Roots of the Future: CHRONOS (1985)

Sunbeams and Airships

(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!)

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.

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 Dr. Leir's alien implants? What more do you want?

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.

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?

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.

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 YOU 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.

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.

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.

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.

Saturn and the Moon Matrix

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.

The New Line of Alien-Human Hybrids - Wilkommen auf der Future!

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 Orange is the New Black --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.

Viktoria Winge

She's not called 'Sky' for nothing. 

 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.

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 we 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!

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 (Close Encounters of the Germanic Kind). 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).

Jill, Donn, Valiant Thor - 3 alien visitors

He tried to tell Nixon how to cure all illness but Nixon wisely said no. We need them.

 Click here for more on the Thor

See also: Uma Thurman is from Venus, and Uma Thurman is from Venus part 2 - The Tibetan-Nordic-Timothy Leary-Huldra Connection

You are Not Ready: Why Morgan Freeman and Stephen Hawking are the Face of UFO Denial.

Watching Morgan Freeman talk about SETI on reruns of his Through the Wormhole 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.

One guy flashes his reptoid eyes.

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.

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.

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.

Why is the scientist then, so eager to make sure I know it's not 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.

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 considering 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.

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.

Reptilian Art Curation Edition 2

Franz Von Stuck - "Sin" - 1893

Reptoid-Illuminati Initiation of Jayne Mansfield - 2013 mixed media collage - Erich Kuersten

Surrealist Collage Exercises #1-7

 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.

The persecution of Mia

Outside Santiago

Scarlet O'Hara under the Alphaville Hanging

Amok Monument

 Sadomasochistic Crest Kiss (portrait of Barbara Crampton)

HOW TO COMMIT EGOCIDE - Life is a a Haunted Carny Attraction

1. WATER IS IMPORTANT

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.

      *    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

      *    Drink it down like a sailor drinks the air at sea.

      *  You were a fish once a upon a million years, and so, by law of fractals, will be again.

We hate water, don't we? (applause, laughter) 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 papier mache 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...

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 papier mache 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.

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... 

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.

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.

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.

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..

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...

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. 

----

THE GAP BETWEEN THOSE WHO HAVE

and those who haven't

been in therapy

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

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 ya burnt!

Black Hole Hindu Ganesh Ezekiel Connection

Top: Vishnu / Bottom: Richard Burton and alien hybrid - CANDY ('68) - collage by EK

What if
when you die,
transcend time
Just like you do approaching a black hole in space?
Or when you are in deep meditation or have a mind flooded with DMT?

Why would you be bound by time once free of the body and the mind?

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.

"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. 

How you look to others as you approach black hole

"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. 

"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."

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.

Tom Hanks - The Reptilian Sighting (on American Airlines)

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.

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.

TOTEMICAL!

I have never done ayuhuasca, and would have to get off the meds I'm on before I could ever try it in the future, but I've seen glimpses of these realms via other conveyances, and Totemical is peerless in capturing their uncapturable essence. I'm referring of course to the higher dimensional frequencies of becoming, where 3-D space time is already created yet is being continually breathed into being, and one sees not with eyes but with the soul, through a thousand different points along the axis of the soul, and the soul revolves in a continual orbit around this axis, like a slowly unfurling tendril of a newborn plant, ever opening, ever widening...

For more of this amazing artist's work go to Timewheel.

Disclosure Can Never Happen By its very Definition

There's a fascinating and maybe even true piece over on what's fast becoming my favorite UFO site, ANYTHING UFO which sports the tag line, "Here's the Proof Now You Have to Believe It" - Baby, I do.

From a few months back:
LARGE GRAY ALIENS REQUIRE FULL DISCLOSURE BY 2015

This alleged treaty states that the SSG must provide Complete Disclosure soon or the large alien Grays will allegedly make massive public displays of themselves and their anti-gravity crafts (AGCs) and disclose everything themselves directly to the American people, including the temporary use of the major mass media. 

It has been claimed that a certain prior treaty with the large alien Grays requires complete disclosure of alien presence and technology by a certain date or these aliens will supposedly make large public landings in every major city of the world, guaranteeing a systematic but rapidly developing complete end to secrecy and especially the deep black and beyond black programs previously protected by immediate assassinations

But if I try to imagine full disclosure of the alien presence I confess I start to have a panic attack. I've seen enough episodes of "V" and studied colonialism enough to know how things might easily end up with creatures who are so much more advanced than us strutting around openly. At least now we can PRETEND we're in charge of this mess.

If you think about how the Brits operated back in their heyday. It wasn't about marauding and pillaging like the Huns or the Mongolians, it was about maritime trade. The Brits show up at a less developed country's port, swap some tea, set up a trading post, then they stage an attack on their own citizens at the trading post or on one of their ships in port. So now they need to send in troops and more ships to protect their traders and vessels. Soon they're involved in the country's government, and before you know it they ARE the government. This is how third world countries stay so poor, they have "sponsors" - they don't need to make things - everything is imported from other places. There is no sense of pride or drive because they are so outgunned. As Americans we are extraordinarily lucky. We were the first British colony to ever actually beat them and win our freedom.

I don't think anything drastic will change in our world if disclosure occurs, after an initial freak out on the part of the world, but things will improve: we'll no longer think in terms of nations but of species. Our off-world colonizing can begin in earnest with public use of gravitational manipulation, etc. But with such a seismic sea change, there will be penalties for every bonus. We will go from feeling like the kings of the universe to frightened five year-olds on their first day of kindergarten.

In other words, Disclosure can never "happen" because by happening the very idea of happening will disappear. Becoming and Disappearing, sleeping and waking, being and nonbeing, all these will have to be re-evaluated with a public alien presence. Still, we're as ready as we'll ever be, and we need to start settling other planets fast before we overpopulate this one and choke the life out of it like the vile planetary cancer we've become.

Let's just hope we get the good aliens and not the bad ones. From what I've navigated of the outer realms in my astral voyaging, it's kind of random, like a hotline you call and hope an angel answers instead of a demon. Pray it's the angel. Prayer works. It's proven by Princeton. This is history, Disclosure cannot happen because happen as a verb will become meaningless in the instance of disclosure, maybe may ma ma mmm