You’re Not Ready

The Problem With Disclosure Is That It’s Probably True

T.W.Burrows

Jun 22, 2025

Editor’s Note:
For new readers, you can find an introduction to my collaborator T.W. Burrows here. TL;DR: He is not your average smooth-brained grass muncher. T.W. is a creature of crenulated insight, gnawing through both dandelions and disinformation — think Watership Down meets Whitney Webb meets Whitley Strieber, if Strieber had whiskers, a Faraday cage, and a grudge against aerial predators.

After an unfortunate but illuminating encounter with a strange metallic object in a clover patch, Burrows attained a level of consciousness that makes most human analysts look like carrot-chasing midwits (not a high bar, I know). Since then, he’s become my go-to source for rabbit-hole reconnaissance, woodland surveillance theory, and now — reluctantly — UFOlogy.

This will be the first in a weekly series designed to ease readers into the ontological shock of what’s to come. Because yes, it’s coming. And T.W. insists the psyop won’t be half as terrifying if you’ve already been briefed by a sentient rabbit who’s mapped the entire exo-political terrain in chalk on the underside of my shed.

The Problem With Disclosure Is That It’s Probably True

By T.W. Burrows, Contributing Analyst (Subterranean Division)

Let’s begin with the obvious: you’re not ready.

I don’t mean that as an insult. Most creatures aren’t—not even the ones with opposable thumbs or clearance badges. Even among my fellow awakened woodlanders, the average squirrel can barely wrap its head around the idea of winter caches, let alone plasma-based propulsion systems or interdimensional amphibians with a taste for endocrine secretions.

Disclosure — real, structured, psyop-laced or otherwise — isn’t just a matter of releasing footage or declassifying memos. It’s an ontological trapdoor, and the moment it springs open, many of you will find yourselves free-falling into a conceptual void where none of your old categories work. Physics. Theology. Intelligence hierarchies. Disney’s Star Wars canon. All irrelevant.

But I digress. Let me back up and set the tone for what will be, assuming Mathew continues to honour our willow-based contract, a weekly dispatch from beneath the threshold of official reality.

Welcome to the Burrowed Library of UFOlogy™

Beneath my warren — fortified with chicken wire, mud daub, and a repurposed Faraday blanket from a downed Amazon delivery drone (long story, classified) — I have quietly amassed one of the largest private collections of classic UFO literature east of the Rockies (if you exclude Linda Moulton Howe’s garage).

The shelves include:

CIA manuals on “perception management” and “cognitive dissonance induction”
Air Force slideshows on “Managing Narrative Disruption in Contact Scenarios” (redacted, naturally)
OBE induction scripts allegedly leaked from Stargate Project briefings

Recovered patent diagrams from black-budget propulsion labs mysteriously scrubbed from the USPTO
Notes on transmedium vehicles allegedly reverse-engineered in Lockheed men’s rooms
A handwritten napkin schematic signed only “Bob L.” (origin: canteen bin, Groom Lake)

A pre-Christian manual on faerie abductions, translated by candlelight in the Burren
The Sumerian Comparative Phenomenology Reader (annotated in something that isn’t ink)
A dog-eared Mothman devotional pamphlet with marginalia in Enochian

A memo from Transport Canada requesting “aviation hazard analysis for plasma-based craft”
UN minutes debating “non-terrestrial sovereignty clauses” (tabled indefinitely)
A lost appendix to the Robertson Panel report discussing dream-state bleed-throughs (torn, smells faintly of ozone)

Public broadcasting reels that mysteriously aired once, then vanished
A sealed DVD from the BBC Natural History Unit labelled “DO NOT SHOW. Contains anomalies.”
An audio cassette found in an abandoned MI5 outpost, labelled only: “Owls ≠ What They Seem”

A chewed-up notebook allegedly belonging to a Montauk survivor
Interview transcripts from isolated Peruvian villagers who speak of sky-people and glowing holes
A non-disclosure agreement from an abductee, covered in legalese and burn marks

And in a locked drawer, behind the binder clips and expired root bark, a single VHS marked:
“Majestic 12 Karaoke Night. For Internal Use Only.”
I haven’t had the nerve to play it. Yet.

I’ll be digging through these documents, one by one, offering commentary not just as a reader but as a field operative in the crossfire zone of narrative warfare. I’m not here to “believe” or “debunk.” I’m here to analyse, correlate, and sniff out the scent of psyops in the wind.

But Why Now? Why UFOs? Why Me?

Because something’s shifting.

You feel it. You hear it. You smell it. The Pentagon is suddenly chatty. Senators are speaking in tongues about “non-human biologics.” Leaks are getting too perfect. And the owls — I’ve said it before, but they’re getting bold again. One winked at me yesterday.

We are entering what I call the Weaponised Ambiguity Phase — a time in which the government will neither confirm nor deny, but instead coherently imply, until the public narrative collapses into a postmodern puddle of confusion. At least that’s why they would like - Reality Reformatting. Most probably, the NHIs will reveal themselves voluntarily, just in time to stop the AI Singularity, but that is a story for another time.

Which is why, dear reader, I’ll be here each week, gnawing through one of the canonical texts in the field, flagging its insights, flaws, and usefulness in the new ontological terrain. Please think of me as your Burrowed Librarian of the Unthinkable.

Coming Soon:

“Passport to Magonia” — Jacques Vallée’s unsettling theory that they have been with us all along, but we’ve been too hypnotised by metallic saucers to recognise the deeper interface. I’ll translate it for those of you who don’t yet dream in electromagnetic static.

Stay grounded. Stay paranoid. Trust no footage. Trust no feathers. And never trust a general who starts a sentence with “I can’t say more, but…”

Your whiskered correspondent in the war on coherence,
T.W. Burrows