Venusian spaceship heroes or rescue fleets from Jupiter?What can we do, if not watch the skies for
According to the usual mainstream media suspects a few days ago, a renewed wealth of scientists appear convinced that climate change is extreme and man-made, and, hoo-boy, are they making noise about it. Call me dense or call me just plain wretched, but I'm still inclined to wonder why the MSM doesn't also include a truckload of signatures from international science folk who openly dismiss the exuberance of their colleagues. Then there's this new thing, some daring scientist in Finland who looks at old tree growth and inner rings and states categorically that the planet has been cooling, not warming, over the decades.
But, hey, I ain't no prude, 'cause I'm willing to admit (and often have) that I do believe climate change occurs on the planet -- just as it always has, sometimes with mild consequences and sometimes with colossally disastrous results. We needn't throw human activity into the mix as a major component, but if one wants to hone calculations and engage in nevertheless uncertain science, I'll bite. And to everybody running around like heads with their chickens cut off (the great thing about having a blog is the opportunity to twist reality) I reiterate -- I said from the outset that if evidence to the contrary popped up and settled the argument in favor of those who believe man's activities are specifically causing significant and measurable global damage, I'm your convert.
But not quite yet. Droughts are nothing new and the U.S. alone has endured several, spaced decades apart.
Maybe what we really need at this critical time is for the contactees to be right so that somebody can save us from the weather. George Adamski, Truman Bethurum, Buck Nelson. Howard Menger. . .and so many others who wove extravagant and wild tales in the fifties. Exotic trips to and from other planets, meetings with gorgeous extraterrestrials. Higher forms of life possessing the brains to dig us out of this mess on Earth.
Where are they all, now that we need them?
In his book, Aboard a Flying Saucer (1954), Truman Bethurum writes of his meetings with extraterrestrials from the planet Clarion, and during his ninth visit aboard the Clarions' ship he converses with its captain, Aura Rhanes, sort of a female Captain Kirk: "We are visiting regularly on your earth, and enjoy it very much. . .We enjoy your laughing mirth," confesses Aura Rhanes. Seems that on Clarion folks love a good joke, and nothing says let's-go-planet-hopping better than the universal quest for good humor. But did Aura Rhanes, somewhere along the galactic pipeline, use her superior intellect to see Earth's troubled future and make plans to save us from ourselves? Did Truman Bethurum beg the Clarions to stick around in case the weather and world affairs became dicey? No, instead he selfishly chose self-satisfaction:
". . .when Captain Aura Rhanes comes again. . .I hope it will be to take my friends and me for that long promised visit through space to her planet. I shall try to convince her also that she ought to take my wife."
Wha. . .? Wait a sec. Sounds like a Henny Youngman joke here. Was this merely about Truman sending his wife into outer space and abandoning her on the planet Clarion? Didn't he impress upon the Clarions the need to solve global warming of the future here on Earth?
Trouble's main thrust this week, however, among perky enviro folk involves abundant CO2 filling the oceans and the anticipation of world coastal areas submerged beyond hope in the future.
And OF COURSE the first move is to blame the USA for absolutely everything and, by George, we'd better pay up big time, while the rest of the world licks its wounds with astringents and antiseptics made of American dollars. Yet. . .
May I suggest China and India as the newest mega-users of fossil fuels -- and China, particularly, which continues on a rampage to build one or two new coal-fired energy plants every week?
The real and only true cure, though, is to reduce human population by billions. Billions. How do you do that? Who will cooperate? Who will care to cooperate? Nobody. No, instead international medical research discovers methods to make us live longer as human numbers grow even more menacing. The more the merrier -- or the more ravenous and cockroach-like we become? Nobody gets out alive, but nobody gets out until some institute or government agency says so. And we also harbor a very annoying "if we could save just one" mentality in our legislatures, leading to less risk, excessive boredom and more button-up control in our lives.
Flying saucer fleets. . .maybe they'll arrive just in time to save us from ourselves. . .tall, blond-haired aliens with human faces. . .cloaked in robes derived from visions of ancient religions of the cosmos. . .
So we pine away, longing for Venusian maidens to fly in and make everything okay, clinging to a very slight chance that all those fancy contactee books and stories from the fifties might turn out to be true. Doesn't new research indicate that women have higher scores on IQ tests than men? Yes, by all means, send in the Venusian maidens. . .
Unless infamous contactee George Adamski's Venusian encounter (ref. the book Flying Saucers Have Landed, by Desmond Leslie and Adamski) was closer to the truth, as he described his first meeting on Earth with a young (?) man from Venus: "His hair was sandy in color and hung in beautiful waves to his shoulders, glistening more beautifully than any woman's I have ever seen. And I remember a passing thought of how Earth women would enjoy having such beautiful hair as this man had. . .he wore no protection over it and it was being blown by the winds."
Oh, just great! A fashion model from Venus! By the time this guy finishes brushing that hair, Earth will be a smoking ember.
Not only were the well-known and highly publicized fifties contactees full of s***, their alleged human-like extraterrestrial contacts and wild tales were all useless, then and now. If we can't depend upon Clarion or Venus, then who? Looks like we're all gonna die after all.
(Artist's conception as it appears in Bethurum's book)