CLICK5: You Rang?

CLICK5: Word On The QT

Adventures in Remote Viewing: An Invitation For Reflection

Dear Reader, this past week Cade Fon Apollyon and I remote viewed the 3 seasons and movie finale of Deadwood. We’d already seen them together before, but somehow our remote viewing was even better this second time round…

Deadwood EB Farnham Be Brief

*Okay, Clicky, I’ll try… /rolls eyes…*

… As well as the 2007 documentary Up The Yangtze, focusing on some of the people affected by the construction of the Three Gorges Dam across the Yangtze river in Hubei, China…

*Yikes! …/lights up and smokes…*

… And an astrological reading of the Leo New Moon, set to occur on 18th August 2020. As it turns out, Molly McCord’s reading is the inspiration behind this particular post…

*The other one was pretty good as well, Clicky… /flicks ash…*

… Now, at nearly 20 minutes long, we know that you’re probably not gonna watch Molly’s video, Dear Reader, unless you have an interest in astrology. So here’s the takeaway for the purposes of this post: we’re being asked to reflect on what has happened in our lives, and in our relationships, since the last time the Sun and Moon were in the exact same positions in the chart. That was three years ago on 21st August 2017, the date of the solar eclipse across North America…

Deadwood Calamity Jane Be fucked

*No, I shit you not, Clicky… /puffs contentedly… It’s quite auspicious…*

… So that is what we’re going to do here, Dear Reader. Fortunately, to aid Cade and I in our reflections, we have a lovely missive posted at the LoL on that very same eclipse day…

… You might want to take a look.

As Leo is a masculine sign and the energy coming through from the New Moon will be very masculine, especially in the solar plexus area according to Molly, Cade will now open the proceedings…

deadwood Al Huzzah

*******

I guess I can start off by remembering that 2017 was the year that I discovered surgical mesh was likely to blame for the exasperation of some existing physical issues, and it was around the time of the eclipse that this revelation occurred. And yeah, upon reflection it would seem a bit fortuitous that this particular wad of twisted and twisting surgical mesh is indeed in my solar plexus area. Three years later, skin is still coming off by the bucket-load, muscles continue to unwind and cramp, feeling in my extremities continues to come and go, and revelations and discoveries abound. One of the more recent being that my Achilles Tendons both seem to be…absent.

Q: How in the FUCK does one’s Achilles Tendons disappear, yet one does not notice?

A: Something tells me that the massive calloused pads on the heels and balls of my feet hold some answers.

To be fair, my hamstrings also disappeared, but that was something I noticed. In fact, I’m not the only one that noticed. A girl I went to high school with (who just so happened to run track) one day pointed out to me that I had some mighty quads, but no hamstrings. We both looked at/examined my legs further, and I’ll never forget the look on her face as she saw the same weird looking deformity I was seeing in that my hamstrings seemed to have disappeared. They were gone. Not there. Years later, my orthopedic surgeon noticed the same, but he noticed something else going on back there. Story for another time.

Digress

I’ve got a playlist on my YouTube page of 15 short videos I took of the August 21st 2017 eclipse, and they were meant to be a humorous look through inexperienced eyes at a celestial phenomenon. What it means to have one’s eyes opened, what it means to learn, and maybe how one handles the realities of learning some confusing and potentially unpleasant shit.

Whilst I’m not claiming any specific knowledge, I have learned quite a bit over the past decade or so about the potential impact(s) of celestial goings on and how these goings on may affect life in various ways. Fine-tunings of the galactic clockworks and how we as individuals fit it. Still digging, still learning, still failing miserably at virtually anything and everything, but still going. Not a fucking clue how, nor why, but yeah…still going.

Prolly should stop reflecting and talking about myself so goddamn much and pass it back over to that loopy cunt Roob.

^Happy Up Here (Datassette Remix)^

*******

deadwood Trixie

*Cade’s so sweet, Clicky…*

Funnily enough, the thing that’s concerning me most, and has felt like a punch in guts, happens to be the thing Cade first wrote in his missive of 21st August 2017…

sync of sorts

*Yes, a sync of sorts… /drags… You know, Molly does talk about a deep cleansing aspect in her vid, Clicky… /plumes smoke…*

Not the biblical character, Job, that Cade mused over but my actual job, the thing I do to earn money and how I earn my keep. In August 2017, I’d just landed a job locally as a Personal Assistant, having spent the whole of 2016 unemployed. Hooray! But by the New Moon on the 18th August I may no longer have a job, or worse, I’ll have one that I’ll absolutely hate because of a dreadful restructure, deemed necessary by the higher echelon in the organisation. All because they fancy a pool…

*We’ll be a pool of comfort women, Clicky… /cough… ‘Cept, you know, providing administrative relief to all and sundry…*

Deadwood Trixie Tree

… Like a return to the 1950s…

*Thinking about it, Clicky. Thinking about it…*

And on that sour note, I’ll pass you back to Cade.

*******

Its all amalgamation and capital. And down sigh zing/redud dancy. The new New walks upon the dust from the bones of the old Old. Which I find ironic considering that a lot of government entities seem to be so fucking lost that they are returning to old ways. Going “old school”, if you will. And speaking of, sure are a lot of council jobs been advertised in The Echo as of late. Not that I read the Southend paper or am looking for jobs in Southend or anything, but perhaps your local Council is tightening its belt in certain areas so it can achieve bountiful proportions in others?

I digress

One of the very first things I did upon starting this re-watch with you was look up the word “hooplehead”. Wanted to find some definitive meaning for usage in this context of usage in the show. I mean yeah, lots of context clues, and everyone knows what a hoople is, but hooplehead? I always assumed it was some arcane slang pejorative in reference to an individual perceived to possess a child-like understanding. Some naive someone who is still playing the children’s games and is not “in the know” and not part of the grander schemes and bigger plays. Someone who is somewhat…under the protection of…their own ignorance. A sort of halo. or maybe a certain light or aura that an individual exhibits. But ya know what I found? Hooplehead…supposedly didn’t even exist until HBO’s Deadwood created it.

But not so fast. Lets pull back on them reigns a bit cowboys and cowgirls.

Mott The Hoople
Mott The Hoople
Hoop Rolling
Hula Hoop
Embroidery Hoop
Hoop
-le
Agent Noun
Representative
Effigy
Lemniscate
Möbius Strip
Halo (Optical Phenomenon)
Halo (Religious Iconography)
Aura (Paranormal)
Aura
Pregnancy glow: Is it real? – Mayo Clinic
The Beginning of the Birth Pangs – Matthew 24 (NTE)
From Suffering to Glory – Romans 8: 21-23 (NKJV)
Curse And Mark Of Cain
The Magician (Tarot Card)
The Fool

Been chewing on these thoughts for some time as it relates to shapes generated by orbiting bodies, such as the mandala-esque shapes the planets and other bodies generate over time, and what meanings they may have to someone on the outside looking in. Specifically, is it possible that the orbits of planets are indicative of a system’s current level of development. Maybe even indicative of whether or not life exists within a particular system, or maybe even if a particular system is slated for development or even destruction? A stellar clock of sorts which maps out time and times that we are just now learning how to read and understand.

I digress again

Needless to say when Molly McCord mentioned certain entities being under some kind of protection and Richie Rich and all that other jazz in her astrological talk yesterday, it was kinda jarring because it was right in line with some things I was already actively pondering. Of course, she eventually wandered off into some dark realms and seemed to think that evil people are under the protection of evil forces. But I personally am wondering about “good” people. What is protecting them, why, and is there some kind of indication that they are…untouchable, as it were? Afterall, no one wants to known as someone who engages in sport or combat with unworthy opponents. That would be unfair.

^Depeche Mode – Halo [HyperSPD Remix]^

*******

*There was something Al said about Dan’s fight with the Captain, Clicky… /thinks… What was it?*

(Cut to Al’s office as Johnny knocks on the door)

Al: Yeah? (Johnny enters)

Johnny: I wish you’d look in on Dan, boss. Not for being poorly as… down.

Al: Johnny, some shit’s best walked through alone.

Johnny: Dan’s killed people before. You have too. But neither’ve been solitary after.

Al: A fair fight, something Dan and I have always struggled to avoid, is different. You see the light go out of their eyes. It’s just you left and death.

Johnny: So that’s why Dan wants to be alone.

Al: He knows where to find me. (Johnny nods and turns to leave) Sit down. If you want to. (Johnny turns and shuts the door, sitting down in a chair. He sits there looking around for a bit, as Al is leaning in the balcony door. Finally he turns to Al)

Johnny: What’re… ..what are we waiting for?

Al: To see what kind of hell breaks loose.

Whilst I was editing your Wiki wavy wall above, Cade, so that a new window opens upon clicking, Thing 2 or Loopy-Lou, sitting off to my right, was telling somebody online that “This Halo will be the last”…

*/stubs butt… That’s real-time syncing, Clicky. Shame nobody believes you until they experience it for themselves…*

deadwood Al Welcome to Deadwood

*Front Ear…*

*******

Belief is a weird thing. Some, may have no knowledge of the ride nor what any consequences of riding may be, and they may even not be aware they are on the ride. Some, knowing the ride may not suit them, avoid the ride altogether and are content in their choices. Some, knowing the ride may not suit them, ride the ride anyway and may or may not regret having done so. Some, are not sure whether the ride will or will not suit them, and they may or may not ride the ride out of concern for the consequences of either outcome. Some, are aware, but have no choice as to whether or not to ride the ride. Doesn’t matter whether they want to or not, and it doesn’t matter the outcome. They are where they are. Belief is irrelevant. Proof is irrelevant.

All that to say that we’re all of us in various states of development and/or decay. Some are sharp, some are a bit slow on the uptake, some may be wishy-washy as hell and mostly wander around in a non-committal type daze. Maybe being aware of how we react to one “type” or another may help us learn about ourselves and where we actually may be lacking. Like, as far as relating goes. That which brings comfort to ourselves which is borne upon the wings of the discomfort of others, has a null and empty quality to it. Almost a hunger embedded in the satiations and dissatisfactions which necessitates a repeat of the experience. Maybe we get stuck in loops for a reason.

/shrug

Apologies for wandering off the deep end. Just wondering aloud what it may mean for one to be satisfied. We are talking about some quite esoteric bullshit, and many have likely only barely scratched the surface with respect to knowing and understanding what all could potentially be entailed in this and these processes. There’s lots to know. Lots to think about. Sometimes its difficult to condense and share for purposes of relating.

^CHVRCHES – The Mother We Share^

*******

*You think I should go there, Clicky? …/lights up and smokes… Alright then…*

Back to the subject of personal reflection on the period of time since 21st August 2017, it was shortly after the eclipse that my interesting in Lashy’s Gnostic teachings was rekindled with his ‘Decoding the Mandela Effect’ series on YTube…

*Fucked up a ton of posts here though when he took them down to start his school…/flicks ash… Probably for the best though eh, Clicky? … /deep drag… Not in his image afterall…*

… One of the things Molly McCord said about of the New Moon in Leo later this month was that it will bring new narratives, new stories. As a writer and co-editor of the Underdog Anthology series of books, this was of great interest to me: any cosmic help in developing new story ideas, is welcome. Since the 2017 eclipse, 9 separate anthology volumes have been published and another is scheduled for this Halloween. I need to get my thinking cap on…

deadwood Tom Nuttall

*/puffs contentedly… Thanks for the vote of confidence, Clicky… /pats snout…*

I’ll pass back to Cade for some final reflecting…

*******

May your thinking cap for the upcoming book be a fucking fabulous one Roob. 🙂

Me? Imma put my reflecting hat on for a bit longer.

^Imperial March Recorder^

As far as reflecting goes, 2017 was a weird year for me. Difficult in talking about some of it without talking about all of it, as parsing the tale tells nothing. That said, I do recall heading out to the National Cemetery not long after the eclipse to see my pop and older sister. Early September. A bird had shit on dad’s tombstone. Musta been a fucking Pterodactyl based on the size of the splatter. A shitty exclamation point on a shitty year? Maybe. But I didn’t think that then and I don’t think it now, so now I’m gonna have to question why I’m reflecting other than I’ve been instructed to do so by an astrologist who tells me the time is right for doing so.

To be fair, I’ve been in a reflective state pretty much this entire year. Am not writing, can’t think straight, having trouble remembering things, under quite a bit of pressure, few writing ideas, and what few there are I cannot hold onto. It would be easy for me to say that the hope that I lost in early 2017 was regained in late 2017, but that ride from December 2017 to December 2019 has began to crumble under me. However, I don’t really feel like anything is crumbling. Shifting maybe, but not crumbling. Prolly because I’ve got other things going on that fill me with hope whilst everything else simultaneously goes to shit? No idea. Been a damn strange year, and a lot of people seem to be completely filled with some anticipation of total collapse. But not me. Can’t say why I’m not filled with fear and doubt, but I’m not.

This “Lion’s Gate” stuff is strange because August 8th is forevermore gonna be a weird day for me personally. Pop was born on August 8th in 1941, he died 8 days before my older sister’s birthday, and my older sister died on August 8th in 2013. If any of that means anything, I have no idea what it is outside of the obvious. Not anything I can share anyway. Mom is Taurus, dad is Leo, older sis is Sagittarius, younger sister is Gemini, I’m a Scorpio. My older sister was the son my father never had, my younger sister was born on Father’s Day, and I’m just kinda in the way. Hanging out. Chillin’. Dodging the bullets I can dodge. Fairly middling, kinda plain, nothing particularly special about me ‘cept I’m sickly as hell and allergic to every fucking thing on the planet; doing my best to be okay with all that. Not sure what else it is I need to be doing. Although if anyone could fuck up something as seeming simple as reflecting, I prolly can. Still, sometimes just kinda seems like people are being nosy whilst appearing to be discreet. Guess sometimes you just gotta take shit on faith, hope for the best, all whilst preparing yourself for a royal ass-fucking.

^Lightnin’ Hopkins-Business You’re Doin’^

*******

*Can you go find a suitable Song to end on, Clicky?*

*No, the post is far too long to get into all that. Just the Song, Clicky… /stubs butt… And try and find sumfin that evokes reflections on rippled water. If it exists…*

That’s the end of this post, Dear Reader. Thank you for your time and attention. Enjoy the rest of your we kenned and… Have a Song ❤

 

Adventures In Remote Viewing: Blue Sky Thinking…

LAST TIME AT THE LOL

*Good thinking, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… I mean, it’s not necessary for Dear Reader to visit your post from yesterday, butt it is related to this one…*

On Tuesday evening, Dear Reader, my good buddy Cade Fon Apollyon and I indulged in a spot of remote viewing, but not at first…

cade and roob blue sky thinking 1

… While he took advantage of the lush Texan weather, I scrolled about in the Yellow smoking universe of Twitter. Suddenly I spotted a fresh deposit had been left by another good friend of mine, TNT, in the Red universe of Merovee…

Shiny Doctor TNT posts a vid on Merovee

*/flicks ash… I see Shiny has removed his mask now, Clicky…*

Intrigued, I watch the video he posted and immediately decided to visit the YTuba’s channel. There were only 8 videos in total uploaded: 2 on demonic emojis and 6 on a strange hacking incident that occurred in Chicago, way back in 1987. I had an idea…

cade and roob blue sky thinking 2

… I persuaded Cade to tear himself away from his cloud watching and remote view the videos with me. Synchronously, and this post is about that. Ready, Dear Reader?

Three,

two,

one…

*******

CADE

Maybe you can feel me here, and maybe not. But when I think of Chicago, several things come to mind. Cuba, Canada, Belgium, Wax Trax, O’Hare, Midway, AA Flight 191, fireworks, Sears Tower, snow, Aurora, public-access television. Lots of other shit too, but we’re talking about looping through 1987 here in this instance, which was 33 years ago, and that means primarily Wax Trax. Lets put some feelers out…

Barbles

Barbel (Anatomy)

Wax Trax! Records

After watching these vids with Roob, I’m not exactly sure what it is that I am supposed to be doing, other than perhaps solving a mystery. Or maybe giving some of my thoughts surrounding the events of 22 November 1987…24 years after President Kennedy’s assassination in Dallas.

My immediate problem is, watching a set of videos that give their own spin(s) to the event(s). I have no real interest in the Max Headroom pirate signal/hijacking thing, but these videos that I watched are telling me that I should. Not only that, these videos are giving specific reasons as to why I should, namely some Illuminati something or another and all of the symbolism that goes along with it.

With that in mind, I’ve already given you a bunch of my own contributions that likely have no meaning to you unless you loop them through my own perspective(s) via Wax Trax! Records. Namely, Cuba, Canada and Belgium with some nods to Flight 191 and Aurora. And with that, I’ll take a breather and let Roob take the controls for a while.

^GREATER THAN ONE – I Don’t Need God [Official Video] HQ^
ROOB

Thank you for the 33, 22, 11 introduction, Cade 😉

Although I was already aware of Chicago network hacking incident in 1987, I was rather taken by the enigmatic Professor Bulwer Symthe character. The words he used, some repeatedly, like ‘Israel’, ‘alien broadcast’ and ‘sophisticated’…

“Who or what?”

*/smokes contentedly… I know what you’re thinking, Clicky…*

*No, tho’ blimey yeah… /deep drag… No, I noticed the Doctor glance at the photo of his granddaughter, Susan, on his desk… /plumes smoke… And the very first episode of Doctor Who, featuring Susan, was broadcast the day after President Kennedy was assassinated. The show very nearly got cancelled ‘cos nobody saw it…* 

“Oh I just made the greatest masterpiece for all the greatest world newspaper nerds!”

As soon as I heard that, my mind went to the smoking Red universe of Merovee and a question frequently explored there by the greatest whirled news mind lines nerds: What Is Real?

Over to Cade…

CADE

JMO, Roob, but “what is real” is quite simple most of the time. You know it. The depth of a particular reality may take time to plumb, may take time to understand or come to grips with it, but yeah…you know it.

The thing most people seem to have difficulty with is explaining a particular reality to someone else. Especially if you and/or the person you are wanting to relate to are in a big fucking hurry. Not to suggest that “real” is always some inherently complex something, but at the same time…yeah…both real and unreal things seem to be pretty fucking complex. Wait, I’m supposed to be talking about signals, signal hijackings and signal hijackings being hijacked.

Our commitments to racial equity

Now, not that I know anything about anything, but a quick read of that makes certain words seem redundantly redundant:

  • 1754 words;
  • “black” is used 46 times;
  • “google” is used 40 times.

Keyword Density

Let us see what the professionals have to say about “keyword density” in this particular writing.

SmallSEOTools-KEYWORD DENSITY CHECKER

If I post the link to the Google CEO blogpost into SmallSEOTools’ keyword density checker, it tells me that my reading of the article may have been correct in detecting certain things being packed into this writing:

  • “black” has a frequency of 43 and a density of 7.76%;
  • “google” has a frequency of 33 and a density of 5.96%;
  • “work” has a frequency of 25 and a density of 4.51%;
  • “product” has a frequency of 18 and a density of 3.25%;
  • “googler” has a frequency of 16 and a density of 2.89%.

What does all that mean? Welp, if you want “real”, you may or may not find it in the Google CEO blogpost. Kinda depends on what you are looking for and maybe why. What you are going to do with the information? Some people may be trying to hijack things for their own purposes, maybe not. Most things are typically quite obvious with the benefit of hindsight, and if ever there was a year to focus on hindsight and what it is, 2020 is likely the year to do that. Me? I love my vision, but prolly a good idea to be aware of your other senses too. And speaking of being aware, I need to toss this back over to Roob.

Smell ya later.

^a split second “arsenic on the rocks”^
ROOB

I saw the Knights Templar cross make a brief appearance in the video, and something similar appeared in a field in Wiltshire, yesterday, but seen today in the smoking Red universe of Merovee…

Clicky posts PA horns on Merovee

*Yes, I know you agree with Cade, Clicky… /stubs butt… Broadcasting is certainly a sync…*

In fact, there is so much to unpack in that second installment, from a puppet lecturing on invisible puppet masters…

… And the whole fly swatting thing…

*Yes, I saw what you did with your Song choice, Clicky. Tho’ I think you’ll find that’s a Monster spatula… /smirks… Still plenty of horns…*

… That syncs with a particular post here at the LoL. Not so much for fly swatting as ‘submit for spanking’, the name of a gif in the post that attracts a disproportionate number of  visitors from the Middle Easter. I can only wonder at how disappointed those Dear Readers are when they land that post, whilst busily swatting at their flies…

submit for spanking

*That’s the one, Clicky… /scrolls through post… Oh look, Canada is in it and Keith Palmer…*

*Does the pattern on the railing look kinda Templar cross shaped to you Clicky? …/rubs eyes… And is it me, or is that memorial Tardis shaped?*

*OMG! …/covers open mouth with hand… I just remembered the Afterword poem I mutilated for Underdog Anthology II…*

I need a drink. Your turn, Cade…

CADE

Wax trax just took on a whole other meaning. A two-pronged attack on the furry fuzz bivouacked in the crux of the back crack . Yeesh. Must be true love to go through all that. Digress.

And “neutrons leaving the nucleus of an atom” really was my first thought when I saw that crop circle. Also thought about ion-channels. No idea what any of that may mean tho’, other than the obvious “people with too much time on their hands” types of associations. Digress further.

A lot of this stuff in the videos we’ve already talked about in private so I’m trying to address anything that maybe we didn’t talk about (which ain’t much), but seeing as how “insidious” is suddenly on the menu…

Here’s Why Radio Stations Always Start With a ‘K’ or ‘W’

When they mentioned in the Max Headroom video that “WGN” means “World’s Greatest Newspaper”, and also that “WTTW” means “Windows To The World”, that’s kindof a misnomer. The “W” really doesn’t mean anything other than it denotes a US broadcast station. The licensee can brand it, but it really doesn’t mean anything outside of it’s original intent, nor should it because 1) it causes confusion, and 2) they are a licensee, not the owner. The owner is the US Government (vis-a-vis…the citizenry). Why is this important? Hijacking. We’re talking hijacking here, and there are some subtleties underlying these romanticisms about institutions that seem to point back to the notion(s) of “too big to fail”. Did I lose you?

Heartstrings may sometimes allow for fudging, flexibility and forgiveness where none should actually be given. Exceptions made, precedents set, new paradigms formed, and applicability only for a select few. Could be creating a managerial and logistical nightmare for regulatory agencies down the road. Someone wanted a monopoly on the letter “W” and its meaning, and someone gave it to them, perhaps without realizing what it was they were doing. Now it comes down to whether or not to honor the “mistake”.

BTW, I went and watched the “raw” videos just to maybe get a more-clear picture of what it is I’m supposed to be seeing. The flyswatter is epically cringeworthy. For me it is anyway. Butt…that’s water under the bridge.

^The Revolting Cocks – Union Carbide^

Lots of seemingly insidious shit floating around. But really, is that anything new?

Maybe there’s more to “woke” than just and only pointing out what’s broke.

Maybe there’s more to “the spiritual path” than just and only clever math.

Maybe there’s more to “ascension” that just and only pretension.

Maybe there’s more to “spiritual awakening” than just and only finding a word that rhymes with awakening.

😛

^TOPPOP: Brian Eno – Seven Deadly Finns^
ROOB

Thanks Cade, I had wondered about the origins of W or K prefixing of US radio station names. So, it goes: commercial, military, military, commercial?
Wank for peace

*Ooh that nipple ring, is similar in shape to the crop circle, Clicky… /lights up… Prince Albert, Public Address… /drags… Personal Assistant… /plumes cloud of smoke… You know, the first story I ever wrote as an adult was for the first Underdog Anthology. Its aboot a PA, on her knees, receiving demonic cumming…*

*True! And social distancing is integral to the plot of the story…*

Cade shows Roob the compass

*Yes! Cade did spot a masonic compass next to the Tardis shaped Palmer memorial and pissing man, just in front of the Templar cross railings… /drags…*

fuzzy pom pom mirror

*In a mirror, left is right and right is left… /streams smoke… I’m still fuzzy as to what’s so bad about being illuminated, Clicky…*

Especially when a pyramid is used to close all the Professor Bulwer Smythe’s vids…*

I’ve not seen the Max Headroom movie and I didn’t watch the TV show back in the day. But for me, ‘max headroom’ reeks of memory storage and increased consciousness, à la David Lynch’s explanation…

*LoL… /smokes…*

I’m spent. Cade’s turn…

CADE 

I’m not Clicky (as far as I know) so I’m not attempting to answer Clicky’s question, but your comment about illumination and what’s wrong with it? ‘Tis an interesting thought. Especially in this vein of “AI” thinking we’re doing.

Illumination isn’t just and only “knowing”, but knowing sure is painful sometimes. Knowing can even be specifically designed to be painful. You were not aware that your father was shooting heroin, you were not aware your wife was banging several of your co-workers, you were not aware your kids was failing in school, you were not aware that strange spot on your left cheek was Merkel cell carcinoma…someone illuminates you to these facts….BOOM! Pain.

What we do with this information from there? More pain could be on the way. Prolly important that we also address “what’s right with illumination”, but even that is going to have a lot of negatives associated with it. Signs? Symbols? Wonders? Magical and mysterious things? Loads of these things are going to be associated with “the devil” and chalked up as evil right out of the gate. These could be pivotal moments in time for us with respect to the current established order of our lives.

Pump Up The Volume (Film)

What I’m mainly thinking about here is how AI obtains and processes information. And especially the information we feed it + what we may tell an AI to do with that information. How we as the masters “control”, and what kind(s) of pain our decision-making may bring this and these AI(s). “We” are the creators, which means “we” are the masters, which means “we” call the shots irrespective of the feelings of those we control. Kindof a weird bunch of thoughts to be having on the 155th anniversary of Juneteenth.

HEY! And whilst we are on the topic of signals, sending signals, and also intercepting/hijacking/pirating signals, did you know that Rush released a new video this week for their song The Spirit Of Radio? Pirate Radio features in the video, lots of radio personalities and/or DJs also feature in the video, which also means lots of detached and faceless voices blasting their way into your life and your lives. What do detached voices have to do with AI, slavery, mysticism, illumination and all kinds of similarly and dissimilarly related things? I dunno…you’re the smart one…you figure it out.

^Finitribe – Monster In The House (1990)^

When I first bumbled into this current “awakening” incarnation back in 2007/2008, one of the big ideas was that we humans were a slave race created by the Illimanunakinaughty.

Actually, the Anunnaki are the alien race that supposedly created us, but the Anunnaki seem to also be related to and/or associated the Illuminati, so I personally concatenated the two, then added my own flair since both parties are typically chalked up as evil. The concept of us being a slave race really isn’t that much of a stretch, and seems to have come into the public consciousness around the time of the film Stargate. Stargate relies heavily upon Ancient Egypt as a plot device, and speaking of films utilizing antiquity as plot devices, a somewhat related tweet awaited me when I woke this morning…

In the film Alien, Ian Holm played Ash, an android, and likely the creepiest AI since HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Oddessey. But it occurs to me that both Ash and HAL share a common trait in that they were both instructed by “the company” to lie and/or kill, with no clearly defined parameters as to exactly how. Only the mission is important, and once the rules go out the fucking window due to fear of failure, everything goes to shit…nothing goes to plan…lots of people die…lots of residual pain(s)…all because of, illumination.

Anyway, Ian Holm is a great actor, I personally remember him most as Napoleon Bonaparte from Time Bandits, Ash from Alien, Professor Fitz from The Aviator, and the priest Vito Cornelius from The Fifth Element. Vito Cornelius…a priest from an ancient secret order warning of The Great Evil’s return, in a time where a “black” President is in office, and the whole thing centers around a temple in Egypt. And you know what just occurred to me? I don’t think “social distancing” is represented anywhere in the film The Fifth Element. Quite the opposite actually. I think at one point, the President mentions there are 200 billion citizens on Earth.

Ian Holm was also in Brazil tho’. Seems like there was quite a bit of “social distancing” in the film Brazil. There was all kinds of distancing in the film Brazil.

“Come together, and experience safely, from your own designated area.”

We appear to be figuring out “how to do it”, without actually doing much of anything.

Roob…I toss it back over to you and Clicky, and I leave the reader with a video that will maybe provide some insight into the post-modern idealism of the 1980’s, and maybe also how that relates to today and/or today’s world.

And, I’d also like to give a shoutout to my Uncle Richard, Aunt Charlotte, and Big John. I think about ya’ll a lot, you’re never far from my mind, and always in my heart.

^CYBERPUNK DOCUMENTARY (All 5 parts)^
ROOB

sock puppet

*Yeah, the Rush video is cool. Reminds of A-Ha…*

I have to say I am less convinced by the argument made for the first pillar of the Professor’s theory. Shady ethics and corporate marketing? Seriously?

* /rolls eyes… The Professor needs to watch that, Clicky, for the bigger picture of  shady practices used by government, business and scientific entities in order to sell the public on an idea… /final drag… Buy their product…*

“Drink Coca-Cola”

Coca-Cola saw sales rise 57.7% following James Vickery’s subliminal messaging, where as popcorn sales rose only 18.1%…

“Hungry? Buy Popcorn”

Subliminal message buy or try popcorn

*He definitely says ‘buy’… /stubs butt… Hmm…*

Maybe the difference can be accounted for by the simplicity of the first message, whereas the second message is far more complex, being as it is preceded by a question: ‘Hungry?’…

*I saw a ‘DO NOT QUESTION AUTHORITY’ subliminal message in there, Clicky, but nary a question mark in sight…*

There are a ton of answers for a question such as ‘Hungry?’ Asking a question of a viewer through subliminal messaging is not the same as giving them a simple command to act upon. Asking a question prompts thinking and not, mindless action. I’m not saying there isn’t anything to subliminal messaging, just that this particular tranche of the Professor’s argument is weak. I mean, what movie were the subject audience watching?

As for hypnosis? There’s a reason why people respond to hypnosis…

And with that, I’ll now pass you back to Cade.

CADE

Roob, you’re right on track with some of the things that I too thought about with respect to a lot of the ground we are covering, a lot of the ground Professor Blue-Hand covered, and especially the bits regarding subliminal anything.

Pigeonholing

Pigeonhole Principle

Pigeonhole Sort

Blacklisting

Nexting

Nexting

Doxing

Exile

Our bodies seem to disapprove of intruders of all kinds. If a something exists within a certain more or less known framework (our bodies), and that framework cannot figure out what that something is doing there, the framework is likely to start asking questions. Begin an interrogative process to figure out what this something is doing there, and what, if anything, needs to be done about it. Adaptive systems which sometimes know exactly how to react (intruders and foreign objects of known quantities) sometimes don’t know how to react (new organisms or maybe new materials,) and sometimes may even be prohibited from acting due to outside influences.

Nonsteroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drug (NSAID)

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI)

Beta Blocker

Lobotomy

Gastric Bypass Surgery

Mask

Echolocation Jamming

Thought Blocking

Tangential Speech

Asperger Syndrome

Autism

Firewall

Antivirus Software

Dazzle Camouflage

Discworld (Redirected from Stealth philosophy)

Stealth

Identification Friend Or Foe (IFF)

Password

Secret Handshake

Interrogation

Millimeter Wave Shielding

Amulet

Naivety

Safe Space

Sorry Roob, but I’ve run long in thinking of disrupters and shieldings within the context of a body being able to locate and identify “pirate signals”. And in this case, the “pirate signal” being messages received by the body, when the body either doesn’t know or maybe doesn’t understand these messages and their origins…let alone their meaning(s). Just wondering aloud some thoughts I’ve had regarding humans developing immunities to…pirate signals/hijacked communications.

BTW, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that “Safe Space” symbol almost identical to the symbol in the Trump ad Facebook just removed for being “a Nazi hate symbol”?

Yeah, the Trump one has a square around the triangle, the Safe Space has a circle around the triangle, and the colors are different, but they both have colored triangles encapsulated in other shapes, and the triangles are oriented the same. Weird.

^Course of Empire – Cosmic Dancer^

Oh…one last thought when thinking about the peculiarities of an entity being able to encounter and understand new things. You know what AI is never given? What accommodation never seems to be afforded Artificial Intelligence(s)? Leisure time. Time off. Breaks. Respite. Convalescence. If the machine is powered on, it fucking well better be working, and it best be working in top form…or else.

24/7/365 – no deviance from the established, no rests written into the score, and no recitatives for this songbird.

Sing to me songbird…sing to me.

Sounds like hell.

Back to you Roob.

^The Smiths Asleep^
ROOB

Did you catch the wave, above? 😉

Finally, we get to the ’11’ of the 911 hack attack in Chicago in 1987 and Doctor Who… Who else?

*I recognise the Sontarans, Clicky, but what happened to the Rutans? …/lights up and smokes…*

‘The creature then stalks down and kills the others in the lighthouse. Vince dies first, then Adelaide. With its presence now revealed, the alien sheds its disguise: revealing itself to be a Rutan, the hereditary enemies of the Sontarans, a green blob-like amphibious life form, whose scout ship crash landed in the sea and is trying to summon its mother ship. With the Rutans losing the war against the Sontarans, they plan to turn Earth into a base for its strategic position, which will allow them to launch a counterattack. However, once the Sontarans find the planet, it will become subject to a photonic bombardment, taking countless human lives.

‘The Doctor modifies a weapon to destroy the alien. The Doctor and Skinsale retrieve diamonds from Palmerdale’s body belt to use the weapon, but Skinsale is killed by the Rutan in the process. The Doctor uses the diamonds as a focus for the electric lighthouse beam to convert it into a high-energy laser by which he destroys the Rutan mother ship. Disobeying the Doctor, Leela watches the laser destroy the ship and is momentarily blinded, and as a side effect the blinding flash turns Leela’s eyes from brown to blue. The Doctor quotes Wilfrid Wilson Gibson’s poem Flannan Isle as they leave.’

*Of course! Ruth Clayton, a.k.a. The ‘Black’ Doctor, smashed the lighthouse light, its illuminator, in order to ‘wake up’ and inhabit her real identity… /shakes head… I did not see that coming…*

“Though three men dwell on Flannan Isle
To keep the lamp alight,
As we steer’d under the lee, we caught
No glimmer through the night.”

A passing ship at dawn had brought
The news; and quickly we set sail,
To find out what strange thing might ail
The keepers of the deep-sea light.

*Spooky…*

*Pharmers… /grimaces…*

And now for the final video in the Professor Bulwer Smythe’s Max Headroom series… “so far…” 😉 I hand you over to Cade…

CADE

Wait…I’m supposed to be writing about each individual video? Bloops! I’ve been giving my overall impressions on all the videos we watched, and not really a detailed analysis, let alone a detailed analysis of each individual video. Erm…lemme do this, Imma start watching the final part, get to a stopping point, and I’ll give some thoughts on what I see.

PAUSED!!! @ 1:04 into the “Synchro-Vox” episode. Part 6 or whatever.

They start off by talking about personalities and how they develop, mention the book “I Am A Strange Loop” by Douglas Hofstadter, then use an example from the comic-strip Peanuts to make the case for static vs dynamic personality modeling. For those unfamiliar with the comic, one of the running gags is Lucy holding an American football for Charlie Brown to kick, she always convinces him to try to kick the ball, he is always skeptical, she always convinces him that this time will be different, Lucy ALWAYS pulls the ball away just as Charlie Brown is about to kick the ball, and he always goes flying and winds up flat on his back. In the video example, Lucy “swears on her mother’s grave” that she will not pull the ball away, the video goes on to talk about memory being a predictive indicator, but then only uses Charlie Brown as a reference “in one’s own head” as to the outcome.

I find this odd because Charlie Brown is not the only dynamic in this “predictive indicator”, and Charlie Brown is actually only half of the equation.

Q: Why has Lucy been excluded from the equation as a predictive indicator?

A: Is it because shes….*gasp*female?!?!!??

We are one of three parties involved in this dynamic, and really the fourth when you take the author of Peanuts into consideration. We can now reduce the dynamic to only two parties…the reader, and the author. The author is speaking to me, they are using the Lucy/football/Charlie Brown dynamic to communicate with me, and since this is a running gag, yes, we already know the outcome irrespective of the dialogue between Lucy and Chuck in the panes of the comic-strip. The author is talking to the reader, doing so via familiar characters and familiar situations, and the reader is listening. But to further explore “this static dynamic” a bit of Lucy, Charlie Brown and the football…

Q: What about new readers?

A: ??? there’s nothing new…it’s just new to you ¿¿¿

One could argue that everything dynamic is actually a static something that is not yet well understood by an individual or a group of individuals. As a new reader to Peanuts, you are unaware of the ongoing football feud between Lucy and Charlie Brown, and so as you continue reading, you hold out hope that “someday, Charlie Brown will indeed kick that football because Lucy will not pull it away”. So, you read on with starry eyes towards a better day that will never come because the creator has designed it that way. Lucy will always, always, pull that football away. Charlie Brown will never, ever, kick that football. This brings up yet another interesting question…

Q: Is it the end-result that matters, or is the interaction between the two parties of Lucy van Pelt and Charlie Brown what matters?

A: ???

One could argue that maybe we sometimes stress the outcome of a particular situation instead of relishing the events of the journey as we travel. Not to mention, the fact that Lucy can always be counted on to pull the ball away, the fact that Charlie Brown will always try and kick the football…Jesus…talk about stable people in a stable relationship. Lucy and Chuck are godlike in this regard (all thanks to Charles M. Shulz).

PEANUTS FOOTBALL GAG SPOILERS!!!

Thanks for the ride Roob. This was fun. Educational. Mind-altering. Soul-enlightening. A tad rough on the fingers and the carpal-tunnel, but its been well worth it 🙂

^G&S – Sonic 25th Anniversary Medley^
ROOB

Thank you, Cade ❤

*Chicago rhymes with Clutch Cargo… /thinks… I’ll annoy…*

Really, you should see for yourself what the puppet professor with a third eye is dissecting and presenting in this series. There is another, and final episode promised. Maybe Bulwerk Smythe will include his take on:

  • Chuck “Frickin’ Liberal” Swirsky – a Canadian;
  • “Oh, Jesus!” – anagram of ‘use josh’;
  • The dildo he takes off his finger, drops to the floor, then holds in his mouth;
  • “My files!” – anagram of ‘my flies’;
  • Max’s accomplice, the filly presumably moving the tin background behind him when not whacking his buttocks with a fly swatter.

If this incident is as import-…

tv interference
P.S. From Cade – Roob, there’s one thing I thought about through the whole of this adventure, but neglected to get around to it. Primarily, data and data interpretation. One could argue that the numbers on subliminal advertising are wildly erratic due to improper interpretation of the results. Maybe even due to inaccurate reporting of the findings due to…erm…some underlying agenda. Needing the numbers to say something that the research doesn’t actually support. But I would think, that with subliminal messaging, someone is likely to pick up the mantle at some point, point out that the data was not being properly analyzed due to the science not being fully understood, modeling techniques are much better now, computer systems give us new insight, and soon you’ve got a whole wave of new converts with dollar signs in their eyes looking at your old subversive advertising bandwagon made shiny new.

Another thing that appears to be overlooked is that we are cyclical beings who live in a cyclic environment on a cyclical planet that is teaming with rhythms of all kinds and types. Looking for a single steady tone within a symphony of noise and noises that we do not understand seems at times…absurd. But, I guess that’s kinda maybe part of what makes us human. Chase the impossible /shrug

To me, that’s kinda what this whole series of videos was about. Looking at old things with new eyes in order to see something that others in the past likely missed. And not to sound dire or anything, but I see a problem in that. New eyes being hypnotized by an old spell that is still working its magic, yet no one seems to see the spell that is actually being cast. To relate, some thoughts regarding the past and its ability to rear its head when the details surrounding a something become clouded or lost in time.

The Radium Girls

Someday, Radium’s past will possibly be forgotten, and again is likely to be touted as the new big thing as people stare amazed at its glowy properties. Some things, the glowy bits aren’t so immediately obvious. Like lithium. And asbestos. And uranium. And cocaine. And mercury. And lead. And plastic(s). And polytetrafluoroethylene. And polychlorinated biphenyl. And the Atkins diet. And on and on…you get the picture.

Snake oil

Snake…coil

Hrm

-cade

tv interference

*******

And that, Dear Reader, is that for this epic post. Well done. We’re glad you made it to the bottom of the pile on, and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as Cade Fon Apollyon and I enjoyed creating it…

*I’m not Missying you out at all, Clicky… /pats snout… You’re integral…*

*Blue sky thinking, sweetie. Now fetch us a Song to close on. Ta V much…*

… Feel free to stop a while and peruse some the other posts  at the LoL. Or not. Like most things in life, you are in charge of the decisions that you make. You have that power.

Have a Song 😀

Doctors & Angels – Who Knew?

‘An apprentice butcher who is taught all aspects of the noble art has as much skill as a surgeon.’

*No, you’re an inter-dimensional, alien dolphin assistant, Clicky… /rolls eyes… Now assist me by getting a Song to start this shambles with. If you please…*

*Ooh, good choice. Thanks…*

Hello, Dear Reader, and welcome to Day 34 of lockdown at the LoL. Actually that’s not true – we’ve been open the whole time to visitors. This is a smoking area (see signage displayed to your left), and if there’s one thing to emerge from this time of pandemic, it’s that the Coronavirus appears to find smokers somewhat inhospitable…

*Take a looky… /lights up… Masked… /drags smoke into lungs… Full PPE..*

On Thursday evening, presumably after the ritual applause for the national religion…

*I know, the double standards on display are quite ridiculous…*

… there was a rare injection of humour on the telly…

*Catherine Tate is fab, Clicky… /grins… “Doin’ my Tik Toks”…*

… that got me thinking of another screen to screen conversation…

*Ha! …/flicks ash… Nightingale does shorthand… /blows smoke… Shorthanded…*

*Ooh, that is an icy blast…*

*/final drag… Don’t blink indeed, Clicky… /stubs butt… If you’re feeling Kubricky, Clicky, then ‘bleach’ is a ‘Shining’ word… /plumes smoke… Where are we with this shambles?*

*It was so sad how Donna Noble and the Doctor parted company…*

*Of course, their relationship was strictly platonic, Clicky…*

*Animated statues…*

*Little angels…*

*You know that they are still trying to exterminate smoking, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… You couldn’t make it up…*

Time to end this shambles, Dear Reader. Have a smoke and a Song…

 

 

Roman Holiday

*The pinnacle of Python, Clicky…/pats snout… Funny with a cutting social commentary that is just so fuckin’ timeless. It’s one of my favourite flicks…*

Dear Reader, I’m on the second of two consecutive long weekends. Ostensibly, I’m using up the last of my 2019 annual leave to squirrel myself away, and write a story for the next Underdog Anthology…

*I’ve been mulling over an idea… /lights up and smokes… for a follow up to the story of Caroline…*

*No, knot that Caroline. I still have no idea who that bint was, Clicky… /drags… ‘cept she was pretty handy with a lamp…*

*No, no, knot Awful Eyebrows either… /snorts smoke… Seriously, did you even read ‘Caesar’s Were-Wife’, Clicky? …/squints…*

…But instead indulged in a spot of lengthy remote viewing with my Texas chum, the Okie Devil, Cade Fon Apollyon. From the ‘Golden Age’ of BBC drama, we took in a tale of boundless ambition, glory, lust, incest, cruelty, insanity and murder. Lots and lots of murder…

*That was a sesh anna ‘arf… /flicks ash… Dunno if it’ll help me with developing my UAXI story though, Clicky…*

*An’ how’s an unpleasant Limp Dim, with a predilection for slavery, meant to help me write the story, Clicky?*

*Ah…/stubs butt… I fink that calls for a Song…*

*I meant for the end of the post, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

… So for this long we kenned, Dear Reader, I’m gonna start writing ‘The Hides of Marchway’, and I’ll be back when it’s finished. Have a Song 😉

 

 

30-Day Song Challenge: Childhood!

Day 29 of the LoL’s epic thirty day challenge, Dear Reader, and today we’re remembering songs from childhood…

*Sounds like gobbledygook, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*

 

anglo american celtic viking band 4

*And what does that mean?!*

anglo american celtic viking band 5

^Legs & Co: Birdie Song / The Tweets (TOTP, 01 Oct 1981)^

Enjoy! ❤

*******

Day 29: songs remembered from childhood

Cade’s first song pick…

A lot of this is going to come from television. I can see no way around it. It’s either going to be television, church or school since that is the holy Trinitron™ of streams providing music to young ears in my time. I’ve already done a lot of stuff from my childhood, so in order to meet the criteria for today’s specific challenge, I guess we’ll go with television seeing as how church and school were pretty much still stuck in 19th century music when I was a kid. Not that television was that much different, but unlike church and school, television certainly was trying to figure out how to upgrade their musical models.

^Merrie Melodies & Looney Tunes – Opening themes.^

Roob’s first song pick…

Weird that Cade chose to focus in on TV music from his childhood, as the one song I’d fixed upon including in this post – before even receiving his choices – was the theme tune for a sports show on TV…

*No, that’s not the one I’m specifically thinking of Clicky, though we did watch it at Sunday teatime…*

*Fuck! I’d forgotten just how much cricket I was subjected to as a kid…*

*I’ll admit, there was quite a lot of it I did like…/flicks ash… But that’s not it. Seriously, we could be here all fuckin’ day if you’re gonna keep on guessing, Clicky…*

takes checkered flag

*Close…*

^Classic UK TV Theme ~ Pot Black (Black And White Rag)^

Cade’s second song pick…

Loads of music came in via the idiot box. Mostly musical snippets and blurbs. Lots of fade-ins, lots of fade-outs, and lots of musical chunks that really didn’t belong to a tune, but rather just disconnected and otherwise disjointed musical sounds added for dramatic effect. A xylophone tapping out a cadence to let you know that the news was on. Or maybe a bar or two of some dramatic horns with kettle drums banging away in order to snap your attention away from whatever you were involved in whilst simultaneously raising your pulse rate. Television producers were some devious fucks way back. Loads of people graduating colleges with sociology, psychology, and marketing degrees, and you must put them to work in some capacity in order to prove the the educational system is A) working, and B) pays off in the long run. The practical side being, these young minds you are employing bring with them fresh perspectives on squeezing dollars out of the public, whilst simultaneously remaining malleable enough that they can likely be made to not make distinctions between light and dark. Afterall, they need their jobs. They gotta eat. So you cross some lines here and there…so what?

^Zoom opening credits – Season 3, Cast 2^

Roob’s second song pick…

*Kid shows full of kids. Yuck! Ironic, too, considering that one ran for decades… /blows smoke rings… Oh, I didn’t know Russell T Davies worked on that show…*

*Was it a case of ‘Why don’t you… regenerate Doctor Who?’ …/smirks…*

^We could have been anything – Bugsy Malone^

Cade’s third song pick…

The answers as to why samplers and sampling became so popular in music are right there, you possibly just aren’t looking at things as they really are. Everything got put on the clock at some point. Everything got condensed. The radio was still a bit fluid with respect to time, and also fluid with respect to their programming. But not television. Television was relentless. You have a block of time, in time, and that’s all the time you get. That means anything and everything is over-produced. No raw, no rare, everything is well-done. Rehearsed and practiced to perfection. Sequenced. Quantized. Sterilized. Clean. Machine like. Nothing left to chance. The art has been, and is still being, perfected.

Digress

You’ve got somewhere between 30 and 60 seconds to get your brand out there with a shiny and smiling face, and you gotta do so in such a way that people are gonna beat a path to your door. God only knows how much time, effort and resources went into producing that perfect commercial, but you can bet it was a lot. Pouring weeks or even months into a few seconds. Getting into people’s heads a few seconds at a time, and staying there. Yeah, I’m thinking that it caught on.

^SPEED RACER 1967 Cartoon Intro^

Roob’s third song pick…

The one song that completely captivated me during my childhood, was also encountered via the telly. When my school put the play on for Christmas, I practiced and practiced singing it before the afternoon of auditions in the school gym. I was so excited to be asked to stay on once Mr Ford, the teacher/director, had made his shortlist of candidates for the leading role. That excitement was matched by my complete and utter disappointment to discover that I was only there to help stack the gym benches back along the wall once the auditions were over…

sad dog

*/shrugs… Yeah… /stubs butt… I got two speaking parts and simulated the tornado sound, so I actually ended up with 3 roles in the play, Clicky…*

^Somewhere Over the Rainbow – The Wizard of Oz ((1/8) Movie CLIP (1939) HD^

The final word to Cade…

My intent today was not to be morose or glum and gloomy. I had no idea what I was being fed at the time. Just someone born into the world when I was, and have spent a good portion of the rest of the time trying to make some kind of sense of it all. And, I honestly don’t remember much outside of television with respect to music other than a lot of the ground I’ve already covered in both this 30-day thingie, plus a lot of the writing I’ve done over the past few years. I guess I make distinctions between television and radio music because music on the radio seemed to be more about giving, whereas stuff on television was all about taking. Music on the radio willingly opened a door and gave freely, whereas the stuff on television was more akin to sticking a crowbar in the door to break in or maybe picking the locks. So yeah, the music I remember from “my childhood” is a lot of bits and pieces of nonsense. A chaotic scramble of nonsensical noise created for the express purpose of getting inside my head, and staying there. Consumer 4 Life.

^The Mamas & The Papas – Monday Monday^

*******

We reach the end of the song challenge tomorrow and the final task…

*And Cade and Poppy and Legs, Clicky… /pats snout… And you…*

… When we’ll be suggesting songs that remind us our ourselves. If there’s a song that reminds you of yourself, Dear Reader, pop it into the comments, below, and we’ll include it in the grand finale 😀

Until then, have a Song 😉

^Fade Away And Radiate – Blondie (1978) FLAC Remaster 1080p^

 

Happy Daze of Brexit

Jumping the shark is the moment when something that was once popular that no longer warrants the attention it previously received makes an attempt at publicity, which only serves to highlight its irrelevance.’

*/lights up… Excellent example, Clicky… /drags… when even Bruce Almighty can’t believe the ridiculous narrative spouted by arch Remoaner, Lady Nougat… /plumes smoke…*

Cade invites Roob to watch Sharkwater

*Oh yeah, Cade and me remote viewed ‘Sharkwater’ and Sharkwater Extinction’ last night, Clicky… /shakes head… What a fucking eye-opener… /throws up hands… Poor sharks!*

blackjack 21

*/frowns… Not sure if that’s sharp or shark, Clicky… /squints... Or are you referring to 21? …/flicks ASH… Do you mean Blackjack?*

*Oh black jackET… /rolls eyes… Yeah, Fonzie was famous for that… /smokes… And?*

*Heyyy! That calls for a Song, Clicky…*

 

 

Story Time: The Imagination Virus

LAST TIME AT THE LOL

*Apt image, Clicky, considering this is my second Stranger Things post… /pats snout… well done…*

As promised, Dear Reader, a second post about the hit TV show ‘Stranger Things’, but this time in regards to a short story by my friend Leggy. H.K Hillman has a rare talent for writing tales that linger long after you’ve finished reading them. His tale ‘The Imagination Virus’ also ‘synced’ with an experience I had in 1985 when I was 17. I mentioned it to him when we first became friends in 2014…

Roob emails Legs of her experience

… So it was weird to see something similar played out on ‘Stranger Things’. Another ‘sync’…

Will Sync Stranger Things

*Yeah, it was like that, except purple, Clicky…/lights up…*

… Another ‘reality’ appears…

Will Sync Stranger Things Upside Down Reality

*/drags… Yeah, I could smell the difference, butt couldn’t see it… /stream smoke… And it was strange when JLL decoded ‘tonsils’ in his Mandela Effect investigation…*

tonsil terror.gif

… So I asked Leggy if we could reproduce his story here at the LoL. He agreed, so settle back, Dear Reader, and enjoy ‘The Imagination Virus’. Meet you for a Song at the bottom 😉

*******

The Imagination Virus

by H.K. Hillman

As Dale walked beside Julie, his nurse, he saw the other world again. The crisp, white hospital walls faded into the damp, mould-encrusted bricks he had come to know well. The flicker of tallow candles replaced the bright fluorescent lighting, their odour wiping out the smell of disinfectant. He didn’t want to look at Julie. He knew what he’d see; he knew how she would look to him now.

“Dale, are you all right?”

He stopped walking, the muscles in his face twisted in disgust. Julie put her hand on his shoulder.

“Dale,” she said. “What is it? Are you seeing it again?”

“Yes. It’s awful.” He couldn’t help looking at her. He shuddered at the patchy grey hair, the hunched shoulders, the sore-ridden, wasted body clad in soiled brown cloth.

She smiled, showing her few remaining teeth, black and rotting, and he could smell her graveyard breath, the breath of something that had feasted on decay. He closed his eyes, tight. “I don’t want to see this anymore,” he said. “I want to see the real world, the clean world. Not this – this monstrosity!”

Julie took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll guide you the rest of the way to the doctor’s office. It’s just a little further. The doctor will know what to do.” She led him as if he was blind, slowly moving forward until she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Dale,” she said, “open your eyes. What do you see now?”

“I don’t need to look,” he said. “I can smell the candles, feel the damp. I know I’m still hallucinating.”

“Look anyway. For me.”

Dale opened his eyes. “I can see a doorway, in a wall of cracked plaster, showing bare bricks. A battered door is hanging in the frame and I can see light through the gaps in the boards. There’s a symbol, a cross, drawn in red on the centre of the door and some markings below it, which I can’t quite see…”

Then, abruptly, everything changed. He was facing a white-painted door with a frosted glass panel. The light showing through the panel wasn’t flickering, it was the focused light of a reading lamp. The tallow-smell had gone, replaced with the ubiquitous disinfectant smell of the hospital. He looked at Julie and smiled. “You can see the hospital now?” she said. He paused before replying, savouring her long black hair and perfect smile, the crisp white uniform that showed off her shape so well.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything is fine now. I see the door as it really is, clean and white with a frosted window.” He drew a long breath as Julie knocked, then released it slowly as she opened the door.

The doctor stood, smiling, then walked across to Dale, his hand outstretched. “Dale,” he said. “How are you today? How’s that other world of yours?”

Dale winced. These attempts at humour always sounded flippant to him, as though his condition were some kind of joke. He knew the doctor meant well, but sometimes Dale wondered if the doctor believed a word he said.

“The other world is Hell,” he said, not accepting the doctor’s handshake.

The doctor’s brow creased into a frown. “Had another visit recently?”

Dale nodded.

“Just a moment ago,” Julie said. “His hallucination is consistent, he always sees the same things in the same places. Where there’s a door, Dale sees a door, but it looks very different to him.”

The doctor looked at Dale. “And it’s always the same?” he said.

“It depends where I am,” Dale said. “It’s always the same for a particular place. It’s as if the hallucination is overlaid on reality, permanently, and sometimes I can see it.”

He thought for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been trying to remember what things were like outside. Before I came to the hospital. I can’t. I can’t even remember what I used to do or where I used to live. It’s as if I never existed outside here.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Relax, Dale,” the doctor said. “You did have a life, you know. You lived over on the West Side, alone, and you had a job. I’m afraid it wasn’t glamorous. You were a cook in a small cafe. It’s the virus. It’s affecting your brain, causing these hallucinations and amnesia about your previous life.”

“Can it be cured?”

The doctor smiled an indulgent smile. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“But can it be cured, or not? How long will I be here?”

“When you see the hospital all the time, and don’t see your Hell at all, then you’ll be ready to leave,” the doctor said. “You’re already seeing it less often. Only once today.”

“So far,” Dale said, curling his lip.

“That’s good enough,” Julie said. “The day’s nearly over.”

“That’s right,” the doctor said. “Time for Nurse Davis to take you off to bed. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”

Dale started to rise, but stopped halfway. He looked at the doctor. “Is it contagious?” he said. “It’s just that Julie – I mean Nurse Davis – and the other nurses spend a lot of time around me. Are they at risk?”

“Not at all,” the doctor said. “The virus is very hard to catch. The nurses are safe with you. Now, off to sleep with you.”

Julie led Dale back to his room. He climbed into bed, and she handed him his sleeping tablets and water. He had taken them every night without question, but tonight he felt like a change. He wanted to think, not to sleep. Dale didn’t want to offend the nurse so he put the tablets into his mouth and took the water. Instead of swallowing, he trapped both tablets between his cheek and gum, throwing the mouthful of water back as usual.

“Well done, Dale,” Julie said. After her routine of fussing with his bedclothes, she left the room, turning down the light.

Dale picked out the tablets with a finger and put them under his pillow. Sure, the staff would find them in the morning and they’d be annoyed with him, but so what? He was a patient, not a prisoner, after all. He lay back, enjoying the warm, clean sheets of the bed, and tried to remember his life before the hospital. He had been a cook, so if he could think of something, a recipe perhaps, maybe something would come back. Still trying to think, he drifted into sleep.

***

He was woken by the creak of a door opening. His bed was uncomfortable and his sheets felt rough and dirty. He could hear voices, talking quietly as if to avoid waking him. He opened one eye, just a little, and saw the doctor and another man. Both were wearing rough sheets of brown cloth which were draped around them like cerements.

Both were hunched and looked malnourished, both were covered in sores and stinking of decay. Oh great, he thought, another hallucination. He closed his eye and pretended to be asleep.

The doctor was speaking. “He’s making good progress. He sees the clean world most of the time now, he only sees the decaying world intermittently.”

“Good,” the other man said. “When will he be ready?”

“A matter of days.”

“The fundamentalists haven’t found out?”

“No. As far as I know, they don’t even know about our work.”

The unknown man grunted. “We have to be careful. They have spies everywhere. They won’t approve of what we’re trying to do here, they would consider our work blasphemy. Interference with God’s punishment, or something like that.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “Our staff are carefully checked, and no visitors are allowed.”

“Very good. What about the others, are they seeing the same things?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “The other patients all show the same hallucinations as Dale here. We’ve kept them separate so we can be sure they’re not comparing notes. They all report exactly the same visions. The virus, it seems, works the same way on everyone.”

There are others, Dale thought. Others like me, with the same virus, the same hallucinations. Dale squirmed on his bed. It felt as though he was lying on a coarse sheet laid directly on the bedframe.

“Careful,” the doctor said. “Best not wake him.” The two men left, closing the door quietly.

Dale opened one eye. All clear. He opened the other. Bare-brick walls surrounded him, lit by a single guttering candle on the far side of the room. He put a hand onto the mattress – there was no mattress! He sat up, examined the bed, and found that it was no more than a few planks of wood with a coarse blanket thrown over it. A similar blanket covered him. His pillow was a sack stuffed with straw. On an impulse, he lifted it, and saw the two sleeping tablets he had put there earlier. So they were still

there, even in his hallucination. He hoped that was a sign he was getting better, that small pieces of reality were filtering through his nightmares.

As he held the pillow, Dale noticed his arms, bare in his filthy, coarse night-shirt. His skin was grey, his muscles wasted, and red sores oozed pus that dripped onto the bed. His left hand was missing two fingers, their stumps black with infection. Feeling an itch on his right forearm, he turned his arm to look at it and screamed. A large sore had burst, purple flesh was exposed and maggots wriggled in the wound. Still screaming, he beat his arm against the bed.

The door opened and the hag he knew was really Julie came into the room, followed by the doctor. Pushing him back on the bed, the doctor held him still while Julie tried to calm him. “Think, Dale,” she said. “Think of the hospital. Try to see it.”

“Why is he awake?” the doctor said. “Didn’t he take his pills?”

“Yes. I saw him take them. Dale, come on, concentrate.”

“Maggots,” Dale said, his voice a childish whine. “In my arm. Maggots eating me.”

“No,” Julie said “Don’t see them. Look at me, Dale. You can do it.”

“Yes,” Dale said. “Hallucination. Virus. Not real.” He stopped struggling, closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He waited until he could smell disinfectant, then opened them. Julie smiled down at him, long black hair covering part of her face. The doctor released him and stood up.

“Feeling better now?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” Dale said. “It’s gone.”

Julie was looking at him, her brow furrowed. “What happened to your pills?”

With a sheepish expression, Dale lifted his pillow and brought out the two white pills. Saying nothing, he handed them to Julie.

“I thought as much,” she said. “I’ll get you some more.” She left the room.

“You really should take the pills,” the doctor said. “We can’t have you screaming all night, you know. You have to get some rest, and so do the staff.”

“I know,” Dale said. “I haven’t done this before. I don’t think I’ll do it again.”

The doctor smiled. “With luck, you shouldn’t need to for much longer. We think you should be okay within a week.”

Dale looked up, hopeful.

“There are other patients with your virus. Some of them haven’t seen the terrible world in days. If you follow the same pattern, one more week should do it.”

“That’s great news. So I just have to hold on for a week?”

“No guarantees, but I hope so.”

Dale lay back on the bed, grinning, just as Julie returned with a plastic cup and a glass of water. “Here you are,” she said, holding out the rusted tin mug. No! Plastic cup, plastic cup, concentrate! The mug wavered, became the cup again. Dale took it and swallowed the pills even before Julie handed him the wooden goblet. Glass! Glass of water!

“It’s starting again,” Dale said.

“Don’t worry,” Julie said. “The pills will take effect in a moment.”

Dale looked into her clouded red eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke, Doreen sat beside his bed. With her red hair in a tight bun, her lips in a tight smile, she was pretty, but nowhere near as pretty as Julie. Still, at least he could see her, at least he wasn’t seeing some rag-clad monstrosity.

“Good morning, Doreen,” he said.

“So you’re awake. I’ll get your breakfast sent in,” she said, standing and walking to the door. She paused as she opened it. “I hear you refused your medication last night. I hope there’ll be no such nonsense on my shift.”

As if he would dare. “No,” he said. “I’ve learned my lesson.” He had a fleeting vision of her as a twisted, infected horror as she left. Damn, he thought, the hallucinations are strange today, flashing in and out. That hasn’t happened before. He would have to ask the doctor about that, ask if it had happened to the other patients, the ones who had recovered. An orderly brought his breakfast and he sat up to eat.

Doreen returned just as he finished. “Up you get,” she said. “The doctor wants to see you.”

Dale’s eyebrows rose. “So early? He doesn’t usually see me until the afternoon or evening.”

Doreen pulled the sheets back. “Well, today it’s the morning,” she said. “Don’t ask me, I just do what I’m told.”

Dale slipped his legs off the wooden bed and climbed into the sackcloth garment. He clutched his head. Mattress. There is a mattress. I’m wearing jeans and a shirt. He took a deep breath and followed Doreen out of the room, along the white bare brick corridor. Gloss-white paint overlaid damp, mildew-covered stone. Fluorescent lights fought tallow candles for illumination. Dale shook his head.

“What is it?” Doreen said. “More hallucinations?”

“Worse. I’m seeing both now, one on top of the other, like a double exposure.”

“We’d better hurry along to the doctor.”

Doreen propelled him along the corridor, past white-uniformed staff with faces ravaged by infection, past roughly-made wooden doors with frosted glass panels, into the doctor’s room. She hadn’t knocked. The doctor looked up, surprised.

“He’s seeing both at once,” Doreen said, guiding Dale to a chair and pressing him into it.

“Oh dear,” the doctor said. “This could be serious. You’d better get a sedative ready.” Doreen nodded and left the room.

“What?” said Dale. “What’s serious? What’s happening to me?”

The doctor frowned. “Stay calm,” he said. “It’s the virus. Your body is rejecting it, cleaning itself. How are you feeling?”

“Scared. And confused. You said I used to be a cook. I wasn’t. I remember – something. I remember a laboratory. I was a scientist, wasn’t I?”

The doctor played with a pencil then put it down abruptly. “Yes, Dale, you were.”

“I worked with viruses. This virus. I was infected. What was it, an accident?”

The doctor stood, his crisply-ironed sackcloth flashing white, then brown, his strong, wasted frame striding, limping, to the window. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t an accident, Dale. You infected yourself deliberately.” The doctor turned to face him. “You infected the others first, then yourself.”

“No!” Dale stood, knocking over the wooden box he had been sitting on. “No. You’re lying.” His hands bunched into fists as he faced the doctor, then he felt a sharp pain in his back. Turning, he saw Doreen holding a syringe, her red hair becoming a mottled grey as his consciousness fled.

He could smell iodine. Forcing his eyes open, he saw that he was lying on straw, damp and foetid, in a bare room. With a groan, he stood and walked to the door. It was barred from the outside. “Hey,” Dale shouted, banging on the door. “Let me out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The doctor’s voice came through the door.

“Doctor? Is that you?” Dale paused. “I remember. You’re Simon.” He spoke slowly, dragging the words from the deepest pits of his memory. “Doctor Simon Morgan.”

“Yes, Dale, it’s me.” The voice wavered.

“You’re my brother.” Dale leaned against the door. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It would have interfered with your treatment. Your memories have to recover on their own.”

“Why am I locked up like this?”

“For your own safety.” The last word was choked off by a sob.

Dale could still smell iodine. He looked at his arms. They were thin and grey, the red welts oozing pus. The wound on his right arm, which had been full of maggots, had been cleaned and was stained yellow. That was where the iodine smell was coming from. Why had they treated it? It wasn’t real. He banged on the door again.

“Let me out, Simon,” he said, “I’m hallucinating again.”

There was a long silence. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m covered in sores and this room is vile. There’s only stinking straw to sleep on.”

Another long silence. “It’s not an hallucination, Dale. This is the real world.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the rotten world of my hallucination. The virus—”

“The virus causes illusion and forgetfulness. Those infected don’t see the real world any more, and don’t remember it. They see the world as it was before the war.”

“What war?” There had been a war, he remembered vaguely.

“The final war. The chemical and biological weapons war. You were working on antidotes for the weapons, but you were too late. The war took us all by surprise. So you worked on a new virus. This one.”

“Yes, yes, I know. The hallucinations are all my fault. I need help now, Simon. I’m stuck in my hallucination.”

“No, Dale, you’ve lost your hallucination. Your body has rejected the virus, so you don’t have hallucinations any more. You’ll start remembering more soon.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a deep sigh from the other side of the door. “This is it, Dale. This is reality. The war killed most people and those few of us who survived are dying slowly, hideously deformed by the weapons that were used. Your virus is our only hope. It won’t cure us but it gives the illusion of normality, of cleanliness, of life before the war. The other patients are fine, they believe they’re in a clean, wonderful hospital in a beautiful world. We’ll begin injecting more people with the virus soon.”

“What about me? Why not just inject me again?”

“It won’t work, Dale. You’re immune now. The virus won’t work on you.”

Dale slumped against the door. “So what next?”

“Soon we’ll all be seeing the clean world of your hallucination. Thanks to you, your work, your virus, we’ll all be able to enjoy life again. Oh, life will still be short, but it’ll be better.”

“You mean everyone will see the illusion of a clean reality.”

“Yes. Well, almost everyone.”

“Almost?”

“Everyone but you, Dale. Everyone but you. That’s why I’ve hidden you here, to stop the authorities killing you as they did the others. Those who the virus failed to infect. I can never let you out. You represent too great a risk, the risk of remembrance.”

Dale sank to the floor, sobbing, as his brother’s footsteps echoed among the drips from the damp walls.

*******

fearcover

*That’s a cracking collection of short stories, Clicky… /smokes… sum times I fink the man’s on a nuvver plane…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

Adventures in Remote Viewing: Stranger Fins

tenor

*/rolls eyes… I agree, Clicky, the first two seasons of Stranga Fings did concern ‘Free Will’,… /lights up… butt that’s Free Willy…*

Dear Reader, after posting Cade’s latest Missive at the LoL on Friday evening, we settled down, in our respective locations – Southend and Texas – to remote view season 3 of the Netflix hit show ‘Stranger Things’. In terms of remote viewing bingeing, it was…

Epic Man Hat on

 

*/drags… Knot sure Cade liked it as much me, Clicky… /streams smoke… I fuckin’ loved it!*

… I’d already started to wonder how exactly I was going to shamble about it. Fortunately, Red universe Frank gave me the perfect opening on MEROVEE

Merovee Spooky Action At A Distance

… And again when Clicky posted news there that the Big Apol! was experiencing a massive blackout, exactly 42 years to the day after the last ‘Great Blackout’…

Frank and Roob and 42 on Merovee

*/smokes…*

… Strangely enough, season 3 of the series started with a blackout…

‘Winona Ryder plays a chain smoking mother, fighting for her children. She is also, or rather the spelling of her name, is a Mandela Effect.’

*Do ya fink that jigsaw image is kinda Shoe On, Clicky? …/flicks ash…*

‘What JLL says in that talk about ‘bio-tropic clues’ should interest anyone who has spent time here on the good ship Merovee, or paying attention to synchronicity in general…

bio (n.)

tropic (n.)

‘“All the clues in the world don’t count if you don’t know what crime has been committed.” – ‘John Lamb Lash – Follow Up on WYN WIN NONA Clustering and Biotropic Clues (25)’

“You have to know what the question is, in order to know what the answer means.” – Deep Thought – ‘Answer To The Ultimate Question – The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy – BBC’

ST Winona Ryder tangled ball of lights.gif

*Aye, Clicky, deep finking ana luminous ball of entanglement…*

… Of course, given that ‘Eleven’ is a character on ‘Stranger Things’ and ‘Day of the Dead’ was the movie playing at the time of the first episode’s opening blackout…

…And that the New York blackout occurred on the 13th July (7), Clicky posted the idea that occurred to me over a morning cup of coffee and a cigarette, way back in 2013…

Clicky on 137 42 and 24

*An’ 24 hours in a day… /deep drag… It’s true, I am pretty much dead until I have a coffee and smoke in the mornings, Clicky…*

… Frank further replied with news of a hovering marvel, seen in Paris on Bastille Day…

Frank Back To The Future Sync

*/plumes smoke…*

… Now, I don’t think Red universe Frank is familiar with ‘Stranger Things’, but the other movie to feature during season 3, was ‘Back To The Future’…

… And then Clicky posted a tweet from ‘Hopper’ from the New York blackout with a definite ‘Go West’ sync to Friday’s LoL Missive From ‘Merica…

*/stubs butt… Oh I see, Clicky! The ‘does ‘opper return?’ cliffhanger to Season 3… Will he?*

0911bc3403648f07-free-willy-gifs-tenor

*Clever… /nods slowly… Okay, Clicky, go choose a Song…*

…Anyhoo, that’s my ‘Stranger Things’ shambles, Dear Reader. I have another in mind to post, that concerns an extremely spooky short story written by Legs. That’s a treat for later this week, so make sure you come back. But for now… Have a Song… ❤