tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17284369675234437962024-03-13T06:20:11.314-04:00Divinorum PsychonauticusWhere science fears to tread, art staggerethErich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-32303638009990833372019-08-05T11:17:00.001-04:002019-09-24T16:58:43.486-04:00LOS ESPOOKYS is a "Reality": Four Points of the Future's Compass Towards Disclosure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The new Spanish language spook comedy LOS ESPOOKYS is genius. See it at once and ponder the nature of magical realism, alive and well in this surrealist Mexico. Read my main piece, focusing on the show itself and some of my more intellectual (Jungian/Lacanian) theories<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2019/07/disinformation-please-los-espookys-and.html"> here.</a></div>
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But the show also illustrates, to my warped mind anyway, a lot of flakier (truer!) theories involving the duality of reality and myth as having no clear dividing line (other than a small piece of Moebius strip tape. </div>
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Because, you see, whether you believe in Astrology or Not: </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>PISCES IS THE SIGN OF SCHRODINGER'S CAT</b></span></div>
<b><br /></b>One of the benefits of being a Pisces, for me, is my ability to comfortably hold two contradictory paradoxical opinions at the same time - thus we can believe astrology is total bullshit <i>and </i>yet, know it's also true, since if it wasn't, we would believe in it approximately the same as everyone else does or doesn't. Pisces can believe ghosts and demons are the product of sleep paralysis and latent schizophrenia <i>and </i>that they are a real phenomenon. We can even prove it (to ourselves, if we want to be bothered) via the mountain of evidence recorded by cameras, radar, EMF detectors, suddenly-manifesting wounds and scratches, and other macabre physical evidence. There are reasons these things refuse to become proven or disproven beyond reasonable doubt.<br />
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If you can imagine a world where alien visitation (or a captured bigfoot) is a socially 'over the counter' reality, you're not thinking clearly - not imagining the whole picture. The entire social fabric as we know it would be ripped out and replaced with an wet ink facsimile smudgy from the four fingered hand of the God that made us. Everything would change - our entire paradigm would be out the window. To know this is true we have to merely examine the phenomenon of cargo cults as petite reflections of our own religious paradigm (angels=alien visitors /teachers/builders). The difference is, we left objects with the cults which prove we were there - cans of peaches, plane propellors, etc. And there's not been enough millennia to wear them down to dust, the way only stone survives as proof "they" were here - stones so massive, and so far from their quarries, they seem to have been left for us, thousands of years later, to argue about and for some of us to go "whoa" and others to go "no" and close their ears to the idea that no primitive civilization could lug 100 ton, perfectly carved rocks hundreds of miles over mountains regardless of how many slaves they had.<br />
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But part of that is that despite the difference in technological savvy, we still treated the natives as more or less equals. The way we're abducted and tagged with implants lets us know the aliens don't regard us as equals, at least not all of us. We're more like a game reserve, a federally protected forest which aliens get permission to enter, ostensibly to study our migratory habits, abducting, weighing, measuring, taking samples, then tagging us before releasing us back into the wild (or some not-so good aliens disguise as anthropologists but secretly steal us away, sell us to labs for illegal experiments, etc). We're not animals - we are animals + them - seeded ten thousand years ago or so by gold-digging Annunaki by mixing ape with alien DNA to get slaves who could understand language and mine gold so Enki could kick back with a sixer, broh.<br />
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If the aliens come back, all our religions and science textbooks will become meaningless. Our stature as inferior 'natives' will be mighty hard to shrug off. Neither side, if they've thought it through, wants that. If we rock the boat it <i>will </i>tip over.<br />
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We need to go slow: right now we're at accepting the presence of water on Mars and in asteroids, we're "ready" to accept the panspermia theory, and, slowly, one Friday night at a time, the 'ancient alien' hypothesis. I see it as a multi-directional approach, a kind of pyramid shape where disparate, seemingly unconnected sides are all headed towards a particular peak point (probably still a few decades from now) where there will be no need for 'disclosure' - anymore than there was a need for your parents to finally give you that sex talk.<br />
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These four directions are headed towards a specific point. Though they are all seemingly unrelated now, I predict they will all connect/intersect in approximately 10 years, probably right in time to distract us from the total death of our oceans. <br />
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1. West Side: <b>Legit Scientific Speculation</b>: Big brains like Stephen Hawking and SCI channel astronomers like to theorize on what kind of aliens might be living on far away moons, or what would happen if they attacked our planet, etc. While this theorizing, which totally ignores all the alien theories and witnesses' testimony, is perhaps insulting to those who believe in the alien presence and have mountains of evidence to prove it, this nonetheless thoughtful (SCI channel-animated) theorizing constitutes a legitimate direction - a means by which tenured scientists can give voice to these possibilities without drawing flak from their peers. Smithsonian and Science Channels are the one that don't seem to support the alien hypotheses fully yet, though they regularly run shows that seem to promise the opposite. I predict that--gradually--their speculation will begin to match up with the hidden reality, until slowly their final 'what if?' shows will have the 'what if?' part quietly removed in reruns, and be deftly re-presented as factual documentary, seamlessly enough to avoid a panic, the way Disney released, quietly, a<a href="https://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2011/10/aliens-from-new-tomorrowland-long-lost.html"> TV documentary that took all alien theorizing as fact, albeit in conjunction with the opening of their <i>Alien </i>ride,</a> which they added at the end, also as fact.<br />
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2. East side:<b> Getting high and watching <i>Ancient Aliens</i></b><i> </i>(and other UFO TV shows): Hey, there's nothing more 'out there' (so they tell me) than vaping some Sour Diesel on a Friday evening after work and watching an <i>Ancient Aliens</i> marathon (it's on Friday --the perfect time) and imagining both the scene back in our ancient past via the visitors and looking forward to a future where these truths are self-evident. My girlfriend is sick of my obsession with this show. As far as she's concerned, there hasn't been any new evidence and--until the ice caps melt enough for us to explore those pyramids in Antarctica, it's just a tease. But for me, it's something so vast, such a big issue, that I can just lose myself in it no matter how ridiculous and out on a limb they go. I look at the moon; she looks at the finger, to paraphrase an old Zen koan.<br />
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Is this maybe part of why weed is so decriminalized? Is it the gateway through which we can 'let in' this massive paradigm shift?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJ0WwYu6ohY/XUhHrv9AKgI/AAAAAAAA9hw/z5HfnMpoTxMdwqXYpmpBnV-ckmDz4KYSQCLcBGAs/s1600/roger-leir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="720" height="179" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJ0WwYu6ohY/XUhHrv9AKgI/AAAAAAAA9hw/z5HfnMpoTxMdwqXYpmpBnV-ckmDz4KYSQCLcBGAs/s320/roger-leir.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/54247d50e4b016149c77301f/t/55ea4f69e4b02a8ac1ba7215/1441419113163/THE+SMOKING+GUN.pdf" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">Smoking Gun: Implants removed and studies under microscope</a></td></tr>
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3. North: Strides in <b>Anti-Gravity Propulsion:</b> As a kid I used to argue that if space was a vacuum why not turn off the power or reverse the flow of air so the bag collapses instead of expands. It was a misunderstanding of 'vacuum' (i.e. the noisy thing mom uses) but it's still a legit question. Using magnetic energy via charged mercury in a rapid circular spin, we can bend space time and collapse the vacuum between solar systems - like our alien creators do (we reverse-engineered it). Once we master this technology the issue of the vastness of space disappears. The idea of sending settlers to Mars via a normal rocket-powered space capsule will seem as archaic as walking from New York to California instead of taking a passenger jet aircraft. Our understanding of magnetic power is currently very backwards: we should be looking at acupuncture vs. the placement of pyramids and ley lines - for there is massive energy we can tap just from the power of the earth. If we'd followed the lead of Tesla instead of Edison, we might be there already.. Either way, it's inevitable, and our knowledge of space and other worlds will grow exponentially.<br />
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4. South: <b>Discoveries of life on other planets slowly working up the evolutionary ladder. </b><br />
Right now we're at the protozoa stage, micro-organisms found in meteors. Soon science will allow the discovery of small insect life fossilized in the Martian rock- gradually we'll work our way up to fish and other animals so that when we finally arrive at fellow human or humanoid intelligence we're not as freaked out - we're 'acclimated' - the equivalent of a depressurizing tank to avoid getting the bends, a kind of DNA erector set course, taking us from single-celled organisms to humans in just a few more decades.<br />
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Think I'm wrong? I hope I am, in a way. But there just wasn't enough time, Michael. We're going to have to get our heads out of our navels and join the family business soon, as there'll be no 'here' left to fritter our way to parity on.Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-1967312146880455122019-05-07T16:27:00.002-04:002019-07-01T13:13:45.157-04:00Four Points of the Future's Compass (Beyond all Opposites)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WkFVMSqCafo/VCQwp-JyNvI/AAAAAAAAons/R4T8IBdPj88/s640/creation_of_the_humanoids08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WkFVMSqCafo/VCQwp-JyNvI/AAAAAAAAons/R4T8IBdPj88/s1600/creation_of_the_humanoids08.jpg" /></a></div>
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Sometimes you're astral traveling and you get caught in the net of a laughing evil planet-sized god -- Saturn revolves under you like a giant Medusa head, its mouth a giant roaring equatorial cave of blue and red flame larger than the Eurasian continent. You stay suspended in place, a fixed position above the rotating gas giant, right at the equator, waiting for her gaping maw to be rotate back around under you - at which point she will swallow you up, and you will become merely an endless scream of burning agony. Such terror you've never known. It goes deeper than mere conscious mortal fear of death, or a Christian's fear of Hell. It is a fear so deep your <i>unconscious mind </i>speaks up, for and through you. It's suddenly clearer than it ever was, like a dad whose been slumbering in the back seat during your student driving lesson suddenly leaning forward and taking the wheel. It's like a dream rushing up from the archetypal depths of your mind; almost another being entirely seizes control of your language functions. And--though you are basically lying on the floor in your apartment, or in a lotus position before a candle and incense burner, safe--presumably--at home, your third eye dream has become bigger than reality, to the point that, even if you're sitting there alone, you grow so terrified of an unseen specter you promise it anything. You promise Medusa, that evil Salvia goddess whom the astrologists named Saturn, anything to let you go. You vow to build her temples and--most importantly--to sacrifice animals and virgins and whomever else, in your stead. If you deny her a meal of your soul, you must replace your nutrients with someone else.<br />
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You come out of the trance knowing where the idea of human sacrifice got started. There was a time when these unconscious-realm-dwelling deities weren't so hard to access. In the wild terror of the dark primordial night, deranged from hunger and cold, that Medusa mouth was never more than a soggy flint rock or missed spear away. Maybe Jesus saved us from that, said I'll take care of that crazy gorgon, you're with me now. But then human souls find themselves in a tug of war between sides, Medusa ever pulling us away from the light and vice versa. Slowly though, we're movie forward.<br />
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Here's four directions forward that I see will intersect down the line. These four elements are now far away from each other on a four point axis, but will intersect ahead on the time line, like a long pyramid shaped gust.<br />
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And what will be the result - Greys. Us. Gravitational wave Surfing, Hive Mind, and so much more:<br />
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First, let us look at space travel:<br />
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Right now huge projects are preparing to send humans to mars and to colonize the moon for future use as a launch pad for other outer journeys. But in all cases the factor is time - without gravitation wave generation, which seems to be already in the works on some level (as seen in recent episodes of <i>Ancient Aliens</i> and all the other UFO-related programming), we're stuck at the idea of sending humans into small pods for a year or more just to get to Mars.<br />
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To conceivably make this less stressful and resource heavy, we should remake ourselves into being free of the need to eat, shit and move around, to not have huge bodies built to fight gravity, able sleep over long time warp distances.<br />
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What we would ideally be able to do is remotely inhabit android bodies.<br />
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Let's face it: 'cryo-sleep' is not practical and can be dangerous - it's like you're a mummy (is that why the Egyptians did that? They watched their 'gods' do the same thing before heading back home to Orion?) Why not have an 'inhabitable' robot that you can move via remote controls linked directly to your neurons via a computer-style headset?<br />
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They are already working in this area with amputees, and so we have our first direction:<br />
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<u><b>DIRECTION EAST</b></u></div>
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<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">Remote-inhabited Bio-bots </span></b></u></div>
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Robotic limb replacement <u>-</u> i.e. arms with hands and fingers moved by impulses from the brain, attached directly into the user's mind or nerves, reacting to thought control (via headband or implant)- essentially using the same 'leftover' parasympathetic nerve response that leads to the 'phantom limb' syndrome.<br />
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<i>--Eventual Destination</i> - robotic beings controlled--inhabited, if you will--by human minds, robotic 'virtual' nervous systems (which might be how certain greys get their automated air)<br />
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Relative Cinema: 2009's SURROGATES (see: <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2010/06/wringer-of-ringerhood-surrogates-2009.html">The Wringer of Ringerhood</a>)<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Positing a future where--thanks to a breakthrough in robotics--no one actually goes outside but stays safe at home in little boxes where all their brains and bodies connect with surrogates--basically android/surrogate bodies--out in the 'real' world - thus being able to change one's looks, gender, etc. at will. Alas, this intriguing idea is undercut by the same old "two cops--one with wife problems--investigating a strange murder that draws them into various shadowy corners they never new existed" but along the way all sorts of meta commentaries on the web and (pre-CATFISH) posing in social media as other people, being 'who we want to be' etc.</span><br />
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PREDICTION: <b>In the future we will have just such ringers/surrogates, but they will be all alike--allowing for a more streamlined and--due to ongoing demands for equal rights etc--less offensive and competitive system (when everyone is beautiful, beauty ceases to exist). Hence- ships will come staffed with androids of identical appearance (like the greys), who can be 'inhabited' from off-world by human physiolgical nervous system remotes when needed or desired.</b><br />
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<b><u>DIRECTION WEST </u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">HIVE MIND (by Google) </span></u></b></div>
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HIVE MIND via the prevalence of WIKI, and instant access to the sum total of human knowledge with the speed of thought. At some point the 'cloud' <i>becomes</i> the Akashic Records. When? 10 years? 20?<br />
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It's already beginning to happen as rising costs of colleges vs. online education mix with the idea that actually learning and retaining information (via memorizing, etc.) isn't needed due to 'everything' being available online. i.e. the hive mind<br />
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Relative Cinema: 1973's <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2017/02/come-and-get-your-yarbles-zardoz.html">ZARDOZ</a> - (See <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2017/02/come-and-get-your-yarbles-zardoz.html">Come and Get Your Yarbles</a>)<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The hive mind has its problems here, such as the occasional committer of bad vibes setting the whole group off and leading to exile. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #280202; font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Immortals' whole vibe is one of those 70s theater encounter groups, or any tight-knit acting class or troupe that does little weird everyone vocalizing and waving their arms in unison outcasting or accepting one of their number into the group mind via encounter group touching exercises. </span></span><br />
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PREDICTION:<br />
<b>The addition of neural implants, jacks in the brain, or just smart drugs and cranial stimuli (directed shocks and jolts to activate certain areas of the brain) like the HARP version of electroshock therapy's organic all-encompassing reset button storm. Directed electrical jolts through the brain to decalcify the pineal and harmonic frequencies to attune it to a trans space/time vibratory level. This will help enable the group hive mind and connect us all to a mainframe like Google. A boost of the pareidolia component of vision will enable controlled hallucinations (i.e. projections in the mind's eye of each other when conversing on the web)</b><br />
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<b><u>Direction North: </u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">TACHYONS</span></u></b></div>
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Tachyons as time travel communication across the GWW (Galaxy-Wide Web)<br />
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Time is measured out so that distance is affected by gravitation pulls (and lack thereof) and yet while a star blinks out millions of years ago and we only see it now, might we also not communicate with it and have it 'feel' real, so that the projection of a hive mind thought process beamed our way from Orion's Belt might reach our brain in the form of a dream (via tacyhons!). The being/s inhabiting the grey hive mind may be long dead but still they may control our destiny - this may be what fate is, the equivalent of playing a 4-D version of World of Warcraft with a being who is, technically, dead for billions of years as far as "you're" concerned, trapped as you are on the sticky flypaper conveyer belt of linear space-time.<br />
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Relative Cinema: 2014's <b>INTERSTELLAR </b>(see: <a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2015/05/space-is-place-all-right-all-right-sun.html">Space is the Place (All right all right) Sun Ra Vs. Matt McConaughey</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Matt floating along various areas of time represented by interlocked bands of card catalog style moments in time - via punching in numbers via books on shelves he can communicate to his daughter - which is not farfetched if you've experienced that dimensionless outside space/time zone of consciousn</span>ess (hint - you c<span style="font-size: x-small;">an't get there with a 'you' but you are not you, are you? When you shucker off your 'you' persona, what's left? That's what gets there)</span><br />
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PREDICTION: Impossible (to predict, not to 'happen')<br />
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<b>Direction South:</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE </span></b></div>
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<b>(Disclosure is a Personal Choice)</b><br />
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Our own brains are organic matter and as such depend on other organic matter for maintenance whereas computer chips need no food other than electric current. Once the technological singularity is achieved, we'll be wise to join 'em rather than beat 'em. Technology will no longer be our servant but our partner. We've been working towards it since the dawn of man, just as parents want to instill their values and genes on their progeny so they may in some way live on, so in our toil to create artificial intelligence, a 'sentient' being of our own design. We hope it shall not be snotty and shallow like Frankenstein who found consciousness in lightning to restore dead tissue but never did fathom what consciousness was or is and where it comes from and then ran off in horror as soon as he saw it reflected back at him (worst... parent... ever). This will be the reverse - we will have fathomed and created consciousness. It will be our first true offspring. The next generation. Was our own human soul tinkered together over timeless aeons in some God/Reptilian -run laboratory?<br />
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RELATIVE FILMS:<br />
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<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2014/09/tales-from-benway-pharmacy-beyond-black.html">THE MACHINE </a>(2013), <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2016/02/silence-of-uploaded-monkey.html">TRANSCENDENCE</a> (2015)<br />
<br />
<b>PREDICTION:</b><br />
We will merge our bodies and minds willingly with the AI to become immortal and larger than ourselves. Gradually we will be the best of both worlds as our silicone chips merge with synthetic muscle for a new form of biotech Our bandwidth will extend into the galaxy enabling us to snapchat with space travelers light years away in real instant time (which technically means time travel due to the great distances). Nanobot technology will repair our bodies as they age and restore neurological connections in the brain - accumulated wisdom without the detriments of old age (senility, etc) will make us gradually godlike. We will be truly ready for cross-galaxial travel, understanding at last the way the Einstein-Rosen bridge must, by definition, transcend time itself. Hence if we will ever cross it, we already <i>have </i>crossed it, long ago.<br />
<br />
That's why it seems always that our future self was at work in the distant past, helping us sow the seeds of our future deliverance (even to the point of spreading plagues and inciting war in a vain effort to keep population levels stable).<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">ARRIVAL means ARRIVED </span></b></div>
<br />
When communicating across galaxies can be done in an instant--via worm hole/telegraph-style tachyons-- we won't need UFO disclosure for we'll recognize at last the grey alien as the result of all four of these points of the compass now having finally MET. The artificial shell for our remote inhabitation will be one not bound up by earth gravity but will be constrained by size - hence smaller and lighter in form to make space travel easier (the ideal astronaut is four feet tall and weighs under 90 pounds, not generally burdened with the kind of weighty skeleton needed for fighting gravity on a daily basis, big eyes to see in the dark, able to float and walk through walls.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">means ARCHONS </span></b></div>
Finally, we'll know just whose AI <i>we </i>are, for they will come pick us up. Wondering why the bandwidth they've been siphoning off our collective psyches is suddenly dwindling as we use it for ourselves. Maybe they won't be mad, maybe they'll just smile and realize they've helped create their own obsolescence. Time to leave the nest. Will we be as generous when our own AI does the same thing to us? Or will our creators blanche in horror like Dr. Frankenstein or those giant albinos in the ALIEN series, and reach for the Great Flood Mach Deux reset button?<br />
<br />
--<br />
<b>CONCLUSION:</b><br />
<br />
Once we're connected via the internet (widened to hive mind level), controlled remotely, inhabited by far away beings using bodies like remote piloted drones to the extreme, connected to all the universe even backwards or forward in time, via signals saddled to tachyon, augmented by post-technological singularity AI, we'll be ready to visit remote blue planets and start studying the local populations, making sure to hide any electronic tags we use to study their migration, and to wipe their memories clean of our contact to avoid panic and recognition (the collapse of their developing society).<br />
<br />
Sound familiar? Disclosure is a choice! Don't let a planet's still-developing population know the truth of your existence, unless you want their progress to stop in favor of blind cargo cult worship Gradually, 200 years or so after your ship departs, they're no longer using the tools you left behind, but worshipping them as relics, making sacrifices and offering prayers to the leftover soda cans and cigarette butts you left, praying for a return of the canned peaches you once shared with them. Then they disappear altogether, like the Easter Islanders. Instead, better to hide yourself until they're ready.<br />
<br />
The good papa doesn't rush to steady his infant who's finally learning to walk. He waits until the child can walk over to him before sweeping it off the floor into his heavenly arms. So it is with the obelisk in 2001. So it is with this situation.<br />
<br />
This is all dependent on whether we still have a planet in 20 years, but hey - at least this time we can rest assured that <i>we </i>created the flood <i>this </i>time! Progress not perf.....arghhh<br />
<br />
GUESS ESTIMATE FOR THIS INTERSECTION OF ALL FOUR POINTS: 2037.
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<br />
NOW IT CAN BE TOLD<br />
Or at any rate compiled.<br />
<br />
It was November, 2012, the History Channel was alive with pre-apocalyptic visions for Dec. 21, 2012. It marked the end of the Mayan calendar. I had been doing deep meditation after work every day with a light-sound machine triggered to an Amazon shaman chant in preparation. One afternoon shortly before the election (or after) a voice told me that if I was ready to let go of all judgment, to 'recuse myself from the bench' of judging all things as good or bad (as if all things--or <i>anything--</i>needed my judgment or were influenced by it, surely that we think things <i>do </i>is the greatest and most prevalent of human follies!), then all would be revealed, my sins would be lifted, and I could sneak into paradise offered by the galactic alignment of 2012. Then, Obama won a second term, and all the slowly gathering dread we were feeling should we get stuck with a zealot like Mitt Romney (oops- a judgment!) fell away... The conjunction of all these factors opened me up to a kind of non-duality I'd only experienced in glimpses in years past. It was a euphoria beyond an opposite. There was no 'crash' from this high - no bad or good side, all was sideless --if that makes any sense.<br />
<br />
For around the next seven weeks, I lived a sainted life - swore off masturbation, anger, meat, and sugar - started eating lots of fresh fruit and vegetables and blessing everyone and everything, mindful of my tendency to do the opposite (realizing our language's preference to 'damn' things rather than 'praising' them - as if the devil was working our lazy language habits.) This wore off when I realized my body was failing me under the limits of a vegan diet, also when the apocalypse never came, and later when I got a massive flu that laid me up for a solid week. When the fever broke, my galactic alignment euphoria was gone - a message was left in the psychic zone where it was stored - it read (translated): "<i>we harvested your soul energy; don't try to get it back- just go back to your old life of duality and unconscious semi-contentment OR ELSE </i><i>we'll come back and take the rest too</i><i>- love, the Archons." </i><br />
<br />
Now that enough time has passed it's not as painful to recall, I present the sum total of my writing at the time for what its worth, may it inspire or at least confound in a not unpleasant manner.<br />
<br />
<b>The Preliminary High:</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-hole-in-me-pocket-beatles-est-buddha.html" target="_blank">A Hole in Me Pocket: Beetles, EST, <b>YELLOW SUBMARINE</b> (11/13/2012)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/cinemarchetype-17-holy-madman.html" target="_blank">CinemArchetype 19: The Holy Madman (11/10/2012)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/crazy-carrie-mathison-panic-movement.html" target="_blank">Claire Forlani Drinks Dewars; Carrie Matheson, Andrzej Zulawski's<b> SZAMANKA </b>(1996) and Angela Chase (11/04/12)</a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">SWAR OF THE SAINTS</span></b></div>
In conjunction with all this, a whole elaborate fusion of (semi-fake) cult and guerrilla theater sprang fully formed to my brain, beamed down if you will, replete with elaborate costumes and staging all of which I had access to via working at Pratt Institute. However, plans were scrapped when, beginning around mid-Feb 2013, I had a massive fever - which kept me crazy and bedridden for over a week. When my fever finally broke, the whole plan, the impetus, the will, the drive, to continue with this project was gone, along with my illumination and everything else. Was it celestial Archons 'harvesting' the energy garnered by my cosmically aligned awakening, riding its tail like the space vampires of the great 1985 film LIFEFORCE? or just a case of weakened immune system due to trying to live totally vegan after a lifetime of meat eating here in a giant Nordic Viking body? Why can't it be both, and more? Either way, I give you the complete rise and fall of this illuminated state, from the first breakthroughs to the first few posts after my massive fever, to a final essay for the Weeklings. I'll be honest, some of it I can't even bring myself to read or see (such as the videos - which I've never watched since the day I made them). I do like the Quetzlcoatl Sutra, though.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/swar-is-swell.html" target="_blank">Guidebook: Stage of Envelopment (11/28/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/oh-its-swar-preliminary-guideline-and.html" target="_blank">This means SWAR: Preliminary Guideline and Council to the Elderless (11/21/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/tarot-of-swar-saints.html" target="_blank">Tarot of Swar of the Saints (11/13/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/welcome-to-first-best-dressed-feeling.html" target="_blank">Welcome to the First Best-Dressed Feeling of Your Life (11/13/12)</a><br />
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<br />
<b><u>Official Cult Literature (poetry and psalms)</u></b><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-vortex-of-reticence-and-reprisal.html">The Vortex of Reticence and Reprisal (12/14/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/12/secrets-of-quantum-immortality.html" target="_blank">Secrets of Quantum Immortality (12/2/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-tao-of-tailbiting.html" target="_blank">The Tao of Tailbiting (11/27/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-long-dark-knight-of-soul.html" target="_blank">The Long Dark Knight of the Soul (11/18/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-quetzlcoatl-sutra.html" target="_blank">The Quetzcoatl Sutra (11/14/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2015/08/gods-own-marksman-leaf-meditations.html">Dentist Buzzing Meditations </a><br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2015/08/gods-own-marksman-leaf-meditations.html">+ God's Own Marksman) (belatedly released)</a><br />
<b><br /></b>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Video: (11/25/12)</b></div>
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<b><a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/erichs-shortcuts-to-enlightenment.html" target="_blank">Shortcuts to Enlightenment - Ep. 2 "Vacuum"</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2012/11/erichs-shortcuts-to-enlightenment.html" target="_blank">Shortcuts to Enlightenment - Ep. 1 "Aumm"</a></b></div>
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<u>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">ACIDEMIC WRITINGS LEADING UP TO 12-21-12</span></b></u><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/12/ouroboros-got-my-woman-444-last-day-on.html" target="_blank">Drug of Choice: 4:44 LAST DAY ON EARTH (12/17/12</a>)<br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-psychedelic-scrooge-satori-pocalypse.html" target="_blank">The Psychedelic Scrooge Satori (Dec. 12, 2012)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/12/yes-virginia-world-did-end-yesterday.html" target="_blank">Yes, Virginia, the World DID End Yesterday (Dec. 22, 2012)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-tree-falls-in-brooklyn-new-bright.html" target="_blank">A TREE FALLS IN BROOKLYN + Bright Lights + Swar of the Saints </a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-tree-falls-in-brooklyn-new-bright.html" target="_blank">+ SIMON OF THE DESERT<b> </b>(11/20/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-i-ching-answers-questions-about.html" target="_blank">The I Ching answers questions about THE MASTER (11/27/2012)</a><br />
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<u><br /></u><b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Non-Apocalypse Depression; Fever:</u></span></b><br />
<a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2013/01/2012-is-memory-no-apocalypse-no-aloha.html" target="_blank">2012 is a Memory: No Apocalypse, No Aloha (1/4/12)</a><br />
<a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2013/02/bust-through-your-program-archons-laura.html" target="_blank">Bust through your Program! Archons, Laura Eisenhower and the Blood Fountain Antennae (2/8/12)</a><br />
<a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2013/02/flo-z-great-and-powerful.html" target="_blank">Flo - The Great and Powerful, and the Ludovico Flu: THE GREAT ZIEGFELD </a>-2/16/13<br />
<a href="https://medsitation.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-archons-got-me.html">The Archons Got Me (3/27/13)</a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>ONE YEAR LATER:</u></span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.theweeklings.com/ekuersten/2013/12/19/looking-back-at-the-end-of-the-world/" target="_blank">Looking Back at the End of the World (<i>The Weeklings </i>- 12/19/13)</a>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-81680546401443069542017-01-31T10:38:00.001-05:002018-10-30T11:28:15.645-04:00The 'Remembered' Primal Scene and the Inquisitor's Lash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you worry all the time, God thinks you don't trust Him as a parent. Dads should put their children at ease. The kids should fear only truly fear one thing - His wrath. When they love him but fear his wrath they don't stray from the fold for they feel protected there. But even then, in the dark depths of their Mordor basement subconscious, everything is topsy-turvy, so that dad they so adore by day--that peerless God of love and light whose wrath is easily avoided by being good--is a devil of darkness and evil for whom no amount of goodness will suffice. His hugs and head pats distort into sexual molestation and abuse; his carefree protective spirit morphs into ritualized endangerment and evil laughter. These things are inescapable as one can't will away the distortion in one's reflection on a pond after a frog jumps in. Closing your eyes does no good. The waves have you pegged. Serial killers are born when they identify with the rippled reflection when they become what they fear.<br />
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In HAXAN: WITCHCRAFT THROUGH THE AGES we see several medieval women of various ages and class strata tortured by the clergy into revealing the sabbaths they attended, naming names and citing abusers, leaving us to wonder if these confessions are real, just lies to get the torture over with, or some kind of primordial unconscious shared memory kicked loose by prolonged agonies. Maybe if you torture any person long enough, they'll 'remember' the witches sabbaths they attended, the torture itself will create the sabbath from the ether; they will name onto you the persons there and who did or didn't kiss the arse of Lucifer. Hypnotize a kid deep enough they'll remember some kind of occult basement ritual involving all sorts of sexually depraved initiations (sex with parents and neighbors and demonic chanting robes); hypnotize an adult and they'll remember going aboard a space craft and being probed by aliens. Either way, maybe it's the same innate response, the primordial color bars, like the video from Heywood Floyd that pops onto the monitors to explain the Jupiter mission after HAL is taken apart (the mechanical equivalent of hypnosis) in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY.<br />
<br />
The question arises: is it all the same psychic phenomenon? Does prolonged trauma and psychic intensity suspend conscious discernment between truth and illusion, dream and waking, and thus triggering either FMS (False Memory Syndrome) or some kind of vivid sleep paralysis reflection of the current scene being endured (i.e. the hypnotist or inquisitor being reflected as Lucifer) or that aforementioned primal extended trauma in the delivery room and then the baby ward behind the glass? Does it kick loose the barriers put there around our minds, the way a sandcastle hems in a piece of the ocean suddenly kicked open by a bored child as the tide rolls over it?<br />
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The "remembered" Satanic rituals in the Middle Ages occurred in the deep woods, which at the time were still full of strange monsters, especially in the dead of night. If you lived in the deep woods just getting up to go the outhouses at three AM was probably the scariest thing in the world. still largely unexplored and perfect for the unconscious's projection of itself. By contrast, for modern rituals, in the suburbs, it's always the parents' basement. My therapist told me that when we were doing dream analysis - the basement is always the unconscious. So now anytime your dream takes you to a basement, you know where you are.<br />
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Hold that "thought" for a moment dear listener... but you can't. It's already gone, until lifetimes from now someone tortures or hypnotizes it out of you.<br />
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I've come to some bizarre conclusions about the way differentiation of self occurs - the 'break' from total unification with the oceanic Mother/I AM beyond space and time. Wanna hear 'em? Maybe I can first explain via this collage:<br />
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Keep it in mind while you consider the delivery room where you were born and initially, painfully, differentiated. Consider the total darkness of the womb with closed eyes, and then opening them with a painful spank on the ass the immediate intake of air into the lungs like kickstarting a lawn mower, kicking a wonky TV. Remember the utter dependency, feeling of paralysis as limbs first begin to move, the various nurses arms, varying from sweet and nurturing to robotic and callous. Adults get all misty about it, but artists remember all too well the adjustment period from oh sweet nothing to a world of wipes and shots and shitting and--especially if you were born in the 60s-70s-- when breast feeding was considered unhealthy--being bottle-fed. No breast action ever; instead being forced to sleep in dark rooms with rows of other infants, each of you sequestered from the others by plastic or glass trays. This was considered preferential; meanwhile giant parents and masked nurses loomed over you like moai, peering through the glass, feeding you powdered formula from plastic bottles while they smoked unfiltered Luckies and exhaled in your face. Once in a while a very big nurse, meaner than the others, grabs you, roughly, and gives you some painful shot or demeaning diaper change, with all the nurturing care of a tired surly underpaid fast food worker.<br />
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Eventually, hey, it all works out. You get out of there and get to go 'home' with a crib (a new kind of cage) all your own - a nice mobile above it. You get a playpen, toys, stairs to climb like Everest. But oh man what a scary start. That infant care room is so cold and rough we endeavor to forget it as soon as possible; it's the original trauma, and it creates a kind of instant PTSD amnesia. Maybe we try at first to recall where we were before we got stuck in the roach trap womb, what important papers we never got to finish before the other guy shot us, or goodbyes never said because the roof collapsed or the killers got away because we were dead before we could identify them.... but unless we were experiencing stress high enough that our PTSD continues past this amnesiac barrier, we don't remember <i>that </i>trauma, the soul carries over only when it can fit on the head of a pin. Anything too traumatic might stick to our soul like chunks of flypaper, leaving us to scream with terrible nightmares of burning up in our fighter planes over Midway.<br />
<br />
It's the same thing really, as Manchurian Candidate Monarch 7 programming (1). The trauma of delivery is duplicated, the orienting into a new identity compressed.<br />
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So do the math: masked figures, obscure chanting (medical jargon, foreign language?), pain, degradation, parents, aliens, giants. demons, arse-kissing and degrading ass related issues. lien anal probing = rectal thermometers = molestation = giant mean nurses = Satanic ritual. it all fits, man, like Freud fits into the drooling infant's crib.<br />
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Rather than try to insist aliens or Satanists are real or not, I prefer to take the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schr%C3%B6dinger's_cat">Schrodinger's Cat </a>approach - which is to study the phenomena of myth in these cases, for in 'knowing' for sure the aliens, or the Monarch mind control subjects, or Satanic basement pedophile cult networks in your neighborhood, etc. are real or not, the myth, the paranoia, dissipates, becomes either shame (how could you be naive enough to believe) or depression (good god the world is one evil cesspool). But when we <i>don't know </i>it's pure myth, a creeping dread tempered by doubt.<br />
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So instead of picking a side, think along those lines, the fluidity of the Schrodinger's Cat box, the in-between state is what gives these myths their hypnotic power. I only reserve judgement for those who would try to debunk too hard and vehemently, as if any doubt or open-ended phenomenon is their personal enemy, for they are like the audience member at the movies who--rather than get into the story and enjoy it--has to loudly scoff at how fake everything is, ruining it for everyone else. In the end, perhaps, this is the only way we <i>can </i> contemplate such things. Just believing in magic might somehow will it into being - maybe the church understood that, they knew reality was not concrete, but ever fluid and leaking in all four directions.<br />
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As humans stuck in one mind, trapped in space/time, it's futile to try and separate the real from the imagined, the 'cover memory' vs. the dream symbolism as per Freud. The sabbaths recalled under church torture in the Inquisition, the ritual Satanic abuse at an institutional level 'remembered' by hypnotized children, and the sex power trips of higher dimensional reptilian alien beings inhabiting the bodies of powerful figures in world orders. and the primal scene of the "child being beaten" scenario in Freudian infantile sexuality - and the mysteries of adult initiation - the enigmatic terror and excitement of those childhood mysteries surviving into adulthood, kept alive through the magic of paranoia.<br />
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The old saying 'just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you' might well be reverse-engineered to mean that if you're paranoid they WILL be out to get you. Whoever 'they' are, they can somehow sense your senses sensing them. Your paranoia might be like a magnet, the way a person across the street senses you looking at them and turns to see you too --neither of you ever turn to look usually until that one moment.<br />
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Notice the men in black sometime, and suddenly they're everywhere. Ignore them and they disappear. Stare at them and they know you know and, suddenly, without a word, you're on their list. Unless you forget about it, and tell no one. Those you'd tell would only think you were crazy, anyway. How do you know you're off the list? When you stop worrying you are. It's not like it's going to get around the workplace or school. Your thoughts are your own; your vilest subconscious distortions are kept deep in the dungeon. Or are they? Someone is always listening. Only a fool believes they can't be fooled by their own perceptions. The ruler of your own unconscious, the unconscious's own ego (anima), is not always your friend. It depends on how well you treat her. Give her an artistic outlet, or sufficient sleep to whip up wild dream canvasses, give her a voice, a hole in the floor, and listen to her whispers, and she'll be your ally. Bottle her up and lock her in chains and she'll flood you with nightmares, and hysterical symptoms, until you see witches everywhere, and they devour you.<br />
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Eventually torture, fever blows open a hole in the floor. But hey, it's not your fault. You don't even know her.<br />
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NOTES<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">1. presuming that exists in reality blah blah</span><br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-76507873015670497242017-01-09T11:41:00.003-05:002017-02-03T15:26:44.343-05:00Splice like the Wind <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>(pieces of this were orginally published elsewhere)</i><br />
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Science is a hypocrite. It preaches Darwin while sabotaging natural selection, working hard to ensure all our lazy breeders survive, right down to the most miserable of mutants. In short, science closes its one good eye and refuses to pay the consequences for its obscene benevolence. Never pausing in its ceaseless promotion of longevity, science gradually renders the world uninhabitable via overpopulation and a bankrupt social welfare/Medicare system. As they extend the lives of the elderly and prevent hideous burn victims, screaming crack babies, and comatose vegetables from the blissful death awaiting them like a nervous lover, science vehemently denies death its chance to truly heal the sick... planet.<br />
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In eradicating all viruses science turns <i>us</i> into a virus... it's only a matter of time before Earth wises up and sees a doctor about getting rid of us.<br />
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Take the theories on the origin of humanity: the Darwinian vs. the Creationism. Science says man was the result of chemicals swimming together for billions of years. Christian crazies say God created man from the dust of the stars, just two ways of saying the same thing! Why argue?!<br />
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Instead of man's origin let's talk about art: Van Gogh's "Starry Night" for example: Darwinsim would say Van Gogh didn't paint 'Starry Night' and it's not a picture of the night sky but merely a piece of stretched linen canvas heaped with different colored pigment applied via a brush operated by a half-ape Dutch schizophrenic. If Darwinists had their way, the painting would be attributable to the brush and the pigments, not the man. <i>Come see the opening of the new 'Windsor 2" horsehair bristle! Man, that brush can paint.</i> Creationism takes the opposite approach: Van Gogh<i> couldn't </i>have used a brush because he is a 'true' master - He created the work in seven days, hands-off, with his<i> mind. </i>It's not just a brush - it was never a brush. If he used a brush then somehow it wouldn't be 'divine.'<br />
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These are the sorts of art collectors who, for example, might get mad if their kid draws on the wall but has Twombly and Basquiat works 'worth' more than his kid's entire future college education two times over on the same wall - in fact if the kid scribbled something on the Twombly in pencil, the dad might not even notice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TWOMBLY: This sells for more than your house</td></tr>
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Take western medicine's initial response to the Chinese practice of acupuncture: only after decades of proven effectiveness are western hospitals allowing it into their buildings. Since western science isn't quite sure <i>how</i> it works they can't admit it does or they have to change their whole concept of the human body. Chinese medicine sees the body in terms of energy flow, chi, instead of western science's concept of the body as a series of organs connected to each other in a Rube Goldberg-like system.<br />
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Similarly, while science can admit life on other planets is all but a certainty and that our own technological evolution is limitless, alien visitation in the past is absurd. Scientists can create new life forms but the idea that someone created the scientists in the same manner is, to them, contemptible. <br />
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On the other hand, the Christians rear back at the idea that God might think in DNA, and dream time into existence via a matrix-like universal intelligence that permeates the galaxy. No, God is a person and don't ask them how they arrived at the idea of Him creating the world in seven days and seven nights without a spinning orb moving in a rotation around the sun to measure it in the first place. Right? Now, exhale, and then INHERIT THE WIND! That's the big argument reveal that cracks it wide open, Pollock!<br />
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A few years ago I was visiting a urologist for prostate trouble and I asked him about pumpkin seeds and stinging nettle and saw palmetto all the various herbal remedies I'd read about for prostates and he said "well, I am not allowed to say they work, but, I <i>do</i> take them myself," and he slipped me an email address to an expensive mix of the three. He couldn't ---due to his AMA bullshit oath, say they worked, but he knew they did, so bam. <i>(PS - I never did get them, cuz I'm too damn cheap</i>). Thank god (small 'g' cuz they'd want it that way) for those doctors who find ways around their profession's inflexible standards, to slip patients what actually works, regardless of whether or not it can proven via our current understanding of the body. Unless it can make the pharmaceutical industry a profit the medical industry won't bother with the enormous expense of proving an herb works to heal the body...so if no one can patent it, it can't work, because no one has confirmed it via clinical trials. And no one will pay for the trials if they can't patent it. Great logic, dad. That was the big argument I had with my father, a Merck market research analyst and pharmaceutical graduate when I was preaching the gospel of...what was I into then... ginko biloba? I can't remember... the memory one.<br />
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All of which leads up to SPLICE (2009).<br />
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SPLICE dares us to believe a weird-looking mutant couple (Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley), with Williamsburg hipster loft furnishings, are genius gene splicers. That seems rather wrong, even if we do see them on the cover of <i>Wired</i>, it doesn't convince us (nor does it ever in real life), nor do the interestingly-lit barns and basements where they keep their little Frankenstein kitten daughter-scorpion-hybrid. It's all a little too well-under lit and perfectly colored in dark greens and reds and perfectly stressed/aged furniture and inherited grandma afghans (see top).<br />
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But what does work on a believability chart is the sudden shift in the monster from CGI scorpion-kitten to human cat-eyed actress (Scorpio model Delphine Chaneac) whom they name 'Dren.' Both elements--the CGI and the actress-- deliver a knock-eyed performance that in its way reverses the switch from Jeff Goldblum to animatronic Brundlefy in David Cronenberg's remake of THE FLY.<br />
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Scenes of Dren leaping to and fro from the rafters, her scorpio tail like a monkey, work like a clinical trial-tested charm. Less effective however is all the tough corporate acting going on in the boardrooms as douche bag manager David Hewlitt spews testesterone-addled threats about closing down the program if the hipster duo doesn't produce results, then admonishes them about breaking Christian fundamentalist-enforced protocol using human genes in conjunction with animals. Make up ya mind, Hewlitt. Besides, you'll blow a gasket with all this 'playing both sides of the fence' scenery chewing.<br />
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I personally feel those concerned Christians should take a moment to protect not just the human hybrids but <i>all</i> hybrids, even if they're 10% cooked from animal DNA or CGI. Those bizarre bloody worm monsters the couple create early on seem like a mess of Franken-pain. Science should have to keep all these things opiated or else not make them at all. The cruelty with which even these supposedly hip scientists treat animals shows that on a certain elementary level they are worse than children torturing scorpions in THE WILD BUNCH. We can only hope a stray bullet takes one or both of them out and they keel over into the thriving mound of red ants.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5rKzh-cOpfw/TtpqZ-DHhxI/AAAAAAAAIug/skzLxFZh0eM/s1600/joanchristina3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5rKzh-cOpfw/TtpqZ-DHhxI/AAAAAAAAIug/skzLxFZh0eM/s200/joanchristina3.jpg" width="196" /></a>The second round of horror comes with Sarah Polley's cruel treatment of Dren once they have to get her out of the lab. Locking her up in the barn, taking away her kitty, refusing to let her fly, run, swim, and crawl free, Polley's a real c--nt. When Dren's back butterfly bat wings sprout they look like tattoos from <i>Red Dragon</i> or <i>Girl with the Dragon Tattoo </i>come to life (or the tattoos that come to life in <i>Elektra</i> if anyone else saw that besides me), and with her bald head and alien eyes, Dren's a bit like Britney Spears or Sinead O'Connor.<br />
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O'Connor, as we may recall, got flak by drawing attention to the innate cold cruelty to children perpetrated by organized human power, in her case the Catholic church instead of biotechnological science, but the vibe is the same and in the end the real villain of the piece is Sarah Polley herself, dead-eyed determined to show the world that she can be as mean as Joan Crawford is to adopted daughter Christina.. as illustrated in MOMMIE DEAREST (1981).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs.lexpress.fr/styles/cafe-mode/2009/05/21/un_cafe_avec_sofia_sanchez_et/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ru9sNxUwzJQ/UEv_51fRreI/AAAAAAAAQww/DRux5sKJ-UA/s400/sofia_mauro42.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">c. Sofia Mauro</td></tr>
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The bald head of Dren also conjures chemo, enhancing the idea of scientific torture and deprivation in the name of extending our lives even a hair longer. It may be too little too late, but at least the mad scientist genre has finally found its most worthy villain, a female scientist who, like St. Joan of San Antone herself, figures out a way to get around the messy laws of adoption and child protective services so she can torture, control, manage and stifle her daughter to her heart's content. Forget it Jake, it's <i>science</i>. There's no animal or human rights for a being that's neither. For a fucking scientist like Polley that's music to the ear.<br />
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Meanwhile, for the empathic amongst us, even a drawing of a screaming mouth can send us writhing to the floor in sympathy. Is that something admirable, or just a bid for attention gone seriously awry?<br />
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PS - 1-9-6<br />
I got off topic, fuck it. There never was a topic. The topic was always death - we avoid it too much for our own good. When I was at my peak of convergence 2012 enlightenment I stopped thinking these things, the population control anxieties, and started loving all creatures. My God/Alien/higher power told me I was '<i>recused</i> from the bench' - meaning I didn't have to worry about it, 'they' had it taken care of. My job, they said, was to love all life as if it were my own children. And I was able to do that, even unto people I'd normally sneer at as I hustled past them on the street. All God's children glowed rosy and angelic.<br />
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Then... the cosmic alignment ended. I got super sick and woke up with all my chi absconded with by demonic harvesters, like ghost conductors whisking all our ticket stubs off the chair tops at the arrival of the last stop.<br />
<br />
OR - I had a manic episode that lasted two months and was triggered via expectation of apocalypse; in other words, I had a nice messianic complex incident (I have one every three years, it seems) and then got sick from messing my diet up trying to be a vegan.<br />
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I'm a Pisces, so I don't believe in astrology, but I know it's true. If you get the inherent paradox of that statement, then you know what it is to be a 'mutable' sign. One fish swims in the mystical ether, the other smiles to itself and accepts it all might be a lot of hippie nonsense. The problem is, America can't relegate itself to the same harmonious dichotomy. America needs to be a Pisces and embrace its own duality. Maybe we can all agree that some higher power some of us choose to call God created man but he used apes as a jumping off point, as the paint and canvas if you will, to make his masterpiece, and maybe both the typical Christian idea of God and the atheists' idea of the Christian's idea are very shallow and outdated images. Maybe the God we first imagined as bored Sunday schoolers staring out the window isn't correct but that doesn't mean there is no God.<br />
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If we enhance our conception of God to include all things and people, the higher consciousness of which the entirety of our known universe is its full reflection, then we lose our terror of death, and maybe science can stop being so short-sighted.<br />
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Then again, when I start to feel afraid I might actually die, I panic and pray and shuttle through the Kubler-Ross 7 like my bald head's on fire.<br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-10202143373543037112016-10-17T14:33:00.000-04:002016-10-17T15:04:11.118-04:00Nigel Kneale's THE STONE TAPES and PTSD-- Theories of Residual Haunting Energy<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vtvJWKaDI9s" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Now it's common parlance for a very apt theory for hauntings as residual psychic energy recorded within the crystals and other minerals within old stone walls (in castles, especially), this can explain why older edifices such as castles and crumbling old mansions tend to be haunted more than plywood domiciles (unless said domiciles are build near major power junctions or rivers or above mineral deposits, aquifers, etc.<br />
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And maybe at the moment of your death, if it's violent and sudden enough, your terror and confusion can be so great that the moment right before your death you can unleash such a firestorm of latent psychic energy that you can create a rupture in the time-space continuum, like an LP with a note hit on a track that's so sharp and discordant the vibration causes the needle to skip out of its groove, and leaves that portion of your psyche behind, split off from the rest of your aura, to replay the same last few seconds or minutes of your life over and over - every new scream in mortal terror like the first, until even with a new record on the turntable that loop is still there, screaming maybe only loud enough to be heard during moments of high charge in the air (lightning storms, a child reaching puberty, etc.)<br />
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Either way it's fascinating to consider - especially if you follow the whole past life recovery phenomenon, lately taking off due to children and their parents being able to track down their child's past life via the internet - even to go and visit their old life's family--total strangers--and recognize them all by name, know where secret treasure is buried, et al. The unifying factor for them all is a brutal sudden shock death - one example even fell during 9/11; another was on the Titanic; another a Russian soldier who died in WW2, another a Navy pilot who went down in the Pacific. In each it's the idea that PTSD is such a powerful force, such a 'skip' on the album that it causes a stone tape sort of repetition even if the subject is still alive, and if dead it carries over --recorded in the soul and carried over, so that when the new album is getting started on the turntable the ghost of the skipping stone tape is still skipping on repetition in the distance, audible during the space between the tracks (when the child is asleep). Only by parental acknowledgement of the truth of this past life, its authentication in documents and information the existence of which the child couldn't possibly have known beforehand, can the kid move on (as in the very touching tale of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uk7biSOzr1k">James Lenninger)</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Farther:</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-evolver-virus-prometheus-dead-files.html"><b>The Evolver Virus: Prometheus, The Dead Files</b></a> (some date);</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2007/09/with-love-that-will-echo-through-ages.html"><b>With a love that will echo through the Ages: Reincarnation, </b></a></div>
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<a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2007/09/with-love-that-will-echo-through-ages.html"><b>the Lost Lenore, SHE, Kate WINSLET, the Mummy, etc</b>.</a> (9/25/07)</div>
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<b></b><br />
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<b><b><a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2011/01/american-grievers-part-two-fountain-200.html">American Grievers, Part Two: THE FOUNTAIN</a> </b>(2011)</b></div>
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</b><b><div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2010/11/totaled-recall-hangover-2009-and-who-is.html">Totaled Recall: THE HANGOVER (2009) and </a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2010/11/totaled-recall-hangover-2009-and-who-is.html">WHO IS HARRY NILLSSON? (2010)</a></b></div>
</b><br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2010/12/die-like-champ-enter-void.html"><b>Die like an Eagle: ENTER THE VOID</b> (2009)</a></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2013/10/prodigy-alexandra-nechita-petite-picasso.html"><b>Prodigy: Alexandra Nechita, "The Petite Picasso"</b></a></div>
Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-28511841594932936882016-07-29T17:51:00.000-04:002016-07-29T17:51:02.306-04:00Gremlins from the Kremlin (Machine Elves!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you've ever encountered 'machine elves' in your 'travels' you may be like me and fall out of your chair when you run past a semi-obscure Warners cartoon from the 40s, "Gremlins from the Kremlin," which has one of their weirdest songs, and weirdest animation, very very salvia / DMT. Was that shit just in the wind or was there an interdimensional disruption created by all the carnage where machine elves, the titular gremlins, spilled out of the leaky collective unconscious into 3D space time? Either way, it's startling - not necessarily what they look like, but their marching order --note the way they dance in tightlocked formation from an infinite point into existence, as if one being skipping across time's hexagonal slices, like a reality CatScan Dancer. Yeah, you've seen 'em!<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5LADnxoHXw/V5vOiXa-KlI/AAAAAAAA0go/5qMO37L69LseRURoLKcloUNLXwvo5eeGwCEw/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-29%2Bat%2B5.42.41%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5LADnxoHXw/V5vOiXa-KlI/AAAAAAAA0go/5qMO37L69LseRURoLKcloUNLXwvo5eeGwCEw/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-29%2Bat%2B5.42.41%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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If not - study yonder prop: <a href="https://new.vk.com/video5339735_163343271">here</a>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-10750346325317401052016-07-20T16:30:00.000-04:002016-07-20T19:58:20.095-04:00Secret Dis/closure: WAVELENGTH (1983), and ROSWELL: THE UFO COVER-UP (1994)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyYy2kKvuhM/V48VjFPd86I/AAAAAAAA0Zo/1FOWvKqXz3gg3pz_QVqXyB8o_0Gn3Z92gCLcB/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-20%2Bat%2B1.57.15%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyYy2kKvuhM/V48VjFPd86I/AAAAAAAA0Zo/1FOWvKqXz3gg3pz_QVqXyB8o_0Gn3Z92gCLcB/s400/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-20%2Bat%2B1.57.15%2BAM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's always fascinating --even alarming--how few 'grey alien' science fiction films there are, making one wonder if there's any truth to the rumor that unless you're a big hitter like Spielberg, you better obscure your aliens appearance, and not make them too 'close to the truth' - the only ones who can do it without repercussion are the ones that don't try to be too realistic, and we wonder which came first, there's that rumor that the government took a picture of an actual alien and gave it to Toys R Us to make an alien doll with, an ingenious disinformation move as the real aliens would look just like the toy.<br />
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With the new <i>Stranger Things</i> on Netflix a kind of MK Ultra Truth reaching has begun, and maybe this movie is part of that disinformation campaign. If not for the box art and live witnesses (I found about this via The Secret Sun). If no other reason than Cherie Curie, the weird melancholic 'hushed' mood, and the Tangerine Dream music, this would be a winner. It's got more too.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uCuUgqLVBlw/V48VjdSMKYI/AAAAAAAA0Z0/SwLMxCqOn84hYwn0kydZUxYUkjxbUSO-QCLcB/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-20%2Bat%2B2.05.23%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uCuUgqLVBlw/V48VjdSMKYI/AAAAAAAA0Z0/SwLMxCqOn84hYwn0kydZUxYUkjxbUSO-QCLcB/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-07-20%2Bat%2B2.05.23%2BAM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
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Another one that seems very factual but never has been seen since it was out on--I think Showtime--inn the early 90s (I caught in a hotel room in NJ by accident). Having heard nothing/anything remotely involving a 'truth' to alien visitation up to that point, it was a pretty significant 'accident' in my life.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/avb6i9QMo5g" width="420"></iframe>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-51575151617502187292016-06-16T10:53:00.000-04:002016-12-01T12:02:00.597-05:00Terrifying Women Come in Twos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FYQAe2gIol8/V094aI1HS0I/AAAAAAAAz18/dQNpuIeEUgYTBHn3yZlWHXfzvdPR4g-RgCLcB/s1600/106_medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FYQAe2gIol8/V094aI1HS0I/AAAAAAAAz18/dQNpuIeEUgYTBHn3yZlWHXfzvdPR4g-RgCLcB/s400/106_medium.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Only some lucky or maybe dead guys know about the weird pairs of alien women--they always go in pairs--hunting young men, or something.... if we take them up on their offer, we're never heard from again. Only those of us who've run the other way have stuck around to tell the tale. One of the few to get this just right is DECOYS (2004), a Canadian schlock film which uses the usual college freshman <i>Night of the Creeps</i>-style comedy to go with its pungent expose of the women predator phenom. I think they're related somehow to those kids with the black eyes who approach cars in the dead of night, to Bob and the dwarf in TWIN PEAKS, and so forth.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8a9-gEmXnU/V094aGnASII/AAAAAAAAz14/UV9G8lYIjvAD6v3WpV2GGo5EeXlm959RQCLcB/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8a9-gEmXnU/V094aGnASII/AAAAAAAAz14/UV9G8lYIjvAD6v3WpV2GGo5EeXlm959RQCLcB/s1600/images.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
I know, you see... because I've wandered into the net of these weird twosomes before, three or four times over my long time partying career; always they were different women, always very unsusual in how sexually aggressive they were, how strange they acted, and how weirded out the guys who actually had sex with them were. Our freeloading charismatic grifter from the east, Scumby, shagged one and came out mere minutes later ashen, he said something was off about her body but never went into detail. He forgot about it; we forgot about it, blocked it out. What was up with these girls, wondered I? The last time I ran into them was at Earth Day after Scumby convinced me to take way too much acid - and man I was in a bad bad place; the prettier one (my one) came up to me and while everything else was weird anyway, including my reflection, she seemed like an image, like no attraction repulsion magnetism, but rather like a ghost vortex of desire- a beautiful hippy girl I can still remember her body, hair, the maroon color of her dress, but damned if I remember her face, or what about her sent me running in the opposite direction, apologizing over my shoulder - and me desperately single, horny and unhappy. I should have/ could have glommed right about that shit- but what the hell stopped me? What made her very allure seem like some dangerous trap?<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_5KmTGcF5DA/V094ctlxLOI/AAAAAAAAz2A/pD5zrm3p4XE7D6VClQed289v-vEwROZOwCLcB/s1600/g-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_5KmTGcF5DA/V094ctlxLOI/AAAAAAAAz2A/pD5zrm3p4XE7D6VClQed289v-vEwROZOwCLcB/s320/g-25.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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What's weird is the schlub party guy is too weirded out by the hot girl in the bathroom - hey alien or no when a hot blonde chick attacks you in the bathroom it's rude to say no, but that's why DECOYS works, because guys are all talk - lord knows I was, but didn't know myself well enough to realize the con game I was running on myself. We all want to get with the right girl so bad and then some totally hot but something's off and we can't quite place it girl falls into our laps and starts mauling us and we're drunk enough maybe we can roll right into it before our defenses kick in.<br />
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But otherwise, something weird happens: we panic and run. It's the Lacanian <i>objet petit </i>a invading our orbit of desire; we're destabilized. It's like if the sun was our sexual longing for the right girl, that constant relentless ache where every moment not spend in the company of beautiful girls is like a knife in the heart twisting, the superego ranting in our brain about what losers we are, but then a beautiful girl suddenly lunges towards us, finally we'll get that desire but it's too soon, we're not ready, we panic, we run, and then coming out of it later, the superego moves from that fight or flight instinct to railing on us for being pussies and not going for it; it's almost like the superego did it n purpose, so it could beat us up extra hard about it later.<br />
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I don't know enough on this subject to make a judgment or hazard a guess as to what these women are all about, but when SNL recently did a sketch about a pair of blonde black-eyed aliens women at a speed dating party, I felt a pang of genuine uncanny terror. What is up with these pairs? Are they aliens, or just MONARCH 7 mind controled sex slave assassins who slipped their programming.<br />
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<b>IN EYES WIDE SHUT...</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #280202; font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.6px;">The weird irrational behavior of the two models in the opening party, for example, along with everything else that goes on, can be explained through the maze of the mind control theory, as they want to take him "over the rainbow," presumably a well-known code for the world that is shown to subjects of the practice, leaving them a way to explain all the bizarre things that seem to happening to them, THE WIZARD OF OZ being one of the source texts for this kind of conditioning:</span><br />
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"The Rainbow--with its seven colors has long had an occult significance of being a great spiritual hypnotic device. Constance Cumbey, in her book <i>The Hidden Dangers of the Rainbow</i>, which exposes the New Age Occult Movement, correctly writes, "The Rainbow (also called the Antahkarana [left] or Rainbow Bridge) (...) is used as a hypnotic device (p.261). </blockquote>
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"The Supreme Council of the 33rd" of Freemasonry has used the rainbow on the cover of their magazine. In a book teaching Druidism (as in Illuminati Druidism), The 21 Lessons of Meryln, the Rainbow is described as "A true sign of Magic...it exists in both worlds at once!" Elvira Gulch is a woman who owns 1/2 of the county where Dorothy lives in Kansas. She is shown later in the Land of Oz transformed as a witch.</blockquote>
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Many of the Illuminati elite are rich and lead double lives. People who meet them at a ritual will see the dark side of these rich people. At the rituals, people are tranced from drugs, chanting, and mind control; they are "over the rainbow." <a href="http://www.fortrefuge.com/chapter5.html" style="color: #920101; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">- Fort Refuge</a></blockquote>
<br /><br />On the other hand, the two girls may be there to just set up the future problem between Bill and Alice, whose mutual attractiveness has surely caught them the attention of interested parties before, but like the single night of misadventure that opens A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, their marriage seems to begin at this party. (No one from Alex's violent misdeeds prior to the home invasion night gets revenge, for example.)<br /><br />The figure who separates Bill and Alice originally, Nick Nightingale, has a name that symbolizes sleep (we always fall asleep alone no matter who is in our bed), and immediately after Bill is called away, Alice is hit on by her animus-representation, the Anton La Vey, and soon thereafter Bill gets drawn into a menage a trois any man would melt in his bones for. Now, in my book any good looking young couple is going to want to mingle and flirt and bask in the adoration of others at a party, and then they go home together and no harm done. What, are they supposed to just canoodle all night? Why even go to the party if not to strut? So why are they so cowed and confused by this attention they're receiving? Why does Alice seem to change into a different person, very coy, tranced out, and strange, the minute Anton approaches? Why are these girls so bizarre? Is that illuminated star by the door some psychic trigger to release their inhibitions, or is this just what really really good expensive champagne does?<br />
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In the end there's a weird symbiosis between the masked orgy Bill crashes and Alice's dream and the idea that Alice is actually the girl who dies (or 'has her brains fucked out' to use Sidney Pollack's vile terminology), begging the question: what is worse, a sex-saturated dream where you lose control and are violated every which way but which you are enjoying (she's the center of attention -- she 'belongs' there) or a sexual reality in which you are out of your depth?<br /><br />As someone whose had a panic attack after being hit on by two spooky models at a 2006 Halloween party, I no longer envy and hate Dr. Bill the way I did when I first saw the film in 1999. I hadn't read Lacan then, and couldn't stand the fact that Bill's uncertain fog lets these two hotties slip away, and all the subsequent ones he loses, or even got them in the first place, or was so easily picked up the West Village streetwalker. I mean this isn't Atlantic City! But now I'm beaten down, broken on the wheel of time, like a scarecrow. If I had another encounter with those two spooky models I would still run away but wouldn't hate myself so much later. Why? Because now I've read up on EYES WIDE conspiracy mind control theorems.<br /><br />Here's a detail I remember about those two girls who tried to pick me up but gave me a whopping panic attack instead (and this after I 'tested' my psychic powers by requesting in my deep meditation to pick up not one but two girls for a menage a trois that night)-- one was dressed as a dominatrix, the other wore a black bikini, had a perfect body, AND REPTILE EYES, though they were presumably contacts for her 'costume.' OR we were meant to assume so, just as we are meant to assume that all of the masks at the orgy in EYES hide human faces. Are reptile contact lenses on Halloween the perfect cover, allowing reptilian-human hybrids to show their real selves?<b><br style="background-color: white; color: #280202; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.6px;" /></b>
<b>REPEAT FROM ABOVE (in the interest of derangement, I'm telling this story twice, as my dad began to do, like his grandfather before him, the same story over and over - for what it's worth.. I forgot I already wrote about it down here when I wrote about it up there, but... um.... it makes sense, since the women hunting in twos thing calls for it. As does my wry picture of <u><i>THREE</i></u> women (from DECOYS) as the top image. There's always time for deadpan self-satire.</b><br />
If that's what that is...<br />
--<br />Now that we're talking about it, I'm remembering a run in or two with another pair of spooky girls, hippie chicks (and one guy) up in Syracuse in 1987. They were gorgeous and way too sexually open for my prudish tastes, to the point I found myself backing up away from them and was not sure why, as I was hardly a virgin, or sober. I can barely remember what any of these two sets of girls looks like now, except that they were very sexy, and seemed possessed with eerie calm. If I did hook up with either set, would I even be alive today? And are all my subsequent peccadilloes just my long night of the soul trying to get revenge on womankind for making me feel all itchy and strange for my chickening out of these encounters? Were these girls even human? Was their whole mission just to seduce men and steal their DNA, and/or leave us with a lifetime of sexual anxiety that they could siphon off with their orgone harvesting matrixes?<br /><br />My hippy house's resident freeloader Eric did sleep with one of those hippie chicks and was super weirded out afterwards. He told me that something about her vagina didn't look right, though he couldn't explain exactly what was so wrong about it....then again he's not a writer. One of them came onto me at an outdoor concert while I was tweaking out on way too much LSD and my dog acted all afraid of her and her beauty carved into me like talons; I could feel the emanating waves of open sexuality calling to me but I could see my mortal death as well. I heard myself muttering an incoherent apology and felt my legs carrying me away even as a part of me tried to take up her offer.<br /><br />Plus, Bill getting called away before he can go 'over the rainbow' to deal with the OD seems to be implying those two girls meant shooting him up as well as whatever sexual stuff... and he may have wound up as comatose as she is. Even metaphorically it means he is spared the problems that plague a man beset upon by two hot women, a kind of all-encompassing panic-inducing mix of dread and desire that confound his ability to walk or think clearly (the awkward nervous banalities of their conversation reflects this kind of flushed disorientation). It is like a drug in and of itself, draining normal humdrum reality, the way, for example the music dies down and changes and the rest of the world becomes a blur when Maria and Tony's first spot one another in WEST SIDE STORY.<br /><br />
Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-43859440518257503102016-05-19T15:01:00.002-04:002018-09-12T11:05:26.479-04:00The Illuminati, Hypnosis, Paranoia, Schizophrenia, Kubrick, and Tom Cruise<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3gBF3RzTZ9Q/UlD5nkdxNcI/AAAAAAAAfbk/Jih6F42VWow/s1600/secretsocietyscribes.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3gBF3RzTZ9Q/UlD5nkdxNcI/AAAAAAAAfbk/Jih6F42VWow/s640/secretsocietyscribes.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Masters of the Fantasmatic Dimension, from left: Klytus (Flash Gordon), Dwarf from Twin Peaks, MC (Eyes Wide Shut), The Wizard of Oz, Evil Queen</span></span></td></tr>
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In the end, the paranoia around the Illuminati is "which came first, the chicken or the egg"-style ingenious: if you let even a small amount of it in, you find suddenly everything clicks, and yet doesn't -and paranoia stars fusing with your skepticism. It's like hiding the fact you've been swimming by standing out in the rain. If anyone accuses you of swimming you just point to the sky, nature your ultimate alibi. In the Illuminati case, their ceremonies either mimic paranoid schizophrenic delusions in order to provoke split personalities for neural programming (a kind of mimetic mental magic) or their ceremonies are purely the product of pre-existing schizophrenic delusions / dreams / unresolved Oedipal tensions of the kind a kid will grow out of naturally unless he winds up hypnotized by an ambitious DA, or if he has an inherent genetic predisposition towards mental illness. <br />
<br />
But what does it matter which is which? aside from why everyone else seems to be having such cool sexy time but you? In the end we should be grateful for the trickle-down, because any other response than to dismiss it with a chuckle is self-defeating. How can you kill a serpent you can't even see? Why live in fear of an idea? That kind of thinking can lead to madness.<br />
<br />
And let's boil it all down to basics: there's one ultimate signifier for all this: the serpent in the garden of Eden, or to use Kubrick terms, the 2001 Obelisk. Even the sexual trauma crimes of Humbert, Alex, Quilty, all come with this backhanded baggage leading back to that rat snake. We can only gain wisdom and self-reliance by having some higher intelligence 'blow up our spot,' to force us out the door of our parent's Edenic house, either via lies, a boot out the door, sexual molestation or some other form of brutal, traumatic, invasive ejecting. The military training in FULL-METAL JACKET is trying to achieve this same effect, to shape the lazy material of complacent man into something more advanced, and unfortunately (as per Nietzsche) nothing is more advanced than someone who is able to kill without conscience. Quilty empowers Humbert to kill him, as the drill instructor empowers Pyle, and Alex empowers the grotty old man in the alley singing for cutter, me brothers. They are evolution's bouncers, booting us out of any room, second womb, or early tomb we linger too long in. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh? And what's so STINKIN' about it?"</td></tr>
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Still I can't imagine the CIA or anyone getting it together enough, or feeling insecure enough, that they feel they need to hypnotize mass armies of hot girls to do their perverse bidding. Just having an endless supply of good cocaine is enough to get armies of hot girls to do your bidding, and a hell of a lot easier. And the first thing you learn in Lacan is that the drive<i> is the circulation as such</i> and therefore more than one orgy is a drag. The 24/7 availability kills the desire, and the whole round robin of desire becomes just more desolate post-orgasm blues.<br />
<br />
But again, that's irrelevant. As per Zizek via Lacan (or vice versa), the Big Other's whole purpose is to remove the 'constituent anxiety," to make sure there is no "traversing" the fantasy which would dislocate the subject from its void-circumscribing orbit. In EYES WIDE SHUT, Ziegler's positing Dr. Bill as an outsider who will <i>never</i> be a member of this exclusive shadow society, no matter what mask he dons, is doing him a massive favor, because this forbidden society exists solely <i>in order to exclude him</i>, and thus perpetuate constituted (rather than constituent) anxiety. It's a gift, son! This lack of a gift is the best gift he can give.<br />
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A similar effect occurs with UFO crash sightings wherein the military steps in, harasses and bullies witnesses into silence, and reports it was a weather balloon or crashed satellite, then hauls it away never to be seen again. In doing this they perpetuate the revolution around the desire. They fan the flames of the <i>need to know,</i> and so perpetuate the illusion that they have this thing well in hand. If they announced a spacecraft was found, the world press would swamp them and create panic, but by simultaneously threatening witnesses and lying to the press they create a subliminal consolation. Instead of worrying about aliens we're angry at the government for not telling us the truth. We always feel protected when denied knowledge.<br />
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A key aspect of this fantasy-traversing orbit is the desire to 'retrace one's steps,' to find the fork where you and your fantasy parted ways (for we feel innately we were once within the fantasy rather than orbiting outside it). In EYES, this is what Cruise's Dr. Bill does the next day after his orgy dismissal; the return is always built into any orbit, with the illusion of linear time transcended. Danny retraces his steps in the Overlook maze snow; Dr. Bill retraces his ominous journey through the mask store; the star child returns to earth, presumably to drop down into the lap of the very same ape who had tossed the bone up at the start of 2001; Alex re-encounters all the people he beat up in the first part of the film. The old men get to hurl some spit and fists in retaliation, his poor long-suffering mom cries as he's kicked out by his replacement son, and the man who was forced to 'viddy well' his wife's defilement gets revenge by forcing Alex to 'auddy well' his dear Ludwig Van's colossal degradation; Humbert's visit to the pregnant, bespectacled, de-sexualized Lolita mirrors his visit to her mother in the beginning, and the shooting of Quilty both opens and closes the film.<br />
<br />
This is why the ultimate realization scene for Dr. Bill is when the <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/03/primal-father-cinemarchetypes-8.html">odious Ziegler</a> begins to back up over his 'charade' story and he realizes he's met a man even more of a fake than he is. That's what nails him, more than the mask, which is just another reminder both of these rich elite's powerful omnipresence, but that it could be Ziegler himself who is the mastermind of all the things, right down to the call girl Mandy's O.D. which may be fake anyway. Is anything real at all? In clouding the issue Ziegler shows Dr. Bill the very painting of his fear, the refractions created by falseness and the empty cold of his cocksure grin, which its smug wearer presumes sweetens any amount of evasive bullshit.</div>
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This sounds horrible, but so what? We've been dealing with its trauma ever since mom first made us sleep in our own room, with at least one door between her and our quivering, longing self. But without that trauma, we're Norman Bates or worse. Without shadows all is pure light, indistinguishable from other light; there is no division between shadow and self anymore than one sunbeam can be portioned off from the rest, reserved to shine only on the elite. The introduction of evil into the world is inseparable from the introduction of choice, the possibility of free will. We all are welcome to join a yoga class if we want, and know the perfect grace and joy of breaking free from our 'programming' and merging with the divine through our breathing, but let me tell you, what a bore it is to live in that 24/7. I've done it, bro, and while I was perfect love and in the moment I was also very open to scammers, without the capacity for any resistance against temptation or exploitation... no wonder all the cult leaders end up committing all sorts of sexual abuses; they go crazy from being so free and yet so 'chosen up' as far as the light or the dark, so sure they know which is which - at first all the evil seems gone from their soul, but it's just sneaking around the back. When it comes, it's masked in heavenly light which the cult leader's ego never dreams might be anything but what he wants it to be. In denying he's still subject to root reptilian (Satanic) urges he gives them free choice of masks, so they come dressed as God.<br />
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<b>(In No Way a) CONCLUSION:</b><br />
<br />
We won't ever rise from our shackles of sleep until we learn to not judge those who keep us in the cave of Morphius. We simply need to recognize this is once again ourselves. We have to go back to Freud because if we boil it down to some exclusionary cult we're only choosing to exclude <i>ourselves</i> from our own story. We're kissing with a mask on. I'm sure the mask kissing connects to a Monarch MK-ULTRA program, but by now it's time to look inward for relevance rather than this arcane projection, the which came first, the paranoia or the conspiracy, and might conspirators deliberately invoke paranoia in those who try to unravel their secrets, and might the engendered paranoia be the whole point of those secrets.<br />
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<b>LOOKING INWARD NOT OUTWARD:</b><br />
<br />
The issue that sets the events of EYES WIDE SHUT in motion is really begun the night before by Nicole's feeling attracted to the Satanist at the party and projecting her desire on the screen of jealousy over Bill's two models. His evasiveness and and inability to admit he was turned on by those beautiful ladies is what drives her insane. The confession of love from the woman whose father just died mirrors this; loving a man she barely knows but marrying a blander version (a Tom Cruise variation with glasses) mirrors the two sides of Alice, who oscillates between wearing glasses and being her darker Mandy self. He's trying to find his own asleep wife, but he can't even find his own sleeping self. The double in the glasses represents the castrated, limited version of Dr. Bill, the one who is known, tamed, outside the realm of murky desire, the party Bill is trying so desperately to crash.<br />
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Bill has neglected this darker self, the Mr. Hyde, who could revel in this kind of sexualized madness, and so his nocturnal wandering becomes a sad attempt to find the<i> real </i>corollary, the place where sexual dreams are reality, i.e. Through the Looking Glass, because he has made no peace with his unconscious he grasps onto the white lapels of Nick Nightingale, his unconscious corollary, a blindfolded musician at the ritual, a nocturnal wanderer in between realms (for musicians at rituals can traverse both realms, conduct the orgies of the damned without taking part, i.e. the organist in CARNIVAL OF SOULS).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 14.545454025268555px;">From left: Mary Henry (<i>Carnival of Souls)</i>; Nick Nightingale (<i>Eyes Wide Shut</i>)</td></tr>
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Alice is more evolved because she encompasses both sides in one person. Her double is the drug abusing Mandy (they're both tall and have red hair) which is the only way it makes sense, since it's absurd to think that Mandy would even remember Bill if she was that zonked upstairs at Ziegler's party especially since he's wearing a mask at the orgy. Why even bother to warn him?<br />
<br />
Personally, anyone who threatens me with rehab just because I pass out at a really dull party after giving a boring blow job for whatever vast sum, I say kill him.<br />
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<b>The Cockiness of Impotence</b></div>
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The saving grace of so much Kubrick is that he casts doubt on the truth of events in his films, creating space for them to be read as the deranged clinical sadism of an impotent egghead. Impotence is a recurring theme, from the fluoride in the precious bodily fluids in DR. STRANGELOVE (<a href="http://swarofthesaints.blogspot.com/2013/02/pineal-gland-activate.html" target="_blank">which as we all know pollutes our third eye reducing our spiritual awareness</a>) to the lack of visible sex in LOLITA. The absence of the phallus, the impossibility of union with the <i>objet petit a </i>creates the desire, while for Dr. Bill the only sex he actually sees or becomes a part of is the sex witnessed at the masked orgy. He's cut off from everything by a cocky smarm that won't even allow him to admit he was nearly lured over the rainbow (just as Alice was nearly lured upstairs to the 'Renaissance sculpture room'). It's cocky boyish persona that is blocking his every attempt to stray from his wife, the internalized mask that cuts him off from all his desires on his magical night, so that the following day, retracing his steps, he finds that all the once open avenues are closed, and that he narrowly missed possibly contracting HIV, being killed, and so on. His wife's phone call saved him from contracting HIV (presumably this was Kubrick's meaning), the same way Mandy's OD kept him from going over the rainbow, and at the orgy Mandy saves him from presumably being killed. In each instance Mandy/Alice are hovering in the ether like a cockblocking guardian angel.<br />
<br />
<b>"I'd never belong to any club that would have me as a member." - Groucho Marx</b><br />
<br />
Cruise's insistence on going to this masked orgy is itself cause for his exclusion, in the Kafkaesque double bind of desire. No one in the elite wants this rube wandering around like a freakin' Times Square tourist, maybe calling his frat buddies to come hoot it up, taking credit for its existence via 'finding it' bragging rights When a real nice party doesn't want you, and you know for sure you wouldn't be welcome, have nothing to offer, well, you deserve everything you get for crashing anyway. Maybe you should stay home and work on your attitude, Dr. Bill!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SE4thghDd0g/UlLSAmH-7tI/AAAAAAAAfkM/jp2KCEbd7fc/s1600/240472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SE4thghDd0g/UlLSAmH-7tI/AAAAAAAAfkM/jp2KCEbd7fc/s200/240472.jpg" width="200" /></a>An example of this 'deserved exclusion' occurs in the first season, second episode of the X-FILES (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_Throat_(The_X-Files_episode)" target="_blank">"Deep Throat"</a>): Mulder really wants to see what's at this experimental military airbase that has been causing pilot zombie suicides... he has the suspicion the pilots are going insane from test flying captured alien discs. Mulder is denied entrance to the base of course-- the signs are posted to keep out-- but he's really curious so he sneaks in. Then he's caught and brainwashed to forget everything he's seen. Man, he's so indignant about that. We're clearly supposed to think this treatment is wrong but since when does curiosity alone warrant you to trespass against clearly-posted and authorized keep out signs? Everyone knows the FBI is riddled with Communist spies. Mulder could be one of them. Who the hell knows? I've had parties crashed by loathsome cretins I'd never let in if their masks weren't on, preventing me to know who they are, and if I wasn't tripping so hard I couldn't ask.<br />
The scariest thing was when at one of our last Halloween parties a HUGE guy came in wearing an ugly full head latex monster mask, I mean he just radiated menace, and me in my lysergic funk I could just imagine pulling his mask off and seeing something a hundred times worse... I was afraid to even talk to him let alone kick him out as he lumbered back and forth across our pad, chugging our whiskey and looking around like any minute he was about to get the boot and wanted to make sure he stuck it to us enough first.<br />
<br />
I'm still traumatized about that godless night. So no, I have no sympathy for Dr. Bill. He doesn't deserve to crash this soiree for the very same reason that he wants so desperately to. In this instance I think it's because he's gradually realizing his cocky sureness, his rich cutesy youth, is drawing hypnotized gorgeous druggy models to him like flies, and he desperately wants to belong to the last club that won't have him as a member, to keep pushing it until he makes it to the top of the heap he thinks he's already at. By denying him entrance Ziegler/the Illuminati forces Bill back into his marriage, gives him something better, in the end, than knowledge, gives him <i>fear </i>of knowledge.<br />
<br />
All along he didn't want to become Ziegler, <a href="https://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/03/primal-father-cinemarchetypes-8.html">the Primal Fathe</a>r, but to <i>connect. </i>The masks in the orgy are at least removable, but his doesn't come off until he finally breaks down and even then he overdoes it, sobbing to Alice, "I'll tell you everything." In other words, he proves he can't keep a secret, he can't compartmentalize. He's a Fox Mulder. If he could, then he might even be invited to join the orgy eventually. Maybe these women, even his wife, are tests of one sort or another, to gauge his strengths in compartmentalizing. But he can only deal in rational facts the way Fox Mulder can't accept the reality of a UFO presence and continually has to<i> see for himself</i>, and even then no amount of evidence is enough for him, he has to convince everyone to believe it too. Scully at least doesn't want to believe, regardless of evidence, while he wants to believe <i>but regardless of evidence can't be satisfied.</i><br />
<br />
Thus unquenchable curiosity is the sure sign you don't deserve to find out. Knowing the whole truth, without restraint or border would certainly be too much for us, unless we're ready to take it all in with a poker-faced calm, ready to watch our conception of a distinction between the real and the fantasmatic dissolve like the chimera it always was.<br />
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In the end, there's a weird symbiosis between that orgy and Kidman's dream and the question of which is worse: a sex-saturated dream you are enjoying (Alice's, where she's the center of attention -- she 'belongs' there) or a reality in which you are out of your depth, uninvited, and unwanted?<br />
<br />
As someone whose had a panic attack after being hit on by two spooky models at a 2006 Halloween party, I no longer envy and hate Dr. Bill the way I did when I first saw the film in 1999. I was also kind of arrogant back then and couldn't stand the fact that he let those two hotties go, or even got them in the first place. But now I'm beaten down, broken on the wheel of time like a scarecrow. If I had another encounter with those two spooky models I would still run away but wouldn't hate myself so much later. Why? Because now I've read up on EYES WIDE conspiracy mind control theorems.<br />
<br />
Here's a detail I remember about those girls: one was dressed as a dominatrix, the other wore a black bikini, had a perfect body, AND REPTILE EYES, though they were presumably contacts for the a Halloween costume. OR we were meant to assume so, just as we are meant to assume that all of the masks at the orgy hide human faces. Are the existence of reptile contact lenses allowing reptilian-human hybrids to take their human ones off without attracting undue attention?<br />
<br />
Now that we're talking about it, I'm remembering another pair of spooky girls, hippie chicks (and one guy) up in Syracuse in 1987. They were gorgeous and way too sexually advancing, to the point I found myself backing up away from them and was not sure why, as I was hardly a virgin, or sober. I can barely remember what any of these girls looks like now. If I did hook up with them, would I even be alive today? And are all my subsequent peccadilloes just my long night of the soul trying to get revenge on womankind for making me feel all itchy and strange and guilty for missing these encounters? Were these girls even human? Was their whole mission just to seduce men and steal their DNA, and/or leave us with a lifetime of sexual anxiety over our cowardice, an anxiety that they could siphon off with their orgone harvesting matrixes? My roommate Eric did sleep with one of those hippie chicks and was super weirded out afterwards. He told me that something about her vagina didn't look right, though he couldn't explain exactly what was so wrong about it.... not a writer.<br />
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Another weird metatextual element to EYES is the way Kidman's off behavior mirrors both the aformentioned drugs, mind control and ALSO the breaking down of an actor through trust exercises and the Stanislavsky method. It's very similar to hypnosis, the repetition of phrases and other occult chanting mechanisms; they are all used in shamanistic ritual, hypnotic regression, occult indoctrination, and acting. So the issue is, why aren't these things overlapping more often, along with sleep paralysis and alien abduction, a whole melange of fantasmatic 'other realities' that invite us ever deeper into a magnificent madness maze? Aside from Kubrick, are there any other filmmakers this paranoid?<br />
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We get some of these links from David Lynch (are Audrey Van Horn and Laura Palmer both SRA-programmed sex toys?), One Eyed Jacks, the Roadhouse, and the mysterious room with the dancing dwarf could compare to the ritual spaces in EYES, as well as the Emerald City Oz room, the wicked witch's castle in WIZARD OF OZ; the lair of the evil queen in SNOW WHITE, and the leader's mask and hood resemble Klytus' from the 1980 FLASH GORDON (1980), which as we all know is bathed in Illuminati and Masonic symbolism.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 14.545454025268555px;">Naval officers as signifiers of the <i>sub</i>conscious (sailing the surface of the deep archetypal oceanic <i>un</i>conscious)</td></tr>
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For example, while I'm writing this CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG is on TCM, with an automaton girl standing before a series of mirrors (which they use in mind programming) singing that she's under a spell and waiting for her first kiss, an almost exact description of sexually subjugating mind control techniques (including occurring before an assembled audience of mysterious attendees, which mirrors our standard dreams of being exposed naked in a class we forgot to study for, etc.). In reproducing the iconography of normal subconscious dreaming, the programmers tap into the control state, programming as it were, their automaton women, the "standard pleasure model" ala BLADE RUNNER, DR. GOLDFOOT, etc. (see <a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2012/08/cinemarchetypes-16-automaton-replicant.html" target="_blank">CinemArchetype #16 - the Automaton</a>). I don't believe this was what CHITTY was trying to achieve, but it shows you that once you let this paranoid stuff into your mind, it mutates and transforms even dull children's movies.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 14.545454025268555px;">Staged Programming, from top: <i>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Clockwork Orange, Manchurian Candidate</i></td></tr>
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I remember the first time I saw A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, my mom rented it for us when I was around 13 years old. it was the first movie I ever got to choose at a video store. I had seen the poster as a child and been intrigued by it, and imagine I'd see, you know, some boobs... which I had never seen outside of a stolen <i>Playboy. </i>You could certainly argue some kind of sick mind programming was underway for me, considering the horrors in that film were just not seen outside of a dirty movie house, I would imagine. I thought it was weird and was certainly shocked by the home invasion scene and the way we're not really supposed to have a clear 'rooting for' character, unusual in the (pre-cable) TV I was used to. But this was art. I had to figure it out.<br />
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But in real life, or at least the headlines, of 1980-1983 ritualistic abuse of women, children, people, kept coming. The horrors of Satanic panic coincided so perfectly with the dawn of the VHS that it's impossible to ignore. I still think we've only begun to gauge the effect of sudden availability of all these 'video nasties' (as the Brits called them) had on middle America. There was no ratings mechanism in play at all the first few years of the rental business. Stereo and TV and appliance stores were the only ones who rented out videos at first, and no one thought much about the traumas of TV violence because we hadn't really had any to speak of, a few shoot-outs on the cops shows aside. The home invasion scene in CLOCKWORK was a parallel to the invasion of these disturbing images into our house right at that moment, and we reacted.<br />
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I firmly believe that Satanic panic was a response to this new at-home availability of X-rated films and the flood of disturbing slasher movies and sleaze that had formerly been shown only on 42nd street or adult drive-ins. It was an undiscovered country we were gleefully exploring, unaware of the subliminal trauma accruing like waxy resin in our moral cortex.<br />
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I don't think these Satanic abduction reports are entirely fantasy. I think these cults do exist, but I don't believe most include seemingly normal families. Still, I am nonetheless fascinated by the phenomenon of recovered memories, the similarity between Satanic and alien abduction recall, and sleep paralysis.<br />
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To this of course I propose that there are levels between our ordinary collective reality (objects, spatial relations / time) and unconscious dreaming (Jungian collective unconscious, or the anima mundi) and in between the layers there is no clear line, but a grey area where one level can easily be confused for another.<br />
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<b>COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS</b>: Reality in conventional 3-D space time, i.e. global news, shared opinions, measured distance (You are there, I am here, the stars are light years away, etc.)<br />
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<b>CONSCIOUSNESS: </b>Emotions, processed input from the five senses, shaped to correspond to the collective; 'true' memory (We are all in 'this' together, the stars are within our reach)<br />
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<i>------in between ------Hypnotic state of 'repressed memory' regression / recovered memory, solidifying the subconscious (lower) into a reality (upper) memory, leading to a revision of one's concept of the collective consciousness as one's repressed desires from childhood are remembered as real. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><b>SUBCONSCIOUS: </b>Repressed desires; Oedipal and Elektra complexes; incestuous or criminal desires; id; sexual dreams (we are all lying about our true natures, the stars shall be dominated by us one day)<br />
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COLLECTIVE SUBCONSCIOUS: Satanic orgies, incestuous fantasies / reality, sleep paralysis / repressed memories of alien abductions / bizarre ceremonies / demonic possession<br />
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<b><u>UN</u>CONSCIOUS:</b> Jungian Archetypes; anima/animus; superego, 'unfinished work from the past' (PTSD carrying over from one life to the next) dreams, personal devils, demons, angel projectors. (astrology, archetypal constellations, the stars are no farther than our fingertips)<br />
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<i>------in between ------ Hypnotic imagery reflection, here caught between the universal and personal unconscious, dissolving ego into the collective; the oceanic; can recover memories from other people, past lives, channeling spirits. </i><br />
<b><br /></b><b>COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS: </b>Anima Mundi; Collective Unconsciousness; 3rd eye reality (4-9-D nonlocalized intelligence); true hallucinations - i.e. matter appears as energy slowed, every movement or thought triggers myriad possibilities branching off like tentac<i>l</i>es, aliens, transpersonal devils, demons (the stars are inside of us, there is no distance or space at all, ghosts, demons, angels are all visible and separate from any one of us, and yet joined to us)<br />
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The question of 'is mind control MK Ultra real?' doesn't really make sense when approached pragmatically based on the theoretical layers of consciousness outlined above, because the figures in a subconscious dream (repressed sexual) mirror exactly the allegedly real figures in a repressed memory recovered during hypnosis. If one applies this formula to Salem witch hunts for example, the repression of their Puritan religion created such a hard wall between the subconscious and conscious that the pressure resulted in an autonomous complex, i.e. the subconsicous warps the floorboards with its built-up pressure and some of its contents burst out, like a broken sewer pipe, onto the conscious perception/reality living room carpet; since the Puritan mind has no means of discerning the real from the vividly imagined (Freud is more than two centuries away), it can only believe its own senses, its own intuition, and since the deep dark woods are such an unknown, and the fortunes and fates so dependent on random circumstances (no cure for diseases or crop blight), there are a lot of great screens for these dark unconscious sewer mains to project onto.<br /><br />In other words these things all exist, but only if you widen your notion of what existence is, and you should. It's foolish to think that aliens only come from far away in big ships traveling through 3-D space. Do they ever sleep? Maybe to them our waking life seems to them so narrowed it's like we're asleep, while our dreaming selves are more approachable - and seen as the 'real' us! Why not?<br /><br />I'm not attempting to dismiss the claims of SRA survivors, only suggesting that hypnotic regression / repressed memories occupy such a slippery slope between the levels of our consciousness that they expose the whole foundation of ordinary reality as a delayed reflection of the deepest level of the collective. In other words I'm saying the SRA memories might be false but consensual conscious reality may just be falser.<br />
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Later in his sojurn, Dr. Bill is harassed by a gang of B&T toughs for being gay (a real life 'accusation' he vehemently denies), which could be said to represent, in one of the few appearances thereof, the non-New Yorker young boorish weekend drinker tourist, a swath of kids who come rolling in on the LIRR and NJ Transit every Friday and Saturday evening that makes weekend bar scene collectively known as amateur night (cool NYC-ers enteratin at home or go to private parties instead). These are the morlocks, the droogies, the bridge and tunnel marauders, relying on their gang's drunken cheering for constant support, the type of dudes. It's that shove, however, I wish to mention, for it knocks him into an alternate state of reality for it's shortly afterwards he runs into the girl whose demarked as a prostitute by, apparently, the red door she takes him through, maybe because Kubrick thinks no girl would come onto a man in the West Village who wasn't? When Tom says while in her apartment, "Maybe we should talk about money." I wondered if she would have normally even expected or asked for any. In a way he shows himself to be as much of a tourist amateur night boob in this moment as the businessman who leaves a bunch of money for Diane Keaton in LOOKING FOR MR. GOODBAR. But has Kubrick really even been to New York City, <i>ever</i>? Is the red door a signal, as in ye olden times, or Amsterdam, that this is a brothel, of sorts and he just presumes its code here too? We know he reads a lot and that's often the surest mark of a man who doesn't party. If he'd done any serious drinking in the Village he wouldn't be so easily labeled as a doofus bridge and tunnel tourist like those shovers.<br />
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Of course that's the problem with filming a NYC movie in a UK studio. Kubrick did not think he needed to come here and absorb the unique flavors that may have opened his eyes shut in under 90 minutes. We're not all rich, Satanic, and successful or MK-Ultraficial sex zombies. Seeing this film in a New York City theater uptown, I could hear the disappointed sighs over moments like this shoving, the random pick-up by the hot model, the lispy hotel manager played by Alan Cumming, the choice of the very Jewish Pollack as the secret society member and hot hooker connoisseur (<a href="http://acidemic.blogspot.com/2010/03/paters-horribillis-harvey-hookers-and.html" target="_blank">see here my rant associating his character here with his hooker enthusiast in Woody Allen's HUSBANDS AND WIVES)</a> the bizarre fantasies like that he could get a cab to take him way out on Long Island, no matter how much he paid, and then make it back by dawn, on what is presumably a Saturday night, before Xmas no less. The time incongruity (it would take like two hours each way just to go a few miles and on a night like that, forget about traffic, it's bumper to bumper in and out all the way). Secondly, why the hell does he leave the prostitute in the first place if he's seeking a thrill? it's as if he keeps getting a life line which he's only too quick to grab and even quicker to throw back in pursuit of a thicker one:<br />
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0852801/">Gayle</a>: Do you know what's so nice about doctors?<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000129/">Dr. Bill Harford</a>: Usually a lot less than people imagine.<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0852801/">Gayle</a>: They always seem so knowledgeable.<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000129/">Dr. Bill Harford</a>: Oh, they are very knowledgeable about all sorts of things.<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0852801/">Gayle</a>: But I bet they work too hard. Just think of all they miss.<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000129/">Dr. Bill Harford</a>: You're probably right.<br />
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Here Harford doesn't even know if she's right but naturally he suspects it's true. "Just think of all they miss" applies twofold to the title of the film. How on earth can we think about all we've missed, unless of course we're talking about the associative process of hypnotic recollection of subliminal signals? Are the arcane symbols on the walls triggering an autohypnotic programming response in all these beautiful women? I wouldn't be surprised. All you really need to win the attention of a lot of hot models is cocaine. But a party like Ziegler's that shit is in the wind, and just a few trigger signs, like the star on the wall, indicate that there is something there that they all miss, that trigger signal that brings us into fantasmatic dimension.<br />
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"Nothing is ever just a dream, Alice." But then again nothing is ever just reality, and that's where the fantasmatic enters, for if you were to ask me if I believed in all the harrowing SRA recovery memories and conspiracy stuff on the web, I would say it depends on what you believe 'belief' is. I don't think that stuff necessarily "happened" in 3-D space time reality, but I don't think it was all a paranoid fantasy either. I think people who believe in it tend to get defensive if you talk about these phenomena in terms of psychology and myth but just because I don't believe this stuff is<i> real </i>I don't trivialize the <i>unreal </i>as being false. The fantasmatic dimension is in some ways even more real than our normal reality. The whole idea behind this being that there is an area of reality where collective experience--one set of sensory inputs grounding the other--works to prevent the supernatural from forming. Kubrick's entire filmography is about weening the human experience from the teat of this collective miasma, what the Hindu theologians call Maya, the goddess of illusion who spins her web around the eyes of men. In other words, these memories are in some ways 'truer' than reality itself! Once they are exposed, once the mind is free of the web, all is love and light, even death, decay, and suffering. Desire and fear are just the carrot and stick used to keep you circling around the track. Realize this and move off the track towards the center.<br />
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And of course this all has bearing on psychoanalysis, which in this case may read Ziegler as the analysand, 'performing' the role of the anal father, the 'one who enjoys' and excludes Tom Cruise from the mother's bed, denying his desire, playing the <i>non du pere </i>while flaunting unseemly wealth and power. Bill's beautiful boy face and confidence have gotten him just so far; girls fall in love with him in a heartbeat, drawn to his flawless 'performance' of a handsome young doctor, a 'normal guy' who misses a lot of things because he's continually called away to the next thing, a mirror perhaps to Kubrick himself who has clearly missed a lot of things by being so reclusive, though this is natural to someone with a high IQ or artistic bent, he reads way too deeply into everything, so his shoots are the longest in history, with 100 takes at a time of someone just walking through a goddamned door.<br />
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We know what he's looking for, of course, but he should know better than to try and find it.<br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-87789885073374505832016-02-25T03:20:00.001-05:002017-03-07T11:54:52.784-05:00Tell it Like it Isn't (thoughts on TOAD ROAD and my own very gaudy life)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Like so many former space captains, I genuinely feel that when<i> I </i>did drugs as a youth it was a grand experiment; my friends and I were artists, musicians, in a band, and part of a big Syracuse hippie scene. We did it to enhance music, inspire wild poetry and flights of fancy, we loved drugs and alcohol like Christians love Jesus and Virgin Mary; the drugs and alcohol bonded us and showed us the way forward. I wasn't even a musician when I joined the band. Drugs did that! We were hanging out and discussing what to do since the latest bassist flaked, when I hallucinated John Doe's bass snaking around on the floor towards me as if a holy finger. It was five AM, but we were still up by the time the music store opened; I was on stage with my new bass that very night, still wide awake, every note I played reverberating through my skeleton in great purple rings. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QvFYamtCS8c/UwZV8uoE9QI/AAAAAAAAi_M/iRB1OTvNeOw/s1600/ToadRoad_Sara-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QvFYamtCS8c/UwZV8uoE9QI/AAAAAAAAi_M/iRB1OTvNeOw/s1600/ToadRoad_Sara-3.jpg" width="209" /></a>If I wound up in the gutter, then AA, and I never became a very good musician, because I kept tripping rather than practicing, who cares? No shame in being the<a href="http://acidemic-music.blogspot.com/2012/09/fallen-space-cowboys-3-guys-who-were.html" target="_blank"> Syd Barrett / Brian Jones / Pigpen.</a> I looked good up there, man. Like I belonged. I felt that old John Doe bass up my leg feeling when I decided to risk my future chances at the pesidency by combining Hunter Thompson / Bill Burroughs-esque gonzo first person-AA qualification history to film criticism for this site. So I set out to validate my glowing memories of past psychedelic experience, depicted in film and memories of watching films based on lengthy past experience, and to bring that 'gonzo' style to advanced psychoanalytic film theory, to show that drugs needn't make you stupid, but smarter and that finally, that you could be sober for ten years, doing the whole AA spirituality thing, and not demonize past excesses or become a dour killjoy. </div>
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Jason Banker's <i>Toad Road</i> reminds me a lot of the years above, with the chilling caveat that we looked great to ourselves, but to a sober older civilian we seemed, no doubt, decadent, loud, shocking, full of ourselves, and erratic; and in its amateur found footage style it reminded me of my own early films, on super 8mm; they started as slasher parodies and ninja epics while in junior high and ended up in college as chronicles of drunken binges in college. In one film I lost a drinking contest of doing 162 proof Devil's Springs vodka shots with our band's guitar player (only because he cheated - eating a bunch of pasta beforehand while I was already drunk and still drinking, though I'm sure I was being obnoxious). Fellow Jasper grabbed my camera and there's this shot of me in the hallway, face down in my own puke, while someone brings my desk light close to my face, back and forth. Of course we screened the film a zillion times so even now I know the scene by heart:</div>
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<b>Jasper: </b>We're here at the end of the drinking contest with our current winner, Erich Kuersten. Erich, Erich!, Erich, tell the audience, are you ever gonna drink again? <b><br /></b><b>Erich: </b>(pause, rolls over on floor) N-n-not after tomorrow night.<b><br /></b><b>Jasper: </b>Here that folks? He says he's never gonna drink again. Erich how do you feel? <b><br /></b><b>Erich: </b>I feel.. (starts to sing) I feel / Like I been tied / to the whippin' pole / tied to the whippin' pole /tiedoodawippapoe <i style="text-align: center;">(pretends to pass out while Jasper and filmmakers laugh / </i><i style="text-align: center;">cut to Jasper rolling a fat joint of worthless homegrown leaves - film ends)</i></blockquote>
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Even that drunk and miserable in reality, having thrown up and lying on my right side on the filthy wooden floor in my own vomit, I was still acting <i>drunker</i>, faking a slur, for the camera and refusing to renounce booze. as the next night was a big party and, even in my deplorable condition, I was looking forward to it.<br />
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Chronicling one's druggy excess changes the experience, flattens it, nails it to self conscious 3-D space time. But if you manage to get <i>really</i> out there, it definitely helps but have some record of the beyond. Without the record, you will only remember it from one angle, and subjective filtering will gradually reduce it to a few mental images stacked in a mental box in a mental safe in a mental storage unit. It was once testament to my being a badass, it's now--to me--just looks like I was being reckless, sad and dumb.<br />
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There's a huge beautiful old grave yard adjoining Syracuse campus. In 1987, I shot a film of a shrooming odyssey there (it's on youtube, but I can't find it). A big rolling hill graveyard where few people ever go is the best place to be 'enhanced' or to bring girls or wander at night in perpetual despair. The night after I first hooked up with this girl in 1989, when I was a senior at the heart of my boozy, shroomy powers, we went to the the H.B. Crouse tomb, on a nice little sloping hill, perfect for laying around on with the tomb of a 19th century Syracuse mayor to prop our backs against. I had always been able to climb through the narrow windows of the stone edifice, empty but for a small altar and raised plaques. But when we looked through the coffins had been broken into, likely during the dead of night, while she and I were hooking up; through the cracks of the shattered coffin you could see a skull with a thin layer of flesh over it, and long thin strands of hair... I thought instantly I should climb through to get this skull for an art project, but this girl said please don't. And because she was hot, I agreed. We left. I imagined a film where me hooking up with this hottie after our band's party cross-cut with some black-robed frat pledges breaking into a tomb and smashing the concrete slabs atop the coffins with a sledge hammer.<br />
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The next day we heard of a freshman named McQuain up in my old dorm, Flint Hall:<br />
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The police were notified after Mr. McQuain's roommate smelled a foul odor and looked in a pot of boiling water on top of a hot plate in their room. After seeing the skull, he alerted a dorm supervisor. </blockquote>
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The body-stealing charge, a rarely filed offense, is considered a Class E felony, the lowest-level felony, and carries a maximum sentence of four years upon conviction. Mr. McQuain told the police that he removed the skull from the John J. Crouse mausoleum Monday night and planned to use it as a model for an art class. Mr. Crouse, who died in 1886, was Syracuse's Mayor from 1876 to 1880<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1988/10/20/nyregion/a-student-is-charged-with-stealing-a-skull.html" target="_blank">. (NY Times, 1988)</a></blockquote>
It just goes to show you how hotness has its own premonitory powers, because in many other respects this beautiful girl was a real dope. I had actually been mad at her for not letting me grab it. She was so hot, though, and in this case, right, so I moved in with her.</div>
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After <i>Toad Road</i> I wonder... the hottie in that film and this girl I refer to were similar in hottie appearance.</div>
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Poetry was my thing freshman year, but in a very snide careless fashion. I was determined to prove it a lot of rot and prove is well that one might write gibberish, intentional nonsense, surrealistic automatic balderdash, and then, some subsequent evening, to the delight of some chippie, analyze it on the spot to mean some deep and abiding truth not approachable from any other direction. Meanwhile my depression freshmen year was so bad I'd wander the Syracuse quad late at night and stuff snow down my pants and my shirt and try to make myself throw up, just to feel that brief flicker of endorphins; my brain's miserly pharmacist had to be shocked and alarmed before it reluctantly opened its cobwebbed vault to disseminate into my neuron webs even the basic levels of joy most humans enjoyed.<br />
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But when I took shrooms for the first time at Student Union double feature of <i>Yellow Submarine </i>and<i> Head</i> in the spring of 1986 my life was changed forever. The door on the endorphin vault was laughed off its hinges. I was more or less struggling through a regimen of booze, music, socializing, cigarettes, micro-tripping, weed, sex, W.C. Fields movies, and writing, to keep that vibe alive in the subsequent decade. Even so, it eventually dissolved in my grip as if a life raft made of cardboard on a solvent salt sea.<br />
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One of my ancestors was once accused of having a blue boar come out of the woods and crawl into her window in Salem MA in the late 1680s. I imagine the witness to this as having some credibility: was she hallucinating on mushrooms, hunger, madness, or the ergot-ish mold of stale rye bread, as often happened accidentally in those times? Was she just malicious? Was it a hallucination that had underpinnings in transdimensional reality? Maybe there's a way to collapse the difference, wherein the brain stem reptilian vision of hallucination is and is not a conduit into higher intelligence, an ability to perceive the raw chaos of transdimensional existence.<br />
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Worse in some ways than jonesers, we dealt with buzzkuills like this a lot during our 'acid tests' my sophomore year. Jonesers were annoying because they never brought anything to the table, but they didn't refuse it when offered either, and they knew it was share and share like. But the buzzkill is also worse than the wally, who is just plain clueless, unable to see or hear the music of the spheres. But the buzzkill has heard it, and stopped, often because his absentee parents found a joint in his drawer over summer break and sent him to rehab, mainly so they could go to Saint Barthes without him because if you know him, so would you, but now he's a holier than thou lecturer on mutating DNA and liver damage. But he still hangs out all the time anyway, usually because of a girl he likes who doesn't like him is too wasted and nice and young to just tell him to fuck off. She just wants to party, man. As Lou Reed once sang, "she wants to make love to the scene." I seem to the guy most annoyed by him, so he becomes an obsession.<br />
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I'm using the 'he' here because I'm describing also James' character, but I've also known the reverse: my sophomore girlfriend was this clingy insecure item, who lived to drag me away from parties right when they were getting good, so we could go back to her place and fool around, but she wasn't fooling me. Once or twice I had to lie next to her after we'd finished balling when it was only two or three AM, hearing the party still going on down the street or next door or downstairs, considering myself too much the feminist to get dressed and race back. But one night after a big show we played in this huge attic space, this other girl gave me fat blue-veined shroom stem as soon as I offstage and I washed it down with beer before my bitch girlfriend could see, and the girlfriend dragged me back to her apartment as usual...<br />
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But then, magic. The shroom kicked in right as our nightly fight began, and the psilocybin spirit gave me the strength to snarl "I'm going back to the party and if you don't like it then fuck off!" I ran out the door of her apartment to the sound of smashing plates, hurling salt and pepper shakers down the stairs after me, screaming so loud I could hear her all the way across the street, and right back into the warm and waiting arms of 614 Euclid, and the girl who'd given me the stem.<br />
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I'd never felt freer.<br />
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That stem was like a concentrated six years of therapy - it took one look through my eyes and said, well this shit has to stop, let's get out of here, and tell this bitch to fuck off.<br />
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So fuck off, James!<br />
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The thing you must know if you have not had one of these experiences is that the dimensions of a hallucination/vision are not the same. You can't begin to 'imagine' the hypercomplexity of infinity as it's represented to your third eye. You can only witness it, on a level similar to how you see and hear within your dreams, merged to enhance the outer view of the real. The combination of the two, when in perfect sync -- all three eyes, so to speak -- reveals there is no outside to these shapes, that's the thing, only fractals above and below the levels your senses can perceive, as well as in within that sensory spectrum.<br />
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When you get lost in the webs of the machine elf spiders you become aware of the great love and the great sense of security, but also of existential loneliness, and the thought of a finite event on the horizon, a realigning of good and dark forces - not in the fantasy where good guys win and bad guys vanish, because reality is a complex impermanence constructed and maintained moment to moment --nothing is permanent, and nothing ever dies for long. Good and bad must always be integrated, and/or disintegrate <i>mutually</i>. Any repression eventually swells and erupts into the thing that has repressed it. When all is good then the less good becomes the evil. Balance demands extreme counterweights. One must befriend and include the enemy -- you have to make sure the power stay fluid, let him win a few hands if he's behind. Otherwise, the game gets boring. </div>
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That sort of thing is what makes allies for life, not the cessation of fighting, but the removal of fighting from the realm of fear and hate and into the realm of sport, of joy, of loving your enemy even as you swing your sword down upon his screaming children.</div>
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I offer these four things to keep in mind while chasing this golden ladder:</div>
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<b> 1) </b>If the full truth of existence, the inescapable Lovecraftian horror, was truly and totally comprehended, you would go insane - that's why your brain hides it from you. Your brain is set up so it can't abide this truth for long - in fact the whole brain and its blinders-based perception decoding is a defense against this realization. Be grateful then that you never find what you are truly looking for, because unless you've got a lot of experience with meditation and are in a good place emotionally, you will be as freaked out and panicked as an off-meds schizophrenic, or someone on a really really bad trip who can't ever look forward to coming down.<br />
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<b> 2)</b> There is no 'total truth' that's fixed in time and space - you can reach nirvana one weekend, find the Elysian fields and see beautiful suns, then go back the next and find just ruins dotted with ozone-bleached faun skeletons. A week passes like centuries in that dimension. Who knows why they were wiped out by evil reptilian interdimensional brigands? Did our precieving these realms alert the enemy? No answer is suitable. </div>
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<b> 3)</b> When prophets speak of <i>eternity </i>in hell and heaven they really just mean timelessness. A minute can feel like a year when you are outside the time-space continuum and vice versa. The month I spent outside time and space in the fall of 2012 (triggered by the galactic alignment) lasted longer than the entirety of my life up to that point x two.<br />
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<b>4) </b>We all wish we could live 'in eternity' somewhere nice - but the one constant of the universe - and all its parallel dimensions - is that absolutely nothing ever stays the same, and that by running from pain and pursuing pleasure, pain seems inescapable and permanent, while pleasure is fleeting and quickly forgotten. Reverse the strategem! You can never escape pleasure! All pain is fleeting. Enlightened monks embrace the most ungainly and humiliating chores as if gold. </div>
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<b>5) </b>Avoid wallies, glommers, parasites, energy vampires, sleazebags, murfs, jonesers, copy-cats, nagging harpies, vultures, buzzkills, scammers, junkies and baseheads AT ALL COSTS. Cut and RUN.<br />
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<b>6)</b> Learn from the poor girl in TOAD ROAD: she so desperately needed to get rid of this glomming wally she vanished beyond the 7th Gate of Hell rather than endure him a moment longer! But do it with love in your heart, and above all firmness. Trying to be nice is a big mistake - they feed on that. If anything, tell them the truth about why you don't like them, and how they should change (get therapy, etc.) Tell them you want to help them get a therapist or into rehab or go to your church, and believe me, they'll keep away. </div>
Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-47870222325074496452015-09-11T14:13:00.002-04:002015-09-11T14:24:17.920-04:00Our forefathers took drugs... and you probably don't even know who your Father is. <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YKZtt2yEwfs" width="420"></iframe>
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An Alternate History for an Alternate Future!<br />
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Everything on here is true, just slightly warped. I heard this album over and over years before getting into UFOs or drugs. "Thick as clown milk, judge." Hearing it again, I realize my whole first novel's concept, of a patent medicine man whose snake oil tonic has psychedelic properties that put him in contact with Mexican shamen, was wholly mine own, slightly borrowed from my own brief operations and Carlos Castaneda! And I never would have thought to have the Don Juan stand in talk like an old Yiddish man ("follow da snake!") And of course there's: George Washington's hemp, EK's Snake River Canyon jump, Gas Music from Jupiter ("all must learn to play the piano") and the <a href="http://thecinfluenceblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/sp11-1897-airships-and-little-fellow-in.html">1897 Alien buried in Aurora TX Cemetery</a>, abduction narratives, and Ingo Swann.<br />
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What a fetid fervor of freedom! Watch out because these uploads carry mid-term ads in addition to those for the usual Bear-Whiz Beer.<br />
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"No true Mississippi cowherd would leave his wine cellar unattended in this desperate time!" Shit's solid as ink in an flash frozen prehistoric giant squid, El Rey!<br />
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<br />Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-57574383939910421242015-08-21T10:00:00.001-04:002015-08-21T10:00:06.017-04:00The Me who Regrets His Future Selfless Self's Sacrifice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LELD2V6NJZ4/Vdcs4PQdhgI/AAAAAAAAveE/cFPuD63CPNM/s1600/Demon%2BKali_rainebexus%2Bedited-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LELD2V6NJZ4/Vdcs4PQdhgI/AAAAAAAAveE/cFPuD63CPNM/s640/Demon%2BKali_rainebexus%2Bedited-1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />The goal of demons is beyond just possession, but to create in general a backlash against <i>all </i>spirituality. When priests or beloved childhood figures like Michael Jackson, Cosby, etc. are revealed to be sex offenders, our sense of trust in our fellow man dwindles. The devil takes steps to rob us of the ability to enjoy God's grace. Overpopulation makes even the beauty of childbirth seem selfish. The animals we love to eat are given soulful sad eyes all the better to haunt us with--all various components of the devil's plan to shrink our soul from wispy stratus clouds into contracted dense purpose cumulonimbus so when it rains (i.e. you die) the soul falls, and the water is collected for Hell's steam engines that run the THEY LIVE mind control force field. The agony of collected souls, each trapped in its own isolated battery cell, slowly burned into nonexistence to fuel the steam engine that keeps them in dominion over us.<br />
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Thus, these daily horrors the devil inflicts are his and his minions' version of a rain dance.<br />
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Human sacrifice involves the idea of throwing another soul under the bus to escape being ground up oneself in the steam engine, being able to hold onto one's evil self, the liquid condensation of the evil ego making all sorts of harmful deals rather than surrendering.<br />
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But there is in the end one soul, so every victory of the demons is another square mile of our precious rainforest lost. That's why we, when our souls are rising and almost up and out of the wheel of woe, so often turn around and go back to help others along. I've done it three times already! And once I'm back down, buried under the mystery misery I always kind of regret that decision, or rather the ego, which returns, inevitably, convinces 'me' to regret it. The 'Me' who regrets isn't the me who made the choice to stay, it's the difference between a terrified kid on his first day of school and a graduate with a million friends, the difference between a selfish thug and the benevolent social worker trying to reach him. You can't get to heaven without becoming a selfless being of pure love. The trouble is that once you're that selfless, you hesitate to go to heaven when so many of your denser soul fellows are still suffering. The rich man can't enter the kingdom of heaven anymore than a camel can go through the needle, etc. Once unburdened by wealth, the needle threader pauses and looks back to make sure he's not needed. Is this wisdom, compassion, or another devil sucker play?<br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-45280014104476115712015-05-12T10:39:00.001-04:002019-05-09T11:47:16.599-04:00Space is the Place (All right all right) Sun Ra Vs. Matt McConaughey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G-QoHJb9E5k/VVD1EXPONqI/AAAAAAAAtWU/NPU0fW1DQdA/s1600/sunravs%2Bmatt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G-QoHJb9E5k/VVD1EXPONqI/AAAAAAAAtWU/NPU0fW1DQdA/s640/sunravs%2Bmatt.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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How can String theory and Einstein's space-time continuum be explained via the music of Sun Ra? I think by now you know the answer. Space is the place and free-form jazz is all about time, but it just has to go. And now there's more visual aids out there in the form of INTERSTELLAR, particularly the 'bookshelf' segment. If you haven't seen the movie yet well its entirely your own fault. Time is something you've had lots of... the aliens of your future self’s subconscious are scraping at your cellar door of dreams, so let's dig in... or out. First up is to see this confirmation of how time-space looks when you're able to step outside of it, by which I mean, out of time and space into the nowhere of in between. Observe the video still above of a cougar and a horse running, with each 'moment' captured as time and space move forward (see below video). We can easily imagine these slices in terms of music (the beats) or a strip of film (each frame a slice). In both, if we watch closely (this effect is slightly lost on video), we can imagine we see the slice of black silence in between each snapshot, the flicker of time and space our mind empties out -- death at 24 frames a second.... life on a 4/4 count... or whatever tempo Sun Ra's working on, or celestial frequency tuning into. Near a black hole or outside of space time, of course, the old notes stay around, they don't vanish as each new one comes along, and every image projected onscreen stays there, with the new ones lapping over it.<br />
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Now, if we take this 'slicing' of time space and examine the bookshelf scene from INTERSTELLAR we see what time-space's snapshot slices might be visualized as - an interlocked room of bands of time and energy across which one's astronaut mind is fused to the building blocks of the universe time-space itself; the observer defining the observed through the act of observing. When good jazz musicians tap into this, a strange magical kind of ESP forms between the players. They lose themselves in the group mind and their music interlocks to form some new thing, the sound of the galaxy expanding and ever forming and dissolving - each note is there only briefly before the next, each note let go of, freed from being merely a means to a melodic end. Each note <i>is</i> and then<i> isn't. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each band a stack of pages/images, stretching the entirety of 'time' and 'space' like one endless interlocking book.</td></tr>
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But when I saw that crazy bookshelf room in INTERSTELLAR I knew I'd been there. Mine, instead of electric brown, yellow, and gold bands was brown, yellow, and red Tibetan demon lizard god faces,<a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-daemonic.html"> all breathing in and out and watching me with their mouths open, impassive, their strange breathing blowing me around the space as I floated</a> similar to Matt McConaughey in that room. Here's a collage I did trying to give an idea - as you can see the part in the middle is supposed to indicate depth, like a 3-D room, but I ran out of energy. Still you get the idea.<br />
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Imagine floating through this as a tunnel or a tubular giant gas bag. Breathing in and out as you pass them as if someone is slowly inflating them and then taking his mouth away from the blow hole to exhale, then repeating -- every demon is watching you yet also not watching you. If it looks familiar you've been there. If you need to ask how I got there, then you're not ready - but I think you know.<br />
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Now, take a look at this other still below -again of the cougar and how it would look if it was running towards you:<br />
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Now imagine you're from some ancient culture in India, or a prophet in the Old Testament, as I discussed in the <a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2014/02/black-hole-hindu-ganesh-ezekiel.html">Black Hole Hindu Ganesh Ezekiel Connection</a>... and you meditate and fast or chant your way outside of time and space. As your third eye opens wide and transcends and replaces your working normal physical eyes, essentially aligning your entire self, conscious, unconscious, sleeping, waking, dreaming so that you see the same thing with your eyes closed or open - this weird effect, the 'trippy' effect generated in old Doors videos, event horizons (below) replace ordinary linear moment-dissolving consicousness..and we get a glimmer of this zone...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">how a single astronaut entering a black hole <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">would look to a distant observer</span><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">(theoretically).</span><br />
As time dilates and slows the astronaut's past ceases to erase itself, leaving the refracted image of himself<br />
behind for all eternity.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-POryqFMhKjA/VVD6n5dKsBI/AAAAAAAAtXc/v7hixija1SI/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-05-11%2Bat%2B2.16.25%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-POryqFMhKjA/VVD6n5dKsBI/AAAAAAAAtXc/v7hixija1SI/s640/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-05-11%2Bat%2B2.16.25%2BPM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">horse walking as seen from outside space time continuum as per above PBS video<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTwRdIX1WBw/VckUc6cQpcI/AAAAAAAAvP0/pMPYnIBPNSY/s1600/Samsara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTwRdIX1WBw/VckUc6cQpcI/AAAAAAAAvP0/pMPYnIBPNSY/s640/Samsara.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pYIOXiFCUUw/VVEDmrlXbuI/AAAAAAAAtYM/Tx9JAEG0BIg/s1600/hindu-goddess-devi-kali-maa-photo-0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pYIOXiFCUUw/VVEDmrlXbuI/AAAAAAAAtYM/Tx9JAEG0BIg/s1600/hindu-goddess-devi-kali-maa-photo-0011.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(from third eye) Kali (a two armed deity outside time and space raising and lowering Her arms)</td></tr>
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You dig the similarity? The same thing would go for Ezekiel seeing the multi-faced beings and the wheels within the wheels, the multiplication of arms and heads is a result of the trans-space/time affect. What's fascinating is how the meditating yogis know this about the multi-arm illusion caused by this time-space dilation, but the casual Hinduism enthusiast thinks the being just has all these arms - that's the gradual impression left over the milennia. But that's a tangent for another day, bro. Gotta focus... gotta get back to SUN RA.<br />
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Well, I mean, I guess, that's it - it's just jazz man. I don't like Sun Ra's music that much --in that i love it for two minutes--but unless I'm way 'out' there it sounds like a six year old banging pots and blowing kazoos. BUT if I ever decide to leave again, to spread out over the outer rims, as it were, I'd love it as I used to. Space jazz, sky church music, as Hendrix called it, reaches out to the beyond times, collapsing normal senses of melody and structure and creating sacred spaces outside therein... like the INTERSTELLAR book nook. You got to get out there before you can get into the sky church music - otherwise it just sounds like noise.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from top: Interstellar, Ezekiel seeing the wheel (folk art?), Sun Ra</td></tr>
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I admire that Sun Ra doesn't actually believe he's from Saturn, but he believes in the power of myth, of fiction, to recreate himself as a myth. I saw him in 1989, singing at the Polish Union Hall in Syracuse, he had twirling dancers and all this pageantry (no fancy lights or anything), then Sun Ra comes up to the mic and in this sweet tiny voice starts singing "I am not from here," to "Space is the Place" or whatever his theme was, "I'm from <i>out</i> there," and in this dingy gray place where you'd expect to see, say, a Varsity awards dinner or some union lodge meeting, or an Elk club smoker, here was this Afro-futuristic carnival space placer. In the freezing hellish snow of Syracuse, those words took on great meaning - a denial, a refusal in a way, that is the heart of meditation, astral travel, music and art - a denial and refusal of the banal limitations of our own place in the time-space continuum. Sometimes we love being <i>here</i> - other times, <i>non.</i><br />
<br />
At least we know the Exit door is never locked... space is the place - from which no traveler returns unchanged.... and they all return, over and over, in every shape and size and space... the ultimate truth about 'out there' is that it's 'in here'.<br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-15449597149656767232015-03-04T11:20:00.002-05:002017-03-07T12:33:38.331-05:00"I hope to God it's a fake" (Why Hoaxers rule and Mythbusters suck)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C1HZZcje7vs/VPc-OSLXMVI/AAAAAAAAsFo/Wzt4xPcMVCY/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-03-04%2Bat%2B12.15.09%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C1HZZcje7vs/VPc-OSLXMVI/AAAAAAAAsFo/Wzt4xPcMVCY/s400/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-03-04%2Bat%2B12.15.09%2BPM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>"Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them." -</i> Obi Wan Kenobi</div>
<br />
Some folks may groan, but I consider myself a <i>true</i> skeptic. Like S. Holmes, I don't 100% believe nor <i>dis</i>believe anything. I also adhere to the writings of Patrick Harpur, that sometimes the tools of fakery reveal great truths. Just as artists use paint to convey masterpieces, occult forces use charlatan's trickery as a gateway into this world. Similar to how science fiction may inspire scientists towards new technology, charlatanism and hoaxers straddle the line between truth and illusion. Instead of worrying or hoping scientific speculative fiction comes true, myth--that state between fiction and truth--allows a vicarious predictive imagination. We 'know' it's probably not true, but as long as there's a kernel of possibility still unpopped, we can dig our psychic claws deep into wondering how we'd react, what we'd feel, if the evidence became so strong as to be undeniable.<br />
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<b>EXAMPLE 1:</b><br />
If this is hard to cognate, remember being a kid whose parents tell him Santa Clause is coming, etc. Especially as you reach, say, third grade, the Santa myth is harder and harder to believe, BUT - as long as every effort is made to pass it off as truth, we can 'go along' and enjoy the benefits (fear, presents), without the worry (the need to reciprocate gift giving, i.e. to match our parents' presents or say thanks, etc).<br />
<br />
<b>EXAMPLE 2F:</b><br />
The title of this post is a quote from Whitley Streiber when he was shown the <a href="http://youtu.be/a7uqP46zdsA">controversial "Victor" footage</a> and asked if the alien being interrogated looked like the ones who have been abducting him. Note he couldn't answer for sure, even though he's been face-to-face with them. Each time, naturally, his memory was 'wiped' so he can recall it as if a dream, not 'photographically.'<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VzYHyjnHrKo/VOYdFw2Pb2I/AAAAAAAArcE/ZtOUs0JG05U/s1600/base%2C%2Bmoon%2C%2BI%2Bfound%2BU!%2Blunar%2C%2BUFO%2C%2BUFOs%2C%2Bsighting%2C%2Bsightings%2C%2Bparanormal%2C%2Banomaly%2C%2Bmoon%2C%2Bsurface%2C%2Brover%2C%2Bchina%2C%2Brussia%2C%2Bames%2C%2Btech%2C%2Btechnology%2C%2Bgadget%2C%2Bpolitics%2C%2Bnews%2C%2Bsecret%2C%2Bobama%2C%2Bape%2Bart%2Bhead%2Bwow%2C%2BCNN%2Bart%2Bdome%2Bfleet%2BJustin%2Bbieber%2C%2Bgossi.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VzYHyjnHrKo/VOYdFw2Pb2I/AAAAAAAArcE/ZtOUs0JG05U/s1600/base%2C%2Bmoon%2C%2BI%2Bfound%2BU!%2Blunar%2C%2BUFO%2C%2BUFOs%2C%2Bsighting%2C%2Bsightings%2C%2Bparanormal%2C%2Banomaly%2C%2Bmoon%2C%2Bsurface%2C%2Brover%2C%2Bchina%2C%2Brussia%2C%2Bames%2C%2Btech%2C%2Btechnology%2C%2Bgadget%2C%2Bpolitics%2C%2Bnews%2C%2Bsecret%2C%2Bobama%2C%2Bape%2Bart%2Bhead%2Bwow%2C%2BCNN%2Bart%2Bdome%2Bfleet%2BJustin%2Bbieber%2C%2Bgossi.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ex. 4s: Rock or Man? (Mars)<br />
depends on <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">whom you ask</span></td></tr>
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<b>Example 3B: </b><br />
I'm a Pisces, a twin sign, fish pulling in different directions, hence<i> I don't believe in astrology even though I <u>know</u> it's true. </i>That may sound like a paradox fit to blow the gasket of a Star Trek android, but other twin signs have no problem with it. <span style="text-align: center;">And when I hear that advanced atomic physicists are beginning to make connections between the smallest human emotion and the vastest star -- the fractal butterfly effect at last cohering into mathematical equation -- I wonder if science will catch up to astrology within my lifetime or at least FINALLY admit there's more to it than<i> just </i>mumbo-jumbo.... maybe. </span><br />
<br />
<b>Example 4A:</b> I've been friends with a few super intelligent paranoiacs and narcissists in AA, charmers who believe crazed ex-boyfriends or girlfriends are stalking them and leaving cryptic messages in the bottom rows of seemingly random SPAM emails. Sometimes all the stalking perceived drops away by adjusting their meds, but other times --who knows? At any rate, I love to listen to their crazy tales of strangers stalking them through microphones in their molar fillings, and/or breaking into their apartments just to move a few boxes from one end of their closet to the other. Because... in the end... maybe they're right. They can be very convincing, these paranoiacs, and listening to them my blood gets cold, like it used to when at summer camp in Maryland hearing tales of the Goat Man around the fire. It doesn't matter if they're crazy or not, that chill of the possibility is what myth, what campfires, are all about.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Example 67X</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gUN1OLuXpMI/VUt8jrFUYlI/AAAAAAAAtUQ/nSz7dAf3-5A/s1600/Weird-world-UFO-museum-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gUN1OLuXpMI/VUt8jrFUYlI/AAAAAAAAtUQ/nSz7dAf3-5A/s400/Weird-world-UFO-museum-008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">cropped pic of dead alien often seen on various sites passed off as authentic Roswell photo from 1947</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EYla37JUXqw/VPc-OUDxU4I/AAAAAAAAsFw/eDVSG2uMVKM/s1600/Weird-world-UFO-museum-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EYla37JUXqw/VPc-OUDxU4I/AAAAAAAAsFw/eDVSG2uMVKM/s400/Weird-world-UFO-museum-008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expanded</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oIkxPqvenUU/VPc-OQxPpkI/AAAAAAAAsFk/biT-l6shAgg/s1600/UFO-Museum-Exhibit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oIkxPqvenUU/VPc-OQxPpkI/AAAAAAAAsFk/biT-l6shAgg/s400/UFO-Museum-Exhibit.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">uncropped 'bigger' picture - Roswell museum</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Hoaxers</span></b></div>
... are a bane to the existence of legitimate researchers in fields like ghosts, UFOs, demonology, and occult conspiracy. And yet their real crime is only in getting caught in their lie, and even then only if they fleece some suckers out of money, or if anyone believed them in the first place to the point their excitement at the lie's possible truth was killed by the news of the fakery.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm lucky in that having done so much acid in the past and hallucinated so very damn much (decades ago I'll grant you, but I did a lot of it over a 13 year period) I don't believe <i>anything</i> I see. If my years as a psychedelic warrior have taught me anything, it's not to trust my own senses. Descartes didn't either and though he clearly never dropped acid he may have done other things (ergot in a mystery ceremony?) and he correctly pinpointed the pineal gland as the seat of the soul. He too knew not to trust his senses, for in demanding we take our sense perceptions as gospel truth, our senses doth get cocky. The third eye never makes such claims. It's the eye we see through in dreams and creative visualizations.<br />
<br />
Seeing it doesn't make it real; not seeing doesn't make it false. Anyone who 'only believes what they see' is delusional, though those who stick to that concept, i.e. reductive or eliminative materialists, are clearly begging someone to hook them up with a tab of acid so they can finally get a higher vantage point on what's going on in their brains. Honey, I tell them, your brain is like a cheating spouse, you don't know nearly as much about what's going on with it as you think you do.<br />
<br />
But I still hate finding out some engaging mystery that beguiled me was just a trick, either of a prankster, attention-seeker, profiteer, or just misidentification of weather phenomena. I feel a knee-jerk anger when something that was blowing my mind is dashed against the rocks of scientific grounding, snarky prank laughter, or contemptuous "Myth-Buster"-ing.<br />
<br />
Take for example the high strangeness of Saturn controlling the Earth via the Moon, as told by the amazing paranoid theorist David Icke. I love this guy, but his latest book is so crazy I had to quickly shelf it and wait for a time when my mind was more stable. The deeper into the rabbit hole he goes, the crazier he sounds, but it's the kind of crazy that makes my head vibrate in uncomfortable ways, the imprisoning frequencies of Saturn punishing me with a remote controlled dog collar zap to make me put the book down, the way I might walk to the other side of the street to avoid a maniac shouting about lizard people stealing our souls.<br />
<br />
Luckily, as a Pisces, I can believe he's right AND he's crazy at the same time, and vice versa. If I don't, the world will seem unendurably depressing, and I'd lose my few threads of remaining sanity--so it's not that I don't believe him, to an extent, it's just that I can't believe him at this time, for my own self-interest.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DoZvM08qkpY/VVIgEivgkpI/AAAAAAAAtZw/ua0Jiv--7Vo/s1600/1024px-Cellarius_ptolemaic_system.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DoZvM08qkpY/VVIgEivgkpI/AAAAAAAAtZw/ua0Jiv--7Vo/s400/1024px-Cellarius_ptolemaic_system.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Eliminativists argue that modern belief in the existence of mental phenomena </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">is analogous to the ancient belief in obsolete theories such as the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geocentric_model" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">geocentric model</a><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"> of the universe - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliminative_materialism">Wiki</a></span></td></tr>
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It's because I am psychedelically experienced and a Pisces and studied a lot of Jung and Joseph Campbell, meditated, astral traveled, and had nervous breakdowns and periods of intense 'blood of the lamb' enlightenment, alcoholic withdrawal (DTs), suicidal depression, and AA pink cloud egoless joy, that I've perhaps come--in however small a way--to understand how myths help cement our dreams and imagination to reality, to physical manifestations, how we organize our thoughts and our lives, how one begets the other through conscious shaping of matter. Myths are the phantom missing link wherein the unknown elements of external reality link up with our unconscious. They are the water that goes down to nourish the unseen roots of our budding garden.<br />
<br />
Without this water, this anthropomorphic pareidolia, a Rodin sculpture is just polished stone -- if we see a nude woman in it, well, we're idiots who can't tell a real woman from a rock.<br />
<br />
In other words, dreams aren't less 'valid' than 3-D waking life reality. Nothing is 'just' a hallucination. If it was, god help us, we'd be trapped even in our fantasies, totally trapped, in other words, and life would be unlivable.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Don't Touch that Dial!</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Imagine consciousness and 3D space time as a radio we got for Xmas on our first birthday. We've had it all our lives, we can tune in the one local station 'Hot 97 FM.' At night we sometimes tune in weird stuff to the right and left of the dial. But we don't even know we can switch to AM and find a whole other spectrum. Some stations can take lifetimes to tune in, or can be found almost immediately on reception, only to be lost when we turn back to Hot 97 and then try to find them later. At the far end of one direction, we can tune into channels full of light and angels; god, loved ones who've departed, heaven. In the other direction, darkness and demons, in between, a million permutations. We 'can' tune these things in, but we worry we'll never got Hot 97 back if we adjust even a centimeter. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But are those other radio stations real as the average person defines real? How do we know if we never try to turn the dial? If we never try, the only possibility of us ever seeing these other channels is when we either die (or have an NDE) or suffer from a high grade fever (or are psychic, schizophrenic, or suffer a head injury). But to deny their possibility is like saying no other radio station can exist because it's not 97 FM, and hence it does not play all the hits / all the time.</div>
<br />
We know the appearance of solid matter is itself an illusion. This is scientific fact: matter is just energy on a very slow vibration. If we moved the dial so that we saw even ancient rock as vibrating energy, wouldn't that in fact be 'truer'?<br />
<br />
BUT --if everything supernatural and paranoid should--hypothetically--turn out to be false, then hoaxers (and mis-identifiers) are the true saviors of our temporal realm. Without urban legends, high strangeness and unexplainable monsters, the world would be a much more boring place.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BV0eRpx-c8U/VPS7-_jttxI/AAAAAAAAsAY/uluMJzJlPRM/s1600/1-12-15-decasia-figure1-1024x759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BV0eRpx-c8U/VPS7-_jttxI/AAAAAAAAsAY/uluMJzJlPRM/s1600/1-12-15-decasia-figure1-1024x759.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DECASIA (film decay, not the ocean floor)</td></tr>
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For example: I think maybe Bigfoot is some kind of actual being but not exactly as we understand being, not fixed to time and space as we understand it. He's a channel surfer on that above radio metaphor, he lands on Hot 97 only while there's a commercial on the one he generally listens to. A cougar is chasing him in his normal realm / station, so he flips over to ours until it passes. So I don't think we will ever find the bones of one in the swamps because if they could die, they'd have died out long ago. We see Bigfoot and he sees us but only on rare occasions, the way we might see the faces of a family driving in a different direction down opposites sides of the highway, for just a brief spate of time, then they're gone.<br />
<br />
Maybe outside of our temporal realm 'life and death' as a duality is transcended into a kind of continual in-between state of non/existence. Our life span is short, artificially instilled by our Tyrell-ish Anunaki god to weed out the problems with the previous model (i.e. bigfoot is our ancestor with abilities intact that are artificially blocked in our DNA to keep us from escaping across time and space as he does -- the main two things they gave us Bigfoot lacks - abstract higher education cognizance (language) and third eye fantasy; what we lose: immortality, ease of channel surfing.<br />
<br />
I believe our government did the right thing burying the Roswell event in 1947. We'd just been in a war. We needed the rest. We still do. I believe they haven't really hid anything from us, just cloaked it in enough disinformation and doubt that those who want to believe it was a balloon can go back to sleep, and those who want to seek the truth can find it, more or less.<br />
<br />
It's like if you're five years-old and always pestering mom about where babies come from, or rather, as I would phrase it: if I came from your stomach, mom, how come I have dad's features? That was my question since I had dark hair like my dad and my mom was blonde. My mom fielded the questions the best she could while I bounced on their king size bed and she got ready for whatever <i>Mad Men</i>-era bridge party that night. She never lied, never talked about a stork, but just fed me tiny pieces of nonsexual info, and let my curiosity, and kids in school, fill in the blanks.<br />
<br />
When another kid told us the gross mechanics involved, of course, it was so horrifying to imagine (that's where you pee out of!!) we accused him of lying, or getting the facts wrong.... until gradually we accepted it with our changing hormones... and health class.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pB0qd0lAudc/VPc7jf5IyXI/AAAAAAAAsEY/6NTtXqnO6sc/s1600/privatesea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pB0qd0lAudc/VPc7jf5IyXI/AAAAAAAAsEY/6NTtXqnO6sc/s1600/privatesea.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It took me sooo long / to find out / <br />
but I found out"</td></tr>
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If mom had given me those grotesque facts at five years old, I wouldn't have been able to deny it, couldn't accuse the kid at school of lying, and I'd never be able to look my dad in the eye again. In other words, Mr. President, plausible deniability leaves room for gradual acceptance without psychic scarring. Just apply the child asking "where do babies come from?" sort of plausible deniability to American's empiricist answer to the question "are we alone?"<br />
<br />
Okay, so one day the parents thought the kid was still in kindergarten but he sneaks out and comes home and finds his parents stark naked in the living room, going at it hot and heavy. Busted! The parents don't say "well now you know, now you figured out the secret of why you have your fathers' eyes, welcome to adulthood son." No, they quickly yell at the kid to wait outside, run upstairs, get dressed, come down telling you to forget what you saw.<br />
<br />
Gladly.<br />
<br />
We need to find out about this stuff in pieces, some kid with a dogeared Playboy here, confusing scuttlebut on the playground there. If you stumble on the truth, deny, cajole, diffuse. Your brain will be only too happy to oblige.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fI4SbeTrxRA/VPcwGBoTxoI/AAAAAAAAsD4/G3G2cxDqZ2Q/s1600/circle%2Borgan%2Bspiral%2Bbreathing%2Bapparatus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fI4SbeTrxRA/VPcwGBoTxoI/AAAAAAAAsD4/G3G2cxDqZ2Q/s1600/circle%2Borgan%2Bspiral%2Bbreathing%2Bapparatus.png" width="494" /></a></div>
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In other words your parents probably don't want to keep you in the dark about sex forever, but they don't want to be the ones to tell you, at least not until later. And that is correct of them. They are your authority, your arbiter of the real. Until they confirm or deny what you heard in school, you can relax in the idea the kids MIGHT be wrong; you can imagine or puzzle out the mystery of procreation with your friends at your own organic speed. If it's too much to imagine, or accept, you can deny it. as their version is unconfirmed, and unsubstantiated by evidence. But you can't deny your parents.<br />
<br />
Eventually you won't need the parents to confirm or deny, but no one can tell you when that will be, that's the whole point. When you don't need their confirmation to believe it's real, you're ready. 'Disclosure' is always 'about' to happen, but it never can, by it's very definition. We each have to make our own paradigm shift on an individual-by-individual level.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>MYTHBUSTERS ARE A HOAX!</b></span><br />
<br />
In this sense I've always felt the <i>Mythbusters </i>were doing a great deal of harm to the world. In venting their own juvenile destructive desires on our most precious illusions they rob us of our freedom to perceive life as it it really is, dangerous and full of unknown quantities. Clearly, there's a need for UFOs whether they're 'real' in your definition of the term or not. If you have cable you can find a paranormal show of one stripe or another nearly any time of day. The only bad ones are the ones with some smarmy so-called skeptic folded into the investigative group by bet-hedging producers. This is usually a white college-educated male who acts like<i> his</i> believing witness testimony is the most important thing in the world. He's hostile to anyone who saw anything as if his weak-minded child bought the Brooklyn Bridge and he's trying to get a refund. See my<a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2012/06/zealots-of-anti-zealotry-or-why.html"> Zealot of Doubt: why skeptics are the new cranks.</a><br />
<br />
That's fine by me. I just won't watch your show, but know one thing, <i>Mythbusters </i>and UFO research team 'skeptic'-- you are not a TRUE skeptic. Atheists are not skeptics, nor are smarmy hipsters who think their science degrees mean they can't even address the ideas of ghosts and aliens without snarky laughter and derisive eye rolls. That's not skepticism, that's condemnation based on one's own false impressions, mainly created by snap judgments of 'the type of people who believe that rot.' They're just parroting whatever will get their paper a gold star. Can anyone get a master's degree unless they parrot the party line? No, and as a result there are far more<i> true </i>skeptics in the UFO community than outside it. The naysayers are so rigid in their conception of reality that it threatens to shatter with the slightest stress. A true skeptic is open to all possibilities and that means never committing to one organization, theory, sponsor, guru, religion, or point of view, <i>regardless of sensorial evidence.</i><br />
<br />
In admitting eyes and ears are deceiving we don't close doors to perception, we open them.<br />
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In short, I don't care if you made your ghost story up, so long as it <i>feels</i> real to me, so I get the shivers, the pleasant spine tingle that makes me check the door locks and grab onto the cat for support. As a man who considers the art of telling ghost stories a sacred rite, I know it's always twice as scary when they <i>feel</i> true. No ghost story is scary if the teller prefaces it with: "I just made this all up, so don't believe it." It's always "this totally happened to a friend of mine's aunt and uncle..." or "in these woods, I heard this happened." And you can't lock the door at a camp site.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington could not tell a lie... and he says he met <br />
a Nordic alien in the woods at Valley Forge</td></tr>
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I'm into that 'maybe' aspect. I live for it, and I revile 'scientific' pseudo-skeptics who take it on themselves to debunk, to make sure it's etched in stone in front of City Hall that there are no ghosts, no Santa, no God. If there's none of these things, what do they care? Would they go to Disney World and make sure the kids know all the pirates and monsters are animatronic mannequins? Would they carry signs "Pluto isn't real!" Would they make sure everyone at the Louvre knows their precious Rodin sculpture is just a giant hunk of stone?<br />
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Don't worry, we'll keep fogging the line between the real, the potentially real, and the maybe --it's all we ever had. If we just remain open to every possibility we widen the band of our station until all is revealed as it really is -- potential energy manifestation, expression, rotation, revolution, collapse, and super Nova, and then back around again. All the stations playing at once may sound like a staticky mess, but hey - lo! There I AM.Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-51761941860504993042014-11-20T10:00:00.001-05:002016-06-06T11:44:44.769-04:00Roots of the Future: CHRONOS (1985)<iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AvU2nMC1KI8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-617307095323294342014-09-24T10:22:00.001-04:002014-09-24T10:22:05.840-04:00Sunbeams and Airships<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(haven't posted on here for awhile so I'm cross-posting an old piece on Aurora and demons I wrote for the C-Section a dozen years ago... enjoy!)</span></i><br />
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An interesting episode of TV's 'UFO Hunters' described the trouble and 'blocking' Ufologists received at the hands of Aurora, Texas residents when trying to exhume an alleged 100+ year old little Martian body from the local cemetery. The researchers even detected radio active metal under the ground by the grave, which was allegedly removed in the night through some tubing (?) by some agency or local weirdo, so that the next day the detectors detected nothing. All this intrigue made me think of Lovecraft stories like "The Shadow over Innsmouth," wherein the few non-sea monster-hybrid-townsfolk are tight lipped and standoffish to curious visitors, lest they find themselves washed up against the docks the next morning, apparently drowned, their lungs filled with seaweed. <br />
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So what non-Lovecraftian elder god's threat reason could the Aurora townsfolk's have for refusing the Ufologists? Is it that the locals are afraid there's some truth to the legend, that hellfire will rain down on the desecrators for their blundering scientific disrespect? Where does disrespect end and legit quest for understanding begin? It's a bit like those old 'tests' to prove witchcraft, like throwing the alleged witch in the lake and if she sank and died, she was innocent. The ufologists want to prove 'the truth' to themselves over all, and to help write a new history of tomorrow with physical evidence. Meanwhile, the evidence is already in and overwhelming if you're willing to accept it, to make the connections. What good is one more smoking gun or man going to do? What's wrong with the smoking gun of <a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2010/08/aliens-do-it-up-nose-hard-evidence.html">Dr. Leir's</a> alien implants? What more do you want?<br />
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Another analogy on hand is a recent short film I saw recently on TCM, wherein a journalist is sent to cover a magic act, and ordered to get photos explaining how each trick is done. It doesn't occur to him or his editor that they'd be destroying the magician's livelihood. Who cares? It's the old western compulsion to cut everything open and see how it works, robbing every last corner of the world of its foreboding mystery.<br />
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So what does it take to make you/us switch out paradigm to accommodate the truth of extra-terrestrial visitors? Or to let somethings be a mystery? Or to heal the wound between science and supernatural? To stop trying to do the math, to see the ancient astronaut writing on the wall, and stop waiting around for 'how the trick is done'? Imagine the average layman being told that finally, no the earth is not flat like we thought, does he instantly demand evidence? What good would lectures on magnetic fields and revolution matter to an illiterate 17th century servant? <br />
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Another last example of the importance of mystery is the spiritualist's use of props and intentional fakery--projections, crystal balls, plastic skulls, etc.--to create real magic, the rift where genuine strangeness may seep through. Or at any rate, its sometimes easier to hear the ugly truth if it comes from Tarot cards and not a 'worried' friend. I'm always using the analogy of a dog trying to understand physics by chewing up a math book. Not only can't the dog understand it that way, but in chewing it up destroys the book that might have illuminated others.<br />
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I support the Aurora choice to let their demon stay buried, in other words, rather than let the dogs chew up the math book. And as far as Ufology goes, I understand the need for it, and I feel indebted to researchers and cutting edge thinkers on the subject... but at a certain point each seeker needs to stop searching for more evidence and ask him or herself on an individual basis: how much is enough? What do <i>YOU</i> believe? And in the end, do you really need everyone else to believe it first? Are you afraid to pick a truth and make the jump, to just answer your own multiple choice rather than spying on all your neighbor's papers? In the end, the universe is subjective and, as science gets closer and closer to this realization, science itself begins to disintegrate, so it quickly backs up, like a polar bear on a melting ice floe.<br />
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Similarly, the more ufologists bicker over their own hypotheses, the more they sound like regular bullshit scientists... the ufologist becomes like Uncle Tom in the ghetto of para-science, trying vainly to impress the mainstream by being rigorous and empirical rather than intuitive. But alas, this is one butterfly that can't be pinned to any board, for in examining it clearly one must first through away the pin, the board, the jar, the net, and even one's own two eyes... transcend space and time through meditation, lack of sleep, entheogens, madness, only then can you can get a horrifying (third eye) glimpse of it - the terrible void around which all the spiderweb illusions are spun as bedeviled protection and the only thing that can possibly float us past the mandibles of the Other is love and complete surrender.<br />
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How do we know when we have achieved this complete surrender, trust, and universal love? My final metaphor of the evening involves camping in the jungle and waking up in the middle of the night in your tent to find a giant tiger on top of you, licking your cheek. If your knee-jerk automatic response is to scream in terror and try to push it off yourself (who would blame you!?), you will be ripped to shreds, but! If your first waking knee-jerk response is to rub it behind the ears and go "aww pretty kitty" you will gain a fuzzy ally. The tiger is merely responding to your energy. This is something you can't 'fake' - it takes surrender. You might say yeah but what if it still attacks? There's nothing wrong with fighting back, just fight back with love in your heart, respect for this beautiful worthy opponent.<br />
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Can you go do the same when moving in your astral body past the demonic gatekeepers of the eternal moment? It's hate and fear that make us dense enough to be eaten. Not even the hungriest of tigers can eat a sunbeam. And that, my friend, is what you are.Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-46531820670879699222014-07-22T18:10:00.002-04:002014-07-22T22:34:14.067-04:00Saturn and the Moon Matrix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm a big fan of crackpot conspiracy theories and this is the wildest of all, so far. David Icke theorizes that Saturn's rings are a kind of broadcasting antenna for a gigantic gaseous alien intelligence that bounces signals off the moon to hypnotize humanity into entering a digital matrix controlled by the multidimensional reptilian alien conglomerate known as Archons. This connects a bunch of very true dots that don't make sense on their own, if you have a truly inquiring mind. Believing it or not hardly seems relevant. It's so gonzo that its proponents: Icke, Enoch, the Gnostics, Mayans and other ancient astrologers just might be right. Something's going on, that's for sure. And there's no sweeter spot on human culture than myth. It's truer than the truth, even when presented in its fictitious guises.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/nIlul8poPcY" width="420"></iframe>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-88456035187865112402014-06-30T12:49:00.000-04:002015-03-04T12:02:25.799-05:00The New Line of Alien-Human Hybrids - Wilkommen auf der Future! <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vF3v77ky70k/U7GKr-rwe_I/AAAAAAAAmNs/sB17PtX41eA/s1600/nordic+hybrids+in+media.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vF3v77ky70k/U7GKr-rwe_I/AAAAAAAAmNs/sB17PtX41eA/s1600/nordic+hybrids+in+media.png" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
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Reading the myriad paranoid conspiracy theories (Zionist banker cabals, reptilian mind control human sacrifice, etc.) can be dispiriting, but one aspect is safe, fun, and educational: marveling at the ingenious 'familiarization / acclimation' process by which humanity gradually learns to not even notice the presence of certain alien species. Above gathers several alien-ish chicks I've seen lately - the tall blonde from Garfunkel & Oates (soon to be on IFC); Sky Fierra, that one model, and the mom from<i> Orange is the New Black --</i>the hybridization process, my friend. The more we see these exotic girls with the big far apart eyes, the thin blonde or light brown hair, small noses, sharp chin lines, the less we'll notice when the full-bore aliens walk amongst us. Though why they're even bothering, considering the whole planet's going to be underwater by the time they're all down here, I do not know. But then again, I'm not a Nordic alien, though Nordic blood is within me due to Swedish ancestry.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Viktoria Winge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's not called 'Sky' for nothing. </td></tr>
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But here they are - in the media - with their big eyes, spaced so far apart on features of such uncanny perfection that maybe you think, "hmmm - something's a little different" - and paintings or photos of presumed actual Nordic aliens would seem to bear this out. Nordics are the aliens you hope you meet (the only ones, near as I can tell, who are both benevolent and here in the actual flesh - as opposed to the thought transmissions from my own home in the stars, (according to some online quiz), Aldebaran, or was it Arcturus. Either way, I've 'met' though that's hardly the right word, a few of these alleged beings in the ether beyond space and time - some are terrifying but none can get you if you have perfect faith in the power of love to see you through. Sounds corny, but it works - you float right past them. So practice love and letting go of fear every day - you're gonna need it.<br />
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I'm of course not saying these beautiful creatures above report to some cosmic control; they probably have no idea of where their genes come from anymore than we do. How do we really know who <i>we </i>are anyway? If you've ever come out of a deep drunken black-out maybe you know what I mean - think back to that strange moment before you come back into your body and begin to assess where you are--how the previous night is 'gone' and you don't know where you are or what's with the big gash in your leg, and who's that creature in your bed? Don't ask, it's only the wind. If you wind up hosting the hybrids, just be open, forthright, honest and true. They can read your mind anyway - they probably know I'm writing about them right now!<br />
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Anyway, here are some interesting internet threads on this woven throughout the paranoid web - they all lead back to the beginning, but the whole thing of the aliens speaking German and wearing black uniforms and acting regimented is discussed at Paranoia Magazine<a href="http://www.paranoiamagazine.com/2013/07/close-encounters-of-the-totally-germanic-kind-who-are-these-guys-really/"> (Close Encounters of the Germanic Kind)</a>. I appreciate that the author never wavers from a healthy skepticism in reporting the facts and the general theories and reports (on Valiant Thor especially).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jill, Donn, Valiant Thor - 3 alien visitors</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He tried to tell Nixon how to cure all illness but Nixon wisely said no. We need them.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.ufosightingsdaily.com/2012/02/president-eisenhower-had-three-secret.html"> Click here for more on the Thor</a><br />
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See also: <a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2010/04/uma-thurman-venusian-nordic.html">Uma Thurman is from Venus</a>, and <a href="http://psychonauticus.blogspot.com/2010/04/uma-thurman-venusian-nordic.html">Uma Thurman is from Venus part 2 - The Tibetan-Nordic-Timothy Leary-Huldra Connection</a>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-49421805967069999342014-05-08T13:46:00.001-04:002014-05-16T13:30:02.725-04:00You are Not Ready: Why Morgan Freeman and Stephen Hawking are the Face of UFO Denial. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Watching Morgan Freeman talk about SETI on reruns of his <i>Through the Wormhole</i> show is both sad and mind-blowing, sad because it's like when I used to try and write songs with my left brain buddy, and I'm all right brained, and we couldn't get together. Science can't understand that SETI and space travel is bullshit and what they should have working for them is mystics, trance specialists, psychics, acid heads, and Rick Strassman, Carlos Castaneda. There are people on this planet who can travel to the farthest reaches of space and have contacted plant, alien, and alternate intelligences, and science with its left brain single mindedness can't grasp how this stuff lies so far beyond mathematics and factors and "listening for signals from the stars. " There are other ways we can find out where ET lives.<br />
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One guy flashes his reptoid eyes.<br />
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Science is important, but so is right-brained intuition, and as long as they're mutually exclusive, we'll be nowhere. I want to see Amazon shamen and DMT trippers working at top pharmaceutical corporations and taking over wings of NASA.<br />
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Instead there's so much work and effort to sketch out the elaborate science, from a right brained viewpoint its like watching a nerd at school who thinks he'll get a girlfriend if he can just make the best science fair project, Look Cheryl, I solved a massive physics problem, but she's off in the basement getting it on with the stoners. She's a lot closer to the alien equation than the trillion dollar efforts of these people who cant even count any alien witness testimony - they'll never find it as long as they're not ready to look within. If they do find something, it creates such a flurry the other left-brainers hush it up, defame it, neuter it in terror.<br />
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Science is scared of flying saucers, which represent technology far beyond their own. They're masters of their domain--the realm of 'what we do know about the universe'--but they've fooled themselves into thinking it's 'all there is' to know (until they learn more, that is). They don't want to be reminded that not two feet outside their bedroom domain, there be monsters. <br />
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Why is the scientist then, so eager to make sure I know it's <i>not</i> the one thing I hope it (against my better judgment) to be? If we consider conventional science's hostility towards the UFO community--the borderline hysteria with which so many academics and sponsored researchers refuse to hear anything about "that nonsense"--we realize they're kind of scared of something.<br />
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For example, when people find out I don't drink, used to be in AA, etc, once in awhile someone will come up to me who I barely even know and say, "Hey man, I don't have a problem with drinking!" and I'm like "I never said or thought you did.... but obviously you do." Otherwise, why are you threatened? Why are you so easily provoked by something someone else is, in this case, not doing? Our goal as therapists would be help the scientist discern his hysteric symptom, in this case the fear of even <i>considering </i>the truths of UFO existence--his refusal to visualize the hypothesis of it all being true-- and help the patient gain courage to face the root of repressed anxiety it obscures.<br />
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Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan have both flown on ahead to imagine alien hypotheses suspiciously separate from the general body of modern UFO 'fringe' research and documented experience. They're terrified of looking over the shoulder at the truths reported by average witnesses, because it all fits so perfectly together that it's like solving a giant math problem where, when you reach the answer, the numbers congeal into a tentacle that sucks you into the blackboard.
Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-58134333325635121442014-04-09T14:53:00.005-04:002014-04-09T14:53:57.865-04:00Reptilian Art Curation Edition 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ezxsKkFXXI0/UyZ6ZULRfbI/AAAAAAAAjn0/5wMvDEf_Lxk/s1600/vonstuck_franzstf001_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ezxsKkFXXI0/UyZ6ZULRfbI/AAAAAAAAjn0/5wMvDEf_Lxk/s1600/vonstuck_franzstf001_l.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 14.545454025268555px;">Franz Von Stuck - "Sin" - 1893</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TBO20186kzg/UyZ6ZUFPBAI/AAAAAAAAjnw/jls-n1TS83Y/s1600/stuck28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TBO20186kzg/UyZ6ZUFPBAI/AAAAAAAAjnw/jls-n1TS83Y/s1600/stuck28.jpg" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VIdi-VHzCyw/Uzm8Wf93rfI/AAAAAAAAj8A/VG9ED587jmk/s1600/Inititation+of+Jayne+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VIdi-VHzCyw/Uzm8Wf93rfI/AAAAAAAAj8A/VG9ED587jmk/s1600/Inititation+of+Jayne+2.png" height="275" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reptoid-Illuminati Initiation of Jayne Mansfield - 2013 mixed media collage - Erich Kuersten</td></tr>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6qDeYXhm1w/UyZ6ZdpNTNI/AAAAAAAAjn8/7CXawPnmyFg/s1600/ruogu_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6qDeYXhm1w/UyZ6ZdpNTNI/AAAAAAAAjn8/7CXawPnmyFg/s1600/ruogu_12.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTT7yAMRXOo/U0V-29bCsQI/AAAAAAAAkL4/Ex7x3mwb0oM/s1600/Kali_Devi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTT7yAMRXOo/U0V-29bCsQI/AAAAAAAAkL4/Ex7x3mwb0oM/s1600/Kali_Devi.jpg" height="400" width="303" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-12hxK91I3xU/U0V-5e0ItcI/AAAAAAAAkMQ/cJSazrGpd0A/s1600/kalighat-maa-kali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-12hxK91I3xU/U0V-5e0ItcI/AAAAAAAAkMQ/cJSazrGpd0A/s1600/kalighat-maa-kali.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IggRxCBekXI/U0V-2ws4ctI/AAAAAAAAkL0/Tnegj94dARQ/s1600/Notre_dame-paris-view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IggRxCBekXI/U0V-2ws4ctI/AAAAAAAAkL0/Tnegj94dARQ/s1600/Notre_dame-paris-view.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjcgWmu5m7w/U0V-3YmqCxI/AAAAAAAAkME/ZwOWSu7LRyw/s1600/Violet+Flytrap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjcgWmu5m7w/U0V-3YmqCxI/AAAAAAAAkME/ZwOWSu7LRyw/s1600/Violet+Flytrap.jpg" height="400" width="316" /></a></div>
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-y6qDeYXhm1w%2FUyZ6ZdpNTNI%2FAAAAAAAAjn8%2F7CXawPnmyFg%2Fs1600%2Fruogu_12.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6qDeYXhm1w/UyZ6ZdpNTNI/AAAAAAAAjn8/7CXawPnmyFg/s1600/ruogu_12.jpg" -->Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-67507296156138589902014-03-30T01:32:00.000-04:002014-03-31T14:50:27.015-04:00Surrealist Collage Exercises #1-7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5ISayJvPBU/Uzep0y-isBI/AAAAAAAAj4M/BtkStuU-6SU/s1600/bbuigjgjg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5ISayJvPBU/Uzep0y-isBI/AAAAAAAAj4M/BtkStuU-6SU/s1600/bbuigjgjg.png" height="415" width="640" /></a></div>
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I made these collages via an exquisite corpse style random image grabbing collages over the last few days (though the images are all from my hard drive, many having been snatched and forgotten over the decades. The main rule for my version of this surrealist game is to layer the images however as long as the final image resists easy interpretation and lends to a paranoid-critical collapse of signification (i.e. you can hallucinate things that aren't really there--or are they?--when you stare for a long time). I kept the figures and faces to see if the cult of celebrity and film blogging might be tied in somehow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xv3AN6pz3I8/UzeqP92p1_I/AAAAAAAAj48/6G6X0aBBaRk/s1600/Drangle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xv3AN6pz3I8/UzeqP92p1_I/AAAAAAAAj48/6G6X0aBBaRk/s1600/Drangle.png" height="482" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The persecution of Mia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ik5iY4Nj8KQ/Uzep87ZVbaI/AAAAAAAAj40/tYJNzlpPhvM/s1600/exqusitebyerich.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ik5iY4Nj8KQ/Uzep87ZVbaI/AAAAAAAAj40/tYJNzlpPhvM/s1600/exqusitebyerich.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Santiago</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQa7fkHiQPk/Uzep7KtgA1I/AAAAAAAAj4s/OZ0RH7raV9M/s1600/psychoantuasd.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQa7fkHiQPk/Uzep7KtgA1I/AAAAAAAAj4s/OZ0RH7raV9M/s1600/psychoantuasd.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scarlet O'Hara under the Alphaville Hanging</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k0gF4aTLWGs/UzeqRS0-h-I/AAAAAAAAj5E/-rNTrF3MHlc/s1600/surrealistcollagerichkuersten.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k0gF4aTLWGs/UzeqRS0-h-I/AAAAAAAAj5E/-rNTrF3MHlc/s1600/surrealistcollagerichkuersten.png" height="416" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amok Monument</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2IBIL0VR_OQ/Uzep3E2PTmI/AAAAAAAAj4U/HclEBopGtaY/s1600/BarbaraDrangle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2IBIL0VR_OQ/Uzep3E2PTmI/AAAAAAAAj4U/HclEBopGtaY/s1600/BarbaraDrangle.png" height="315" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Sadomasochistic Crest Kiss (portrait of Barbara Crampton)</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2IBIL0VR_OQ/Uzep3E2PTmI/AAAAAAAAj4U/HclEBopGtaY/s1600/BarbaraDrangle.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-53642182749333143042014-03-10T13:14:00.003-04:002016-06-22T15:16:56.375-04:00HOW TO COMMIT EGOCIDE - Life is a a Haunted Carny Attraction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZ-sVQ1ShT4/Uxnm-v75_RI/AAAAAAAAjWk/fcPyr5POG9w/s1600/Fractal-art-wallpapers11.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="" border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZ-sVQ1ShT4/Uxnm-v75_RI/AAAAAAAAjWk/fcPyr5POG9w/s1600/Fractal-art-wallpapers11.jpg" title=" Fractal art by Tatiana Plakhova" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>1. WATER IS IMPORTANT</b></div>
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First thing if you are to come with me on this special
journey to the other realm, where the ego has been brainwashed into committing
suicide so the soul can live unfettered, you must drink water. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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* Most trips to the emergency room could have been avoided if
the ailing person had been drinking water instead of doing whatever they were
doing<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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* Drink it down like a sailor drinks the air at sea. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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* You were a fish once a upon a million years, and so, by law of fractals, will be again.<br />
<br />
We hate water, don't we? <i>(applause, laughter)</i> I mean to drink, as it's so dull and unimaginative; we
hate it like we hate our own relatives, our own ancient, dissolving saline and water selves in the mirror. Coke is so much
better because it's dark and alien, so sweet and strange and exciting. But though Coke starts out as a ride in a stranger's car it ends in the light of the
carnival midway as you exit feeling cheated from the super lame haunted house with half the <i>papier mache</i> monster windows unlit, broken, the chicken wire screen torn through by scuzzball vandal children, the shrieks of the damned tinny from a blown speaker cone, fuzzy with radio receptions...<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ArJ8g8h1dMI/UxnorjzbaJI/AAAAAAAAjWw/GLrhgDqUoOU/s1600/fearfactory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ArJ8g8h1dMI/UxnorjzbaJI/AAAAAAAAjWw/GLrhgDqUoOU/s1600/fearfactory.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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But the reason why we block out the memory of death is the
same reason we block out the memory of how dumb and so damn short that haunted 'house' was; two weeks and we remember that ride as a pretty good
time; thirty years and it glows with a patina of nostalgia; what was once a cheap
<i>papier mache </i>skull behind a mesh screen and surrounded by lights the flicked on
and off as you walked past along a moldy plywood tunnel now becomes art
distilled. The skull has a symbolic resonance! Ta dum! You see it reflecting
in the blackness of your pupils; you turn suddenly and see it in the form of some
dude walking behind you and you wonder if maybe that dude's been behind you
your whole life, waiting with the patience of a well-paid chauffeur for you to
die, to step out of your current obscenely human form so he may escort you onto
the next attraction. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The cool part is you're only pretending to be scared, to
fool yourself, to make the movie more exciting. When you can't get around it anymore, dying was something you've really been looking forward to since the day after your birth. You left some unfinished projects back there in the void, and now you can catch up... <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTvnsHpPPQU/Ux3y2QSUHKI/AAAAAAAAjcU/JvhdgF_Z9yo/s1600/blair_witch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTvnsHpPPQU/Ux3y2QSUHKI/AAAAAAAAjcU/JvhdgF_Z9yo/s1600/blair_witch.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That was what was so cool about the BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, it
brought out the same feeling that Santa Clause once did. You knew on some deep
level there was no Santa but it was fun to believe in him, to exist in the
hazy realm of in-between belief and skepticism; so too we learned to fool
ourselves into believing the movie really was found tapes from a disappeared
filming expedition. This ability to "fool" oneself in order to get
more of a "kick" out of the experience is part of what makes life
grand. Without it, the images close in so fast and furious we are soon
bludgeoned to blindness. We want to rattle at our chains, KONG-like but there
are no chains. Chains cost extra. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The Muslim extremist enemy is free of this, free of images
and doubt, he wants less, not more. We, on the other hand, want so badly to
build him a McDonalds that we'll steal his water and hummus just to force him
to try one of these savory burgers. He on the other hand, wants so badly to not
eat this burger he blows himself and us-- up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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You have to learn to be your own master, otherwise the minute you earn
your freedom you sign up with the first flashy new master who comes along, invariably alcohol and/or sex. The collected wages of six months at sea are drunk and screwed dry in a single shore leave. If the sailor's not shanghaied, mugged, killed, or just alienated as couples and fed people pass in the street like they have some place to go, he just wanders around drunk and disoriented until he finds his way back aboard or to some landlocked inn that seems to sway by not swaying under heavy currents. The first clean ship he can, this mate back to see goeth.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r27IQB2trAo/Ux3xWYye0TI/AAAAAAAAjcA/eSXT3TJ2AlU/s1600/2042839,e3WeiYYAlv5ws2FKMHjMXZ52z1nJvV3Gml4MUhmmvoxh_f+TjbZV41hWsbub+Kmqj92KlnytUMFuYdVnwD7_Wg==.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r27IQB2trAo/Ux3xWYye0TI/AAAAAAAAjcA/eSXT3TJ2AlU/s1600/2042839,e3WeiYYAlv5ws2FKMHjMXZ52z1nJvV3Gml4MUhmmvoxh_f+TjbZV41hWsbub+Kmqj92KlnytUMFuYdVnwD7_Wg==.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I call on you reading this now to wake up to reality the way
a sleeper awakens from one dream into another. Come on, Sleeping Beauty, Come
on, Rip Van Winkle, Come on, Ashley Saint Ives, come sleeping sapling coiled in
embryonic seed, come yoga mudra and do the dancing downward dog - pass through
veils of perception as clean as a hot knife through cobwebs, gliding and
gleaming towards steaming breakfast pancakes of the mind. Easier said than done, I know. I can read flashy calls to action all I want it never works, I'm either 'there' or 'not there' - if I'm there those kind of words make sense and sing in the veins; if not, they just sound phony, pretentious, another two bit preacher telling everyone else what to do. I'd never want to lead the kind of people dumb enough to follow me, so I've never followed through on my periodic plans to start a cult. Even if I'm thunderstruck with a 'Whole New Way of Life' from on high ala frickin' Brigham Young or John Smith or whomever the hell, the first dry wind and I'm back on the couch, bong in hand, remote in the other, flicking away any grungy reminder of the real world..<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But there is a way to spread the news without meeting the chumps - art, genius, writing (like this, hopefully) that tries to call itself out enough to arrive at some truth beyond ego. Genius is but
well-tempered insanity, channeled through to pen and ink as the sex drive is
channeled into capitalism. Score one for our team! But you got to learn to not
run to mommy with your A plus for the big dopamine payoff - you got to shoot
that shit into your arm rather than into the old world's brain. The true insanity knows this and entwines its heart with the
mysterious, the otherworldly void that is only otherworldly--we realize in a
flash--because it was too close to notice as our own self spread out in compass twirls. Iraq was just you all the time, mustaches and
nooses, bags on heads and bombs in nurseries, all this was you all the time, scarecrow! Corporate podiums with insignia-bedecked officials reciting what is spoken
into their hidden earpiece by off-screen power brokers - you, too. You are the podium, you
are the mouth that speaks, the eyes that watch from the presumed safety of the
dark, you are the hand that bombs and the hand that heals, and you are the bomb, Strangelove! Strange love indeed...<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JUaCDPMQXZg/Ux3wXRoKYnI/AAAAAAAAjbw/wZ0BO8LaGm4/s1600/The+Trip+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JUaCDPMQXZg/Ux3wXRoKYnI/AAAAAAAAjbw/wZ0BO8LaGm4/s1600/The+Trip+036.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A shabby shaman shamus is no stranger to purification
rituals, or poison for that matter; a shamus learns you got to take the good
with the bad, man, Dennish Hopper on Roybal, man, but this chick takes it all
the time, can you dig that? Okay, I'm losing my train of thought here... put
this book down and meditate on the principles of push me and pull you, the
llama friends of Dr. Doolittle. You had forgotten all about them,
hadn't you? Hadn't you better? I mean if you haven't already, because they're
stupid? Got you again, you two headed can't talk except to the man chattering in Chimp with Pimp NZ. if you were here I'd slap you right about now, and about the ass, and now as I'm rambling and unscrambling meanings within Lennon-head tripster talk to the animals non-sequitors. I really
mean that, I'd slap the silly out of you, pronto. But you're not here. And now
is. Now always is, but you can't slap it. General, like some kind of a super carrot you can broil it, fry it, send
it to die in the trenches, but you just can't slap it, unless it's a bass, front. <o:p></o:p></div>
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----</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
THE GAP BETWEEN THOSE WHO HAVE<o:p></o:p></div>
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and those who haven't<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
been in therapy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
gets longer every day... longer and longer - and to stay in therapy is to be like the
astronaut who is in space, the Bowman, the Kier Dullea ever reaching for that
black obelisk rainbow. To not be in therapy is to live always without borders,
to deny borders<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as firmly as a mom denies her son the one thing he wants, as
firmly as rain is fire's double, as firmly as trouble and lack thereof are one,
the illusion of death transcended at "last." All eternity is faced either way,
but first we build a nice castle, and put on ocean sounds and cocoanut lotion, absorb the baking
lessons of great god the sun. Omm Omm Ommm, and <b><i>ya burnt</i></b>!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UiS5NWcw_1o/Ux3wXM86cPI/AAAAAAAAjb0/Q8hZYNYHFaU/s1600/The-Trip-Max-Dennis-Hopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UiS5NWcw_1o/Ux3wXM86cPI/AAAAAAAAjb0/Q8hZYNYHFaU/s1600/The-Trip-Max-Dennis-Hopper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-16509134632478661862014-02-05T01:23:00.001-05:002014-03-10T13:01:40.048-04:00Black Hole Hindu Ganesh Ezekiel Connection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top: Vishnu / Bottom: Richard Burton and alien hybrid - CANDY ('68) - collage by EK</td></tr>
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What if<br />
when you die,<br />
transcend time<br />
Just like you do approaching a black hole in space?<br />
Or when you are in deep meditation or have a mind flooded with DMT?<br />
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Why would you be bound by time once free of the body and the mind?<br />
<br />
Imagine a film where someone is turning their head and lifting their arms, but the images didn't disappear, each film frame overlaps on the next one, so the person looks like they have six arms, or a hundred even, the head duplicates in the same way. Isn't this Ezekiel's angels, and the Hindu deities? Would what if. you would get to experience the effects of the curvature of space-time, predicted by Einstein's general theory of relativity, firsthand.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"First of all, you approach the speed of light as you fall into the black hole. So the faster you move through space, the slower you move through time," he said. </blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How you look to others as you approach black hole</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Furthermore, as you fall, there are things that have been falling in front of you that have experienced an even greater 'time dilation' than you have. So if you're able to look forward toward the black hole, you see every object that has fallen into it in the past. And then if you look backwards, you'll be able to see everything that will ever fall into the black hole behind you. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"So the upshot is, you'll get to see the entire history of that spot in the universe simultaneously," he said, "from the Big Bang all the way into the distant future."</blockquote>
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<br />
And the same is true of beings encountered in the lands beyond time and space, the third eye dieties that are simultaneously internal and external to the beholder's subconscious (by the laws of the fractal, no real difference). So the visions of people like Ezekiel and Jacob and the ancient Sanskrit writers of Hindustani, who recognized the supreme nondifference between the Tao, the unconscious, and the beings who dwell beyond time, space, and dimensions. They appear as serpents when they come to you, each segment a separate image of the same being, one in front of the other like pages of a book or animation cels.<br />
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Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728436967523443796.post-66589694526019889882014-01-29T16:26:00.001-05:002014-01-29T16:32:00.042-05:00Tom Hanks - The Reptilian Sighting (on American Airlines)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The truth is often right in front of you or in this case behind the netting on the back of the seat in front of me, giving Tom Hanks on the cover of the in-flight magazine a shadowy reptilian majesty not normally his.<br />
<br />
The surrounding darkness and shadow seem to hint this photo was taken on the run - that Hanks couldn't be beholdeneded directly, like the sun - but actually this was one of literally hundreds of shots I took, trying to get him in focus in the plane's Stygian darkness. The very best one in fact. Make of it what you won't.Erich Kuerstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02850572368098319317noreply@blogger.com0