Our forefathers took drugs... and you probably don't even know who your Father is.

An Alternate History for an Alternate Future!

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 1897 Alien buried in Aurora TX Cemetery, abduction narratives, and Ingo Swann.

 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.

 "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!

 

The Me who Regrets His Future Selfless Self's Sacrifice

The goal of demons is beyond just possession, but to create in general a backlash against all 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.

Thus, these daily horrors the devil inflicts are his and his minions' version of a rain dance.

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.

 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?

Space is the Place (All right all right) Sun Ra Vs. Matt McConaughey

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.

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 is and then isn't. 

Each band a stack of pages/images, stretching the entirety of 'time' and 'space' like one endless interlocking book.

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, all breathing in and out and watching me with their mouths open, impassive, their strange breathing blowing me around the space as I floated 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.

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.

Now, take a look at this other still below -again of the cougar and how it would look if it was running towards you:

Now imagine you're from some ancient culture in India, or a prophet in the Old Testament, as I discussed in the Black Hole Hindu Ganesh Ezekiel Connection... 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...

how a single astronaut entering a black hole would look to a distant observer (theoretically).
As time dilates and slows the astronaut's past ceases to erase itself, leaving the refracted image of himself
behind for all eternity.

horse walking as seen from outside space time continuum as per above PBS video

(from third eye) Kali (a two armed deity outside time and space raising and lowering Her arms)

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.

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.

from top: Interstellar, Ezekiel seeing the wheel (folk art?), Sun Ra

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 out 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 here - other times, non.

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'.

"I hope to God it's a fake" (Why Hoaxers rule and Mythbusters suck)

"Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them." - Obi Wan Kenobi

Some folks may groan, but I consider myself a true skeptic. Like S. Holmes, I don't 100% believe nor disbelieve 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.

EXAMPLE 1:
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).

EXAMPLE 2F:
The title of this post is a quote from Whitley Streiber when he was shown the controversial "Victor" footage 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.'

Ex. 4s: Rock or Man? (Mars)
depends on whom you ask

Example 3B: 
I'm a Pisces, a twin sign, fish pulling in different directions, hence I don't believe in astrology even though I know it's true. 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. 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 just mumbo-jumbo.... maybe. 

Example 4A: 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.

Example 67X

cropped pic of dead alien often seen on various sites passed off as authentic Roswell photo from 1947

Expanded

uncropped 'bigger' picture - Roswell museum

Hoaxers

... 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.

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 anything 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Eliminativists argue that modern belief in the existence of mental phenomena 
is analogous to the ancient belief in obsolete theories such as the geocentric model of the universe - Wiki

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.

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.

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.

Don't Touch that Dial!

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. 

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.

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'?

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.

DECASIA (film decay, not the ocean floor)

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.

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.

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.

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 Mad Men-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.

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.

"It took me sooo long  /  to find out /
but I found out"

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?"

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.

Gladly.

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.

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.

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.

MYTHBUSTERS ARE A HOAX!

In this sense I've always felt the Mythbusters 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 his 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 Zealot of Doubt: why skeptics are the new cranks.

That's fine by me. I just won't watch your show, but know one thing, Mythbusters 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 true 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, regardless of sensorial evidence.

In admitting eyes and ears are deceiving we don't close doors to perception, we open them.

In short, I don't care if you made your ghost story up, so long as it feels 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 feel 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.

Washington could not tell a lie... and he says he met
a Nordic alien in the woods at Valley Forge

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?

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.