God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

and I’ll be watching the upcoming documentary, Bob Lazar: Area 51 and Flying Saucers. Why? Simply because the guy has a damn interesting story, and he’s been awfully quiet the last twenty years or so. Hell, I thought he’d died or something, thinking perhaps he even got abducted, but not by aliens. I can slice a cake, and all the pieces ain’t the same size, and when it comes to cover ups, conspiracies and general weirdness, Bob gets a pretty good sized piece of that cake, because when the government claims ol’ Bob never did top secret shit for them, ‘ol Bob manages to prove them wrong with certifiable evidence that makes me eek out a wtf. I don’t know what the truth is when it comes to Bob Lazars tale, but there’s certainly a lot of breadcrumbs there to lead one along their way to whatever truth one wants to find.

My Weeping Heart

child, a little girl of seven died of dehydration and shock, after walking several thousand miles to reach our border. Every single footstep north she made, along dusty trails, jungle paths, and broken concrete, was distance from extreme violence, hunger and poverty. There are those who are crying out, that this child died in American detention, and while that’s true, I will not pretend to tell you I know the specifics, I do not.

What I do know is far more disturbing. That instead of compassion, aid and support for a child walking on her own two feet, facing incredible odds of survival, our government chose instead to denigrate that child, to discourage that child, and yet she continued, one small dirty, dusty foot after another, defining a courage that a lot of my fellow citizens have lost. There was time when our courage was not overwhelmed with fear of others, of those different. We were brave enough to accept them, even in the face of danger. We understood the possibility that not only evil people would walk into our home, but also people would bring change into our home. Organized crime found it’s way here, as did Catholicism, we managed.

My heart cries when we look in the face of a child, and do not see potential, and instead see our own fear, our prejudice. We no longer see ourselves in the face of that small girl, we see a stranger, and we become strangers to the soil we live and breath in, every day of our life.