You puzzle me, Insane Beard. Here you are obsessing about WAV's poetry when you could be abducted and subjected to embarrassing probes at any moment! ;-)

Okay - I might as well come clean here. Having been a regular abductee since the 7th of March 1975 c/o a particularly pernicious hive of Greys one of the only ways I might counter the trauma is by obsessing over Wavy's poetry. Though they're not from Venus, they do have a base there, albeit several hundred miles underground in the deep subvenusian cool; they also have a crystal residence on the surface of Neptune which is much preferable. How I love those blue monochrome sunsets - anal probes notwithstanding of course - especially if they forget to warm them up first. But hey, its a small price to pay for a front-seat blast down the proximal worm-hole to the star we humans know as Megrez. I won't attempt to render it in their language, which is almost indecipherable on account of their telempathical communication, which has rendered their capacity for actual speech vestigial to say the least.

The main thrust of the Grey mission to our planet these past 50 years or so has been the collecting of folk songs, their own traditions in this respect having died out completely on account of the aforementioned telempathical communication. Essentially, this is a non-linguistic form of interaction based on the direct transferral of intellectual images, concepts and meta-theorems in non-symbolic form. Consequently, they are, as you might imagine, hungry for both symbolism and emotional experience, having rationalised the fun out of life several millennia back when they evolved to the stage where such base animal functions as fucking, eating, drinking, pissing, shitting, disease, ageing and death became a thing of the past. The more folky Greys however, are eager to revive their lost traditions by somehow reversing certain aspects of their physical evolution thus enabling them to experience, albeit vicariously, the pleasures we humans take for granted. Hence the anal and rectal probes, which they employ in a stimulation of the male G-spot in an effort to synthesise the experience and intensity of the venereal spasm with none of the consequent mess and discomfort. As you might imagine, not all Greys see it this way, regarding the entire mission as backward and reactionary, hence the covert nature of their operations in our solar system.

Thus co-opted, however so reluctantly, my interest in folk song is entirely the result of an implant in my brain which engenders a prospective urge with respect to the learning and the singing of traditional balladry and songs of ceremony & ritual that my particular implant is finely tuned to. All my experiences in this respect are recorded for later up-loading into the Grey Hive Central Cultural Processor (my own term I might add) whereby they might access both them and the attendant emotional pleasure which is entirely forbidden on account of their intolerance to alcohol. Indeed, the events of July 7, 1947 are crucial not only to our understanding of Ufology, but also the Folk Revival as a whole. This, in many respects, is Ground Zero, quite literally as one of the early Grey folk song collecting missions went seriously awry on account of their intolerance to the hooch they'd collected along with the songs from certain traditional singers the Ozark mountains. Innocent of its effects on their delicate nervous systems, they ended up downing their craft in Roswell, New Mexico on that fateful day. There was but one survivor, and though his physical body was entirely destroyed by both the effects of the moonshine and the trauma of the crash, they were able (by means of Grey Technology) to upload his essence into the mind of a 6-year-old boy - 6-year-old boys being particularly receptive in this respect. The name of this boy is recorded as Robert Allen Zimmerman, born May 24, 1941, in Duluth, Minnesota. Thus did they learn from their mistakes and found other ways of engineering and, indeed, influencing The Revival thereafter...