winds of life to which I had no great skill. Should I be blamed for the recklessness of my youth, the selfish and blind single-mindedness of my middle years or the cynicism of my aged self? How else? But no Judge have I …just these lighted stairs and a crippling fear.

So I ask in a simple prayer, “Dear God where do these stairs go?”

Underhill

Underhill

In the face of the troubles the world now suffers I wanted to post a song that sings to an, all to human, issue. The  ancient legends of the people of Ireland have always intriqued me. A conqured or oppressed people certainly feel diminished and could easily slip ‘underhill’ and be made smaller for suffering such loss of identity and esteem. Here is “Underhill”

I love your greening hills there

Mist caressing your wild ways

Your hair flows like the gift of spring

Winding down melancholy days

We are beset with dire opinions

Topped wild old rust and rage

We have forgot the reasons living

As history turns another page

We died down by the river

We fought there chilled to the bone

I’m afraid you won’t find me there

Carrying our light back home

Well, my Ladies, you were a giving sort

And our men were singular true

But the sin of revenge set in

Now we justify all that we do

We give up even our children

We lament in our grand halls

We forfeit the gifts of living

And underhill we grieve for it all

So we die by every river

We still fight chilled to the bone

I’m afraid you won’t find me there

Carrying our light back home

In our grieve we became much smaller

In time we’ll all disappear

Gone from the living light of day

Our lives forgotten but still held dear

Put out then a goblet before you go to bed

We give blessings to those who remember

Our believes unwritten with us are dead

We died down by that river

Topped wild old rust and rage

Underhill we hide from it all

Hear it : www.isound.com/burning_sage_band

ken lehnig(c)desert windsong publishing

Roswell and String Theory

Roswell and String Theory

The Roswell crash has been the most investigated case in the whole of UFO lore. Most aspects have become common knowledge and it isn’t for me to refute or substantiate those findings or speculations. I offer other information to consider. I will keep my sources secret at this time.

The military coming up with the balloon thing was a pretty good spin. No one bought it, at the time, because civilians saw all the kites the military were flying to monitor Russian low frequency mind control emissions. The balloons were used much later than the 1947 crash in Roswell. The use of balloons was used by the military after deep cover sources discovered the Russians were telling them, through low frequency energy transmissions  (LFTs,) to use kites instead of balloons. This same low frequency brain entrainment methodology is still being used today on civilian populations to help sell useless electronic goods and create ‘right’ thinking political thought. The red and blue state model clearly illustrates its affectiveness. The most profound use was the ability to make consumers feel guilty if they have more than 15 items in a 15-item checkout line. The use of this technology had become the US’s largest export to other governments prior to its misuse by the world financial institutions in 2008.

In the late 1940’s and 1950’s the Chinese, seeing an opportunity, attempted to take advantage of the US/Soviet situation by making and exporting kites to the USA. These kites used a type of string, being developed at the time at Los Alamos, that could hold a ‘mind charge’ that gave them an ultra-reality. Only children with special Esper abilities were involved in making the exported kite string. The string was used on the kites sold to the US to transmit a coded signal to American liberals already affected by low frequency saturation. “I like Mao” and  “Karl Marx the spot’ was the common subliminal message. What wasn’t known was that Alien saucers used string infused with a similar energy source that powered their pulse drive engines. The Chinese string, innocently used, on a kite by an eight-year-old child, Timmy Tooten of Roswell New Mexico, brought down two saucers, when they collided with his kite string.

It was the US, after looking over the debris from the Brasel Ranch crash site that realized that the string was nonessential to the crashed ships but only created a matrix for the real string, which is made of energy, in fact a new energy source, a quantum string. Two spies working at Los Alamos, accused of selling the technology to the Chinese, were subsequently jailed without trial. Reportedly they were the first two prisoners at GITMO.The crashed saucers used a complex net of quantum strings that allowed their engines to interface with the brain impulses of the Grays to propel the ships and bend space. 

 After the surrender of the data from WWII Nazis programs, it was discovered that the use of special children, Code name: Wunderkinders, was revealed. The involved scientists were secreted in to the US, and programs using special children were started. Some of these gifted children were found to grasp the mathematical context easily and programs were set up as a top-secret defense against both Alien invasion and Russian/Chinese machinations. The use of low frequency messages touting “America is always right!” were piggy-backed on the broadcast of the Texaco Star Theater and Ted Mack’s Talent Show.

One of the crashed saucers was sent to Area 50, a secret non-existent Nevada desert base, and technicians began to take it apart. An explosion ensued. ( See Photo)

A tech crossed two quantum strings, thinking they were just wires, igniting the power module. Area 50 was completely destroyed, the subsequent explosion sending materials into the stratosphere, the fallout making a large cross section of the people of the USA to suffer an addictive fondness for rock and roll music, french fries, peanut butter, white castle hamburgers, ‘Leave it to Beaver’, Spam, Jerry Lewis films, cars with big fins, excessive masturbation, fruitless necking and petting, poodle skirts, Thunderbird wine and Fresca, Milton Berle, salads with Thousand Island dressing, Manhattans, filtered mentholated cigarettes, moon pies, RC Cola, and bad pizza. (Note: It was reported that Coca Cola was an antidote for the communist plot of fluoridation in our water supply – but is unsubstantiated.)

 The explosion was reported to the press as an unscheduled A-bomb test.

The second vehicle taken from Roswell and sent to Right Patterson, was examined and it was brilliantly determined, by top men, that the only way to figure out the technology was to reverse -engineer the vehicle instead of taking it apart.  However, no one was sure as to how that could be done.  So little has been done to this day.

(Note: A scientist has stepped forward saying he was hired to reverse-engineer the captured craft. The government can’t find anyone to understand his notes and assumed he was just freeloading on the taxpayer’s dime. A Congressional hearing on oversight discovered that he had done nothing, the journal was a fake, because it was impossible to reverse engineer unless you took the item apart and since that was expressly forbidden under Rule 117R6691T of the non-existent MDSEC – {Manual on the Deployment and Study of Extraterrestrial Craft}, the man was fired and discredited. All record of his identity was erased.)

An alien did survive and was most helpful, until it became addicted to peanut butter. A scientist had left a sandwich in the briefing room and the creature had eaten it. The Gray began to babble and behave erratically. The effect is similar to heroin and LSD on Gray physiology. The poor creature often thinks it is, Sammy Hagar, Keith Richards or Ginger Baker, but does give valuable information within the parameters of rock music, money and real estate investments, drug insights, women, and tax advice. Since the Grays are connected by telepathy, we are now being bombarded by insane thoughts from the whole of their race and they to ours., which explains much of the political situation in the last sixty years. Additional bursts of low frequency transmissions have offset some of the alien psychic pollution. Some anomalous affects have been noted such as; hippies, Tiny Tim’s popularity – young men wearing their pants half way down their hips and showing their underwear – conservatives under thirty – liberals over forty – the stilted speech patterns associated with ‘valley girls’ – the tendency to make a religion of malnutrition by eating only organic plant life – wearing straight brimmed baseball caps with ears tucked into the hat band – use of the words irregardless and supposubly by otherwise intelligent people- the human potential movement – red ties – anyone that doesn’t get that Rush is a comedian – Nancy Palosi – Richard Nixon – Jimmy Carter – and Tatiana on the 2009 American Idol.  (Paris Hilton and Senator Reed’s behavior is not a function of this affect.)

By the Vietnam War era we knew that there were two crash sites by another alien group that landed in the area of Cambodia and Vietnam. They were alien bugs and nothing prepared us for what we found, a sucrose-based liquid infused with negatively charged ions ran their organic technology. There were viable eggs everywhere within the ships, (Clearly colony ships.) The Germans found the first crash sites, of this race, buried under two hundred feet of earth, near Warsaw. Toward the end of the war they re-buried them. It was estimated that the huge hive ships were over thirty thousand years old. The Russians found the files, in Berlin, and re-excavated the ships. A joint venture agreement was signed with the Chinese. The Russians and Chinese ate the eggs and found them a short-lived delicacy. The French had been looking for the hive ships for decades having only found one escape pod, full of eggs, near Paris. The French managed to synthesize the eggs and sucrose. This material was put in French foods as an anti-oxidant and thickener for sauces.  The only obvious ill-affect, from ingesting the alien material, was the enhancement of their pastries and to make the French rude, twitchy and slightly odd in behavior. (Perhaps explaining Julia Childs and their current international political policies)  Further, the French, thinking the people of Indochina would benefit from the additive, began adding the synthetic to MSG as a preservative for rice. The unexpected result was that all indo-Chinese became insulted by just about everything and started fighting among themselves. We joined in a bit later due to the whole ‘I like Mao-Karl Marx the spot’ thing and an unfortunate reference to ‘Dominos’ as the only ridiculous metaphor in the history of the US congress that every congressman and Senator got. The possibility that covert or subversive elements broadcasting LFT (Low Frequency Transmissions) into Washington DC was investigated by the FBI. That report was never revealed to the public.

A rare and expensive alcoholic drink was distilled from the ultra sweet sucrose combs found in the huge ships. The addictive drink altered DNA, caused delusions of grandeur, the affected spewing odd political and esoteric writings, uninteresting and irrelevant plays, and art.  It had also been distributed to the ultra rich and those that claimed they were of the bloodline of Jesus Christ. These same people were later responsible for the Irish dance craze proliferated by PBS, (Holding your hands at your side drives the aliens crazy.)  chasing the Grays to Mexico and explaining the increased sightings in that area of the globe. It is my understanding that once a year these ultra-humans create ceremonies that include; costumes, childish sexual play, drinking this rare liquor, marathon watching of Fox News and eating peanut butter. The only quantifiable result as a tendency for the very rich  to behave badly in public and have a strong urge to steal Company retirement funds. (The current financial meltdown may be due to this addiction.)

The Grays took to abducting humans to counter affect the damage done by installing normalizing implants. (The unfortunate area of insertion and placement has been the subject of TV shows, late night radio talk shows, and several best selling books on alien abduction. Of course all are off the mark.) The world governments, unable to logistically do what is needed, have made agreements for this implantation procedure with the Aliens. Since ‘normal’ isn’t quantifiable, odd behavior among our leaders may be an ill result of this unsanctioned intrusion. The world trades peanut butter, as payment, for the Implant Project. Highly organized Rogue grays, getting rich on drug dealing, have been stealing peanut butter from world government stores, creating a world wide financial crisis. The financial burden of growing and producing peanut butter has created an unstable world monetary market. The quick fix solution was to allow credit card debt to rise and allow the Real Estate market to float until a solution could be found. The Gray civilization is currently on the verge of collapse.

It has been suggested that President Obama has been meeting secretly with members of the Orion federation to intercede in the matter. The difficulty reported is that the Orion Federation is very conservative and the word ‘Change’ and ‘Unsustainable’ are considered expletives and highly offensive. The rumor is that they, the Orion Federation, have hired Glen Beck to act as an arbiter.

More later.

Ken

 

www.klstoryteller.com

Things That Go Bump

Me and the fellows just went down there to join in on the 4th o' July picnic!

In Hopkinsville Kentucky, in the early 50″s, my babysitter told me a story about something strange that happened to her, and her family. This became my favorite story of hers. I had always wanted to write a piece on this until I found out that this incident did happen- pretty much as she said. Here is how I remember the story, as she told it.

On Things That Go Bump In The Night

One eve afore a holiday, well most in my family found most days a holiday, that is -that most ‘o the men took to making there way in the world by doing the odd job, chopin’ trees, making or runnin’ shine or hunting what ever critter was unlucky enough to come pass close by the homestead. We was having a picnic so most ‘o the kin were over for a feast and a snort or two- since it were a holiday comin ‘ next day. It was a particular warm day and the bugs were fierce so by the time the sun went down most of us were on the porch. Now we are good Christian women so we don’t abide shine being drunk in our presence. Now don’t get me wrong we pray for the souls of our men folk every Sunday, but they are a stiff necked bunch -good in their way. Now some of the men fell prey to the evil of drink so we women made arrangements for the afflicted wives to stay over, so as to avoid any trouble later. Now by this time all was quiet and some had fallen asleep, natural and from drink, but it were real quiet. odd really, most times the night around the homestead is a fussin’ with critter noises.

I was just enjoyin’ the moment when a bright light comes down, like the heavens had opened up. I thought it was a helliocopter- they been around sniffin’ out hemp plants. A couple hollers over the Mc Bride bunch got pinched by Feds for growin’ smokin’ hemp. That a-smokin reefer is the devil’s work, so say I. They was a bad bunch, good riddance, says I. , ‘cept for cousin Becky, bless her heart, she married in. The heart wants what it wants, I always say.
So this light shines on down brighter than any thing man has made, and a big ‘ole thing – silver and gold comes – down easy as you please. It makes this loud squeal like a hog not liking the idea of it’s neck being slit – but louder. Well, it wakes all the men-folk up and they is a- cursing like there ain’t no judgement-a-comin’. Now, this thing – it must be the size of a barn, it lands right out in front, and this door opens up on the underside and these little folk come pouring out. Now, I been told all my life about the little folk, my kin bein’ from the Ireland and I swear I seen some hereabout but these wern’t them, These was skinny with big ole heads. Eyes big and midnight black- they was small too. They was like little ten year olds that ain’t ate well in months. Any way they comes pourin’ out and the men start hollering and fetching their guns. Soon guns is a-firing and there are yells all about. We women ran inside and locked the door. I stood outside with my pistol just in case one comes for me. I was standing on the step and something grapped my hair and begins to pull me up right off the porch. You can see I am not a frail woman, maybe a bit overfed-so when I tell you that skinny beast on the roof is lifting me like I was a doll – it means somethin’. I starts to scream, my good son see’s me and lifts his gun. He must have hit the thing, ’cause there is this pop and I falls to the ground. I ran inside not too bad hurt.

Things get real crazy then. These things are rapping on the windows-every window in the house. I look outside and I see’s little critters running helter skelter everywhere. I see’s them on he roof of the barn, the light from their ship putting back a shining on them. I seen two a-draggin’ Cousin Shep, by his hair, across the lawn. There is guns going off and I see puffs of smoke and flashes, where the critters gets shot. It were like a scene from hell. This goes on about four hours, till pretty near dawn. Then they climbs in their ship and off they goes-straight up and away, quick as you please, and gone.
When we all got together, thank the Lord, no one was missing and no one was badly hurt. There was just a bone broken here and there. Mostly it was cuts, scratches, and a whole lot of bruising. I can tell you there was not one soul weren’t sober and clear minded. We don’t know what it was that happened but we did call the Sheriff, him being a good man and friendly toward our family. He took some samples and had some fancy schooled men come out with their gadgets. They came back saying that they found some interesting things and such. I don’t know whether anyone believed us but God surely knows.

Now here is the part no one knows. Some of the women started to have some dreams they kept from the men. The younger girls begin to remember being taken in to the ship and was looked at in a way only a Doctor and a newly wed husband should. The older gals took it for a kind of shock. But nine months goes by and each gal that had them dreams ended up with child and gave easy birth to the prettiest babies you ever seen. Each one smart as a whip. We women keep to ourselves on this matter. If you tell we will call you, before the Alter, a liar.

Men folk in the family says they was men from Mars but we gals come to believe, for the blessing of those children ,that they was angels and so say I.

That’s the story-more or less. 1955 near Hopkinsville Kentucky. Look it up!
Ken Lehnig

More at www.klstoryteller.com

The East End Case In West(By God) Virginia

The East End Case in West (By God) Virginia May 2007 

I make this report to cast some clarity on a situation that has come to public attention. I am a reporter and Para- psychologist and as such feel the need for a greater obligation to the truth. I must clarify, also, that I am a skeptic and as such seek to unravel the web of interconnections between human creativity and real science.

Having said that, last year I had received an e-mail from a young couple, Jessy and William Burry, who had purchased a home in East End. It was listed as an historic home, The Pictory House. A Reverend Jebadia Pictory built the house in 1883. He was described as a small, thin, fussy man with a high pitched nasally voice and an eye for the ladies. A self-proclaimed scholar well versed in ancient Greek. The handwritten sermons, that have survived, are rambling and for the most part pointless. It is surmised that he used them as cheat notes and may have, in spite of his notes, delivered a cogent oratory. The church caught fire and was burned to the foundation less than one year after he moved into the town. There was no explanation as to why a new church was never built. The last years of Jebadia’s life were spent as a Bible Salesman and Barkeep at a local tavern. The reports of his death are sketchy but indicate that he had and affair with one of the barmaids working in the Pub in which he was employed. The woman was described as a bountiful woman of enormous stature. Mrs. Pictory, a large and voluptuous woman herself, was not pleased at his indiscretion and allegedly shot him, not in a jealous rage, but with meticulous forethought. She had contracted a social disease and felt just in her actions. It was recorded that she had stood in a Church service and proclaimed, unabashedly, her infliction. She described the curse as a pox visited upon her by her sinful and unrepentant husband. The court records stated that when she caught her husband mid-coitus she had burst into laughter at the sight of her diminutive husband perched atop, what she described as, a whale of a woman. She sat and carefully took aim, fired, and pierced his heart. Firing yet again at the terrified and screeching barmaid. That shot hit no vital organs and the barmaid survived with no lasting ill affect. The wronged and vengeful wife was arrested and carried, still laughing, to the local jail. It was reported that all the towns people visited, brought her meals, listened to her side of the story, and left in an agreeable state of mind. The trial was a local sensation. The jury, on hearing her defense broke into hysterical laughter, that seemed to be unending, until the Judge, wiping tears from his eyes, ordered the Jury to deliberate. When they returned the woman was found ‘Not guilty’ and set free. She resided in the house and expanded it over the years, until she died at the age of 99. Apparently, along the way, she was cured of her affliction and her girth. The tin types of her that remain show a tall slim woman. The house became an Inn and then a B&B until the Burry’s purchased it for the same purpose.

The Burry’s claimed to be at wits end to explain events in the home and were considering moving from the house, even though they had spent every penny they had on purchasing and renovating the property. I must admit I had reservations. Whenever someone with such an enterprise contacts me I am inclined to doubt his or her veracity. It is clear that if we were to prove that the house was haunted the marketability of the B&B would surely improve. Being used in that manner is unacceptable. Still, after a long phone call with the couple I felt they were sincere.

I called on two Researchers that I had used most successfully in the past, Tenissia and Bubba Evinrude. (No connection to the Evinrude Dynasty) We met for a pre-investigation meeting to brief them on the case. The Burry’s had reported several disturbing manifestations in the home. When they first moved in they slept in what was the master bedroom. At 3:15 am during the first full moon a male voice was heard, high pitched and nasally. All that could be discerned was a plethora of audible thee and thous. Bubba brought up that the couple could have easily looked up the history of the house and had made up a plausible story. The second event was the first time Mrs. Burry, a great cook, availed herself of the speed of preparing instant grits for breakfast, the quickly hot concoction was tossed from the stove onto a wall. A second attempt at the same breakfast treat produced the same effect. The third event was again at 3:15 on the second full moon, laughter was heard downstairs. The phenomena lasted over two minutes.

The forth and last thing reported was the most embarrassing for Mrs. Burry and the item that convinced me to take the case. I Googled the couple and found that they were lay-leaders in a local Baptist Church and known for their charitable works. Her story belayed any intent to defraud because of its shameful element. Mrs. Burry complained of her right breast being kneaded as if an invisible hand were at work. This manifestation happens at least once a night, when awake and waking her from a sound sleep. She also reported that when she showered an unseen hand slapped and fondled her buttocks. Her husband verified both accounts and even e-mailed photos of his wife’s bottom with red hand-marks on each cheek. I discounted the photos for the possibility that the man had a more lascivious need to share pictures of his wife’s well formed derrière. I e-mailed back that any photos of his wife’s right breast should not be sent over the Internet and could wait till we arrived. He e-mailed back that he was just about to do just that and thanked me for my discretion.

The logistics were agreed upon and we set out early the next morning for West Virginia. During the trip there was some contention between Bubba and Tenissia. Bubba insisted on studying the photos of Mrs. Burry’s butt cheeks, much to Tenissias consternation. He claimed that he was measuring the proportions of the handprints. He stated that he could determine if the prints belonged to Mr. Burry, as he suspected. I agreed but Tenissia believed he was taking a more personal interest. We all agreed for the sake of the investigation to hold off on that area of investigation until we arrive and can study all the data in its proper context.

We arrived early afternoon on Tuesday and were graciously greeted by the Burry’s, both attractive people, but looking very tried and somewhat haggard. Never the less we had a splendid meal and conversation with the handsome and charming young couple. There still remained some tension between Bubba and Tenissia. Bubba openly watched Mrs. Burry’s undulating bottom each time she left the room. It required my intervention. We took a walk, while the Burry’s cleaned up, and I reminded them both of their professionalism and the need to be to be focused and detached. They apologized and set up our equipment with their normal alacrity and attention to detail. Truly representing to me, the professionals they are.

We set up night cameras and heat sensing lasers in three of the bedrooms, the shower, the kitchen and pointing up the stairwell. We put microphones throughout the house and set up a command center in the closed in back porch. Lights out was at 9:30pm. The first event happened at 11:30pm the camera in the kitchen picked up a mist developing in front of the stove. Mrs. Burry had placed a pot of quick- grits on the stovetop. She had placed it on low heat. It is our belief that heat energy draws ethereal entities. The suspicion is that entities gather heat energy in order to manifest. Suddenly the pot was thrown toward the camera. Grits apparently covered the lens obscuring any more views. I immediately headed for the kitchen. On entering I felt a searing pain on my stomach that knocked me to my knees. The feeling was as if I had been punched. I radioed Bubba and Tenissia to come down and assist. They were stationed in the upstairs master bedroom and reported hearing a man’s voice. The voice was barely audible. I told them I needed help and that the mics would pick up any voice anomalies. I was in quite a bit of distress by the time my team members were aside me. I was helped back to the porch. I lifted my shirt and four parallel scratches transversed my abdomen. Mrs. Burry attended my wounds as the rest watched the monitors. Bubba picked up another infrared camera, an EM sensor, and went upstairs to the master bedroom. Tenissia decided to go stand in the hall shower where Mrs. Burry reported the ghostly molestation. Twenty minutes went by before Tenissia called and told us to watch the monitor. She was standing in the showered stall and it could be seen that the buttons on her blouse were unhooking and her skirt was being lifted. The effect was surreal. I neglected to mention the Tenissia is well over six feet tall and weighs over 300 pounds. At this point I made the connection that if Pictory’s spirit still remains here he might find Tenissia irresistible. Fearing for her safety I told her to get out of there. She spoke back in a clear voice. “Whatever it is. It feels tiny – like my husband. I’m gonna see how far this will go. Is the camera running?” I responded in the affirmative and told her to be careful. I told Mr. Burry to go upstairs in case she needs any assistance.

I also did not mention that Bubba is a smallish fellow, maybe 145 pounds and five foot six inches tall, with a great big fluffy mullet. I did not mention it in the beginning of my report for fear that they would be discounted by societal prejudice. In fact they are competent and educated people, in spite of their startling appearance. It was not intentional but a subconscious decision that I picked two people whom may closely resemble the alleged spirits in this house. But it seemed to have worked out well as the spirits seemed to react.

A spirit, presumably, the good Reverend himself, was disrobing Tenissia. One of her massive breasts popped out of her bra and was dancing on her chest, undulating all by itself.

Here is a transcription of the audio recording.

Bubba: “What’s going on down there?”
EVP: (High pitched male voice) “Does thou like what I am doing?”
Me: “Apparently a spirit is trying to have his way with your wife.”
EVP: “…a fine figure of a woman.”
Bubba: “Oh Damn, not again. I’ll be right down. Tenissia cut it out, damn it, you are such a tramp.”
EVP: “…big naughty vixen.”
Tenissia: “I’m not a tramp. I ain’t cheating on you. It’s a ghost for heaven’s sake.”
Bubba: “Does it have to be every time?”

At that point the two argued and ,for their privacy, I do not include that conversation in this brief. The two came out to the porch having apparently settled their differences. They both reviewed the audio and were as surprised and delighted, as was I, at the spirit recording and physical manifestation we had captured.

Bubba decided to take the EM meter upstairs and see if he could get any readings. The EM device measures electro-magnetic fields. It is clear that higher readings can indicate eminent paranormal activity. He made an adjustment to compensate for the static electricity his enormous ‘Business in the front-party in the back “haircut produces. Tenessia has little success with that piece of equipment; apparently she emits quite a field herself. Her explanation is that her powerful psychic abilities affect the readings. It is as plausible an explanation as any.

There were no disturbances until 3:15am. Then, quite suddenly the silence was shattered. A male voice high pitched and nasally began to drone lowly and then pick up volume. It seemed to emanate from every room in the house. By the tone and pitch it was a sermon of a kind, soaring and falling in ghostly eloquence. The words could not be discerned but everyone present felt the affect. We all were washed in a feeling of irritation and then an overwhelming sleepiness. Bubba ran down the stairs and fell on the floor in front of us in a faint. The voice raised in pitch and intensity, shaking the very walls. The words could be heard at this point but they made no sense. Though not a biblical scholar I am well versed in the Scriptures and found the disembodied spoken examples and conclusions to be inane and unconnected. It was as if the spirit person was just orating unrelated verses from both the Old and New Testament, in no particular order. In spite of being in abject terror the words lulled us all into a deep sleep.

I was awakened by sunlight streaming into the porch. I roused myself feeling confused and dazed. When I had gathered myself sufficiently I nudged each one of my fellow sojourners. We were all surprisingly refreshed and had no ill effect from the night’s activities. Mrs. Burry was in fine spirits. She stated that it was nice not being pawed the night before. Breakfast was, again, wonderful. Mr. Burry seemed quite distressed through most of the morning. I had asked him if there was anything wrong. He took me aside and confessed that he had been aroused at the video of Tenissia being accosted by the spirit entity. I told him that such energies sometimes are created outside our control and to not fret overmuch about what could be a natural reaction. He said he would pray on it but felt relieved.

Resting the next day, we set up again the following night. In spite of our vigilance no phenomena was recorded. Tenissia performed an exorcism to allow the troubled spirits to go on to the next plane of existence. We went home and studied the data gathered. The results were amazing. Thermal readings picked up figures moving about the rooms. Em-readings were off the scale. Several EVP’s were very intriguing.

Here are some examples:

Mrs. Burry: “Should I use regular grits or instant. We don’t usually use instant.”
EVP: (Woman’s voice)“No self respecting southerner would ever use insty-grits”
Mr. Burry: “I don’t mind the instant. I think the Doc wants us to use the instant.”
EVP: “You are a spineless…”
Mrs. Burry: (Heavy breathing)“ Honey, cut it out. I think the camera may be on.”
EVP: “Put that away… Tain’t decent in the kitchen.”

Here’s another:

Bubba: “Reverend Pickory? If you are in the room will you speak to me?”
EVP: (High pitched male voice) “Would you all mind if I were to- (Garbled)- your fine looking wife?”
Bubba: “Could you knock if you are here?”
EVP: (Loud solid knocks and the ‘Sermon’ sounds begin.)
Bubba: “Oh hell no!” (Sounds of running.)

We also recorded remarkable footage of objects moving on there own accord. It was all in all a powerful experience.

That should have been enough for the Paranormal World but events took on a life of their own. I published my findings to a rapt audience. I appeared on several national radio shows with the evidence and felt vindicated for the decision to take up such a career. And that would have been good but it deteriorated.

The Pictory House B&B became a sensation. Rooms were booked years in advance. The Burry’s named one of the rooms after me, to my chagrin. Tenissia melted away to a mere 220 pounds due to the increased self esteem created by being a celebrity. She divorced Bubba and took up with a Nascar driver. Her book ‘My Illicit Affair With A Ghost,’ sadly, was a best seller. Bubba started up a business as a cesspool contractor out of Hopskinville Kentucky. Bubba had sighted infidelity in the divorce proceedings. Some understanding was met. The divorce was settled amicably. He is still involved in paranormal investigations and has become somewhat of a celebrity speaker on the Convention circuit.

The media storm that surrounded the Pictory investigation forced me out of paranormal research. I set up practice in San Diego as a ‘normal’ Therapist. The final point of interest in this whole affair was a parcel I received from the Burry’s. In it were twenty-four glossy 8×10 nudes of Mrs. Burry, in all her glorious splendor. Not one handprint could be seen and no area was left to be seen. Again I was unsure of Mr. Burry’s reason for sending them to me. A card was include,. the hand written note, in Mr. Burry’s hand, inviting me to stay at the B&B free of charge, anytime. There was also a scented card from Mrs. Burry, thanking me for my attention, and that she would be honored to reciprocate. I filed the photos away.

I have taken a liking to grits, learning Greek, and an unnerving fascination with large women. I am currently in therapy.
End report.

Dr. J.B. Siddlehous

 

 

KEN LEHNIG(c)2005 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Jon Penny

Hello all!
The first thing I should do is to write what I intend for this site. It will be mostly what ever comes to my mind. I’ll debut this site with the lyrics from one of my songs. “Jon Penny”. I hope this will explain the 2323′s on the header. I’m attracted to the artistically dark, wierd, and outlawed. However, the inspired and spirtual will also show up here as well.
Jon Penny

He was early disappointing but a hero in his mind
Traveled in dark places staying with the thieving kind
Wild storms bloke the sun deadly shadows across the moon
Holds up the well of heal then sleeps off the drink till noon
Highwaymen are lonely and most are surely doomed
Jon Penny Jon Penny riding like a shadow across the moon
It was all sadly wrought the gentry two were badly met
They held to their purses too hard- Jon Penny’s guns did the rest
A grim bell resonate sound – Jon Penny for the gibbet soon
Gold and copper counts while Jon Penny a hider in a dreary room
Highwaymen are lonely and most are surely doomed
Jon Penny Jon Penny riding like a shadow across the moon
A crossed mate played the Judas- gave up his hide and seek
Jon Penny slipped the noose and preyed further on the weak
Like a rider on the wind with hellhounds on his heels
Fiercely snapping crying vengeance no judge to make a deal
Highwaymen are lonely and most are surely doomed
Jon Penny Jon Penny riding like a shadow across the moon
He succumbed in a night dark canyon- the law dogs took his wretched life
They put coppers on his eyes- let blood and earth mix proper and rife
Jon Penny Jon Penny did ride like a shadow mean and cruel
His soul repented and weary- hell’s strain sings to his heedless rue
Highwaymen are lonely and most are surely doomed
Jon Penny Jon Penny riding like a shadow across the moon
Highwaymen are lonely and most are surely doomed
Jon Penny Jon Penny a wailing ghost shadow across the moon.

Peace!

Ken Lehnig (c) 2001 Desert Wind Song Publishing