Now, friends, it has come to pass that one of our more silver-headed truth-hunters, Jacques Vallée by name, has raised a cautionary finger against the reckless unmasking of the world’s best-kept secret—that the night sky is full of neighbors and some of’em don’t come bearing apple pie.
Mister Vallée, a veteran of sixty years’ worth of stargazing and spitball fights with the learned men of science, has said plainly that telling the whole truth about these flying whatchamacallits—and worse yet, the grim record of the people they’ve maimed—is a job fit for more than just a loudmouth with a megaphone. He says it needs a plan. A grand strategy. A structure not yet invented by man or beast.
Now, you might wonder, how did we get ourselves into such a box of rattlesnakes?
Why, through the oldest American traditions—secrecy, lying, and the self-righteous belief that if we bury a bad thing deep enough, it’ll sprout into a rosebush. That trick ain’t never worked, not once, but the government, like an old hound with no sense, keeps sniffing down the same rabbit hole.
Vallée himself has waded through the muck. He helped with a Pentagon-backed effort called the Advanced Aerospace Weapon System Applications Program—AAWSAP for short, though it ought to be called “Another Attempt At Sweeping Away Problems.” Hidden in the bowels of a Las Vegas aerospace outfit, these good gentlemen and ladies documented a grim thing–hundreds of poor souls, in Brazil and elsewhere, left scorched and battered after getting a little too friendly with the strange lights in the sky.
Some of those injuries weren’t accidents, Vallée says. Some were deliberate—as in, shot-on-purpose. Death was no stranger to their investigations.
In truth, these sky critters, whoever or whatever they are, haven’t just been scaring cattle and old ladies—they’ve been cracking human skulls. And while such deadly encounters are said to be rare, they’re not rare enough for comfort.
In his latest scribblings, Forbidden Science 6: Scattered Castles, Vallée talks about secret chats with billionaires and desert-dwelling scientists who have made it their business to poke around crashed machines not of this Earth—or at least not of any neighborhood Earth knows about. The government’s been trying to cobble together a copy of this alien tinkering for decades, while rival nations have been doing the same–which explains why nobody wants to come clean–national pride and national survival.
Vallée ain’t against telling the people. Lord, no!
He believes that if we sprung the truth on the world like a drunk might by bursting into a church social, we’re bound to set off chaos so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. He says the truth needs some framework—a “structure,” one sturdy enough to carry the weight of a hundred uncomfortable follow-up questions, religious reckonings included.
And if you think that’s easy, remember: these are the same folks who couldn’t even roll out a postal service without causing a war.
In the end, it ain’t just about UFOs. It’s about the rot that’s been eating away at the country for a hundred years—the belief that lying protects liberty, that secrets save souls. If we’re in a fix now, it’s because we trusted the wrong hands to hold the candle, and now we’re fumbling around in the dark, trying to find the door.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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