Combat Diary Number 9


"In all the world, one man has been born, one man has Died.
To insist otherwise is nothing more than statistics, an Impossible extension.
No less impossible than bracketing the smell of rain with Your dream of two nights ago.
That man is Ulysses, Abel, Cain, the first to make con- stellations of the stars, to build the first pyramid, the man who contrived the hexagrams of the Book of  Changes, the smith who engraved runes on the sword of Hengist, Einar Tamberskelver the archer, Luis de León, The bookseller who fathered Samuel Johnson, Voltaire's Gerdner, Darwin aboard the Beagle, a Jew in the death Chamber, and, in time, you and I.
One man alone has died at Troy, at Metaurus, at Hastings, At Austerlitz, at Trafalgar, at Gettysburg.
One man alone has died in hospitals, in boats, in painful solitude, in the rooms of habit and of love.
One man alone has looked upon the vastness of dawn. 
One man alone has felt on his tongue the fresh quenching Of water, the flavour of fruit and of flesh.
I speak of the unique, the single man, he who is always Alone."
Borges, You

"Given a description of an isolated part of the physical universal in the most complete terms that have physical meaning, that is, down to the smallest elements of which our physical operations give us cognizance, then the future history of the system is determined within a growing penumbra of uncertainty, this penumbra growing broader as we penetrate to finer details of the structure of the system or as time goes on, until eventually all but very certain general properties of the original system, such as its total energy, are forever lost in the haze, and we have a system which was unpredictable" 
P.W.Bridgman, The Logic of Modern Physics



Combat Diary 9 

In which Wendy Connors signs off, her Motel Time Share of a mind blown into consumer infinity. Poor Panzerben apologises for causing her hysterical fit, and says it is all the fault of the Brentford Polonius, who encouraged him to experiment.
The Bad man announces an attempt to make a West End Musical of the UFUupdates List, entitled Factspiel. Kelly Peterborough asks a dread question, and Laurel Oplatka praises our Hero yet once again.


From: Wendy Connors <FadedDiscs@comcast.net>
Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 12:20:13 -0700
Fwd Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 16:00:14 -0500
Subject: Re: Corso - Connors


>From: Colin Bennett <colin@bennettc25.fsnet.co.uk>
>To: UFO Updates <ufoupdates@virtuallystrange.net>
>Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 16:26:53 -0000
>Subject: Re: Corso

<snip>

Colin,

Now I understand why your mother named you "Colin". Not only was your delivery, without a doubt, the longest in history and like the punctuational (sic) use of the colon, your name itself hints at never knowing how to stop babbling.

The only saving grace your prose may have is for a sure cure for insomniacs. Like others on this List, I too, shall no longer open your posts.

I suggest a colonic, Valium and basic course in Net Etiquette.


Wendy Connors



From: Colin Bennett <colin@bennettc25.fsnet.co.uk>
Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 23:52:46 -0000
Fwd Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 08:16:38 -0500
Subject: Re: Corso - Bennett


>From: Wendy Connors <FadedDiscs@comcast.net>
>To: <ufoupdates@virtuallystrange.net>
>Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 12:20:13 --0700
>Subject: Re: Corso - Connors

Dear Wendy,

I am so sorry that my post offended you. The trouble is that it is not my fault. As you will see from my post, the Brentford Polonius himself encouraged me to write more interesting stuff.
His appreciation of my work and his encouragement came at a time when I was thinking about being as boring, factual, predictable and mundane and "scientifically objective" and sensible indeed as Mother Hall and Mother Aldrich.

The trouble is darling, that once you've been affected by von Brentford's infectious humour, there's no stopping. I was, as I say prepared to be a reformed character and wear sensible shoes and present unsmiling arguments based on facts and research and all the rest of the petite-bourgeois fantasies of the late 17th century trading classes.

So I say here and now to anyone who is angry or upset about my previous post, please complain to the Brentford Polonius (the editor of Magonia Magazine) in the strongest terms about getting the Bad Man all worked up again and into his bad ways. The trouble is Wendy that I can't turn back now. After Goldstein,
who next? I am working on a script for a List Musical. I'm calling it Factspeil. I'm working with George Fox, a musical and film director I have worked with before, and we can have a West End UFO show with a clog dance done by Jan and Dick, and this Goldstein guy doing the catering. Already I have talked to a director I have worked with before, and some backers are interested. As always with shows, it is a question of raising the money. Let's face it Ufology is dead square. It's desperately middle-aged and frowsty and po-faced. It needs a
face-lift for Christ sake, or it will sink to the level of chapels, downtown police meet the public meets, and train-
spotting clubs.

I have already discussed some sets with a designer: imagine the set possibilities, darling Wendy: the web sites becoming live information animals: Jan sits at his desk one night and Project 1947 comes alive around him, like toy-maker's figures in Pinocchio. Instead of scowling in the dark, I could make him a star. We've already got some people in mind to play him, but I don't want to say too much in case he goes to ground again. He's a bit shy, is our Jan. Whilst we can read him, we can photograph him for development if you know what I means. You like that? I'm going do the script. I mean all that comic factual certainty and "objective research" trip is simply ripe for a West End musical.
Maybe Factspeil could even make Broadway, I don't know. I said in a previous post, you're nobody if you haven't been cursed by Andy Roberts, and next year, if you're not in Factspiel, Panzerben's Dancing Fantasia of Factual Objective Belief Gurus, you'll be yesterday, nobody, and not nothing nowhere nohow if
you know what I mean, darling.

We've sketched out some scenes already:

(1) An Andy Roberts cursing scene

(2) A chorus line of document boxes chanting factspiel, labres and docbox.

(3) A scene in which someone says that they are not going to read posts anymore, yet they creep to the bathroom and read them by torchlight. Wendy girl, let's face it, I'm absolutely irrestable. Where would you be without me? I mean all those lights in the sky and policeman's torches and scared couples down country lanes. I mean do me a favour, darling!

(4) UFO "researchers" with butterfly nets, jam jars, and 19th century pension books.

(5) A scene in which "facts" are presented and the audience die one by one of grief until the aisles look like the sculptured dead of a war memorial.

(6) A 19th century lab scene with 19th century talk -- revealed -- it's 2003. Chorus:

"A mechanism a day keeps the purple cloaks away. When the scientists speak the fantasists grow weak. The dreams just die 'cos the facts don't lie...."

I've got million of 'em, baby!

It's the latest turn-on is a Colin Bennett post! I'd show you my
private e-mail darling, but I think I will wait until you're
over twenty-one.

Colin (Bad Man) Bennett

Now go to bed now Wendy and don't forget that you must not read this post.

List Bears, you must admit you don't get entertainment like this every night. Wasn't Wendy just absolutely wonderful, my dears?
What a howl! We must have her up front again. She's got talent. She's not quite up to Andy Robert's level yet at all, but she's coming on. Certainly I think my next long post on postmodernism will do it, although I warn you Wendy that it is longer than the average TV commercial, so I give you due warning. But what ever you say and do, darling, like Roberts and Mother Jan, I shall make you a star despite yourself!

Well, here's to the next performers in line, that's what I say.
I've got a show for every one, so watch this space, Bears! This is the show where certainties fail, hopes are dashed and reputations split asunder to laughter and applause. All comers are welcome. The Big Top is this way. But don't think before you climb into the ring. That's the best way to do it.

What next complainer is going to take the stage and we can have some fun! They will all have different complaints, and I shall have a canvas for each one. The good complainers may even earn a full oil in the Fortean Times later this year.

Wendy, promise not to peek at my replies, now!

Meantime, we'll all meet in Fortean Times 168 next month when my
oil of Oberg will be on public display

Question - Where's Corso?



From: Kelly Peterborough <kellymcg@attcanada.ca>
Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 11:19:45 -0500
Fwd Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 16:40:07 -0500
Subject: Re: Corso - Peterborough


>From: Colin Bennett <colin@bennettc25.fsnet.co.uk>
>To: <ufoupdates@virtuallystrange.net>
>Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 23:52:46 -0000
>Subject: Re: Corso

<snip>

>Question - Where's Corso?

Who is Corso?

Kelly

Ahem.




From: Colin Bennett <colin@bennettc25.fsnet.co.uk>
Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 22:52:19 -0000
Fwd Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 02:52:53 -0500
Subject: Re: Corso - Bennett


>From: Kelly Peterborough kellymcg@attcanada.ca
>To: <ufoupdates@virtuallystrange.net>
>Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 11:19:45 -0500
>Subject: Re: Corso

<snip>

>>Question - Where's Corso?

>Who is Corso?



Darling Kelly,

Please don't mention that name Corso please, or all the old queens and ballerinas and pantomime dames and steam-footplate scientists and 19th century Stalinist mechanicals and Maoist village interrogators will yet once again prance and mince out from the holes and shake their tuttus on the river banks of time and Ufology.

Say the majic name Corso and experts will flee, gurus disappear, hysterical women will refuse to open my post, cabals will be formed to bully me from the List, I will be the victim of a no-comment campaign organised by the professional ordinaries, whispering campaign from doomed rationalists, I will be cursed by losers, nobodies, the fragile of mind and body, the damned, the perverted and the inspire and the suicidal. I will be sworn at by old men looking for document boxes on the bottom of a dead parrot's cage.

So please darling, it you want to know who Corso is, look back at my last fat 700 line post from a few days ago called Fourth Day Like For Long Months months of Absence, and several posts back. Don't for god's sake believe those who wish to replace dreams and poetry and mysticism and imagination with document boxes, security categories, and filing cabinets and archives.
They will be the death of Ufology, not the sceptics, and their manuals are enough to stop charging rhinos in their tracks and cause hippos to die of grief.

Let's keep in touch Kelly, because this lot are a harder to modernise than I ever though. I am trying to take them by the neck and drag them all kicking and struggling into postmodernism and the New Ufology.


Colin (Bad Man) Bennett

PS Briefly Corso was a man who happend to fire a round into Headquarters, that's who Corso was.


From: Laurel Oplatka <calabash2003@webtv.net>
Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 16:02:17 -0800 (PST)
Fwd Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 03:08:46 -0500
Subject: Re: Corso - Oplatka


Hello All,

Here's hoping Wendy Connors is, in truth, a closet Colin reader.

What are we to make of our lone-UFO satirist? Is he a Dennis
Miller Quaazga hybrid? My take on Colin's Latest: A splendorous,
unparalleled piece of wildly funny, ingenious word-art. Hey,
David Lynche's 'Eraserhead' and H.P. Lovecrafts's 'The Colour
out of Space' were once ignored... Bennett's Ufological art is
way, way cool!!

ONCE UPON A TIME, (this) my primordial quasi-ditty was printed in
"Saucer Smear":

"O'er the loss of Smear I'd shed a tear,
The Tidbits of Trash
The trashing of Lear

Yea, in no-man's land where Moseley reigns, Where Willy wails and Whitley feigns
We search in vain for Condor's candor Marching through a miasma of slander Denounced as a crock
For Klass to Mock, I'm flipping your pages, Having a ball, In hopes of avoiding The fate of Forrestal.

Yesterday I read Fourth Day Like Four Months of Absence. The energizing creations of Mr. Bennett have catapulted us from nincompoopism to (Post) post-avant-garde ism.


Best Regards,
Laurel