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… ❤

 

 

Missive From ‘Merica: Bundle!

*/lights up… Let’s keep the top and tail short and sweet, Clicky… /drags… I have a remote viewing date tonight… /plumes smoke…*

Cade and I have been remote viewing the Stranger Things series this week, Dear Reader. I want to finish season 3 before I write anything about it, but rest assured, a shamble is formulating in this noggin of mine…

*Dagnammit, Clicky! I said short and sweet… /flicks ash… Dear Reader ain’t gonna spend ten minutes listening to that. Not when there’s a fantastic missive to devour…*

… Luckily Cade touches on the series in his missive below. So enjoy! ❤

*******

I’d like to tell you a story…

about a man named Jed…

a poor mountaineer who barely kept his family fed.

I’d like to tell you that story…

but I’m not going to.

Happy Friday Shit4Brainz
^Skrillex – First Of The Year (Equinox) [Official Music Video]^

Welp, this is one way to get someone to “take you to their leader”…

Intentionally giving lawmakers and weapons designers/manufacturers reason(s) to use those laws and weapons…

great idea!

Thanks for justifying their reason(s) for existing. I’m sure the fines will be a welcome windfall, as the prison time is likely to choke the living shit out of the legal system for centuries to come, and create the need for more and bigger Gitmo and Joe Arpaio types of “correctional facilities”.

But lets think practically

The automobile has made us somewhat stupid as to the logistical nightmare that this A51 invasion would be. Last night I was watching a documentary that was talking about the Second Fitna (Second Islamic Civil War) and they were talking about how long it took for the Umayyad to pull their troops out of Mecca and return to Damascus because the king had died, and someone killed his heir not long after. The documentary I was watching is actually trying to make the argument that “Ancient Mecca” is actually Petra, and not the modern day Mecca…

but that's not really what was on my mind

What was on my mind was how in the hell you pull an army out of an area that you just got to, irrespective of the distance(s) you have to cover. Supposedly, the Umayyad had only gotten to Mecca 40 days before, and now it had to disengage, pull out completely, and does so in about that same amount of time…40 days. Ironically, there’s a more modern logistical nightmare like that if the thought of thousands of people in the desert doesn’t tickle your fancy.

Retreat From Gettysburg

I watched something on that recently too…and…holy shit…what a fucking nightmare. But I know that warfare prolly isn’t your cup of herbal tea, so lets keep it more realerist of all…

Burning Man

I guess they are up to around 70,000 attendees for this thing, it is quite the feat to support that amount of people in the desert for a week, and this ‘Area 51 Get Stun Gunned Fun Run’ is going to host 300,000 people…over 4x more. Even if only half showed up, you’re still talking over 2x Burning Man. So lets think about what is going to get you to Rachel Nevada…assuming you idiots are planning on hitting the base from the North. You are going to drink every gas station dry. ‘Cept for you dolts driving a Smart Car or Prius or a Tesla.

Who...in the FUCK...would take an electric car to the desert?* 

Of course, the government is going to have to respond to your onslaught, so its possible they are going to commandeer or restrict every gas station within 200 miles of the base. You may have enough gas to get in, but you won’t have enough to get out. You’re going to fuck over a lot of the locals in the process, so it is unlikely that visitors of any kind will be welcome in the future.

(pun intended) 

Better bring plenty of tents since accommodations will be few and far between, and bring enough water to drink at least 8 litres per day. I know I’m rambling, and this Facebook thing is stupid, but my mind is awash with how in the hell you’d ever get even 1/10th of that many people remotely close to there. “Strength in numbers” is not always a true statement.

Woodstock

That’s a social bum rush that turned out well. They didn’t think their shit through either.

*I’m not talking about engineers testing electric cars on the Bonneville Salt Flats.

^Tenacious D – Storm The Gate!^

My suggestion is to show up early, get arrested/detained immediately. At least you’ll have a place to stay, you’ll be out of the heat, food and water will be available, and you’ll have a nice clean place to shit and paper to wipe your ass with until the shitstorm you created, itself, passes. You get you social badge of honor of “being there” to wear around your social media sites, you’re safe and snug thanks to the gubment… and the best part? You still paid for the accommodations via your tax dollars. Its win/win.

Being…there
Hrm

Area 51…Being…There

Hrm

A51BT

sounds catchy...kinda like the same way that barbed wire is catchy
^F’ing Rant | Rory McIlroy’s rigged Canadian Open win, June 9, 2019 & Kyle Lowry jersey tribute^

What are you gonna do with these alien remains? Shove them in your mom’s refrigerator like the idiots did with the Demidog in season 2 of Stranger Things? I bet mom’s fridge is a long ways away, you’re in the middle of the desert, so how long you figure before that fucker thaws out and begins to rot. Or worse, wakes up in a bad mood, tries to eat your brain, discovers you have no brains, gets even more pissed off, calls in the mothership for a rescue, and vanishes from this planet forever.

Seriously, have you given thought to what kind of social damage an alien showing up once, leaving, and never returning would do? You’ve got your proof, but only for you. Everyone who follows is going to think you and everyone around you were morons, hallucinators, uninformed bullshitters, story tellers and/or liars…prolly all on drugs too.

 Sound familiar? 

It should. Just about every culture that came before us can be accused of the same, and the theme is the same all over the world. The Long Gone Gods. Gods and monsters. Mystics and Titans of all kinds. Gone forever. Never to return. Prolly never existed in the first place. Buncha uneducated idiots telling tales after school/making shit up because they weren’t smart like us. They didn’t have…SCIENCE!

Our new god(s)
^Iron Maiden – Flight Of Icarus (Official Video)^

Speaking of flights of fancy, we sure are flying close to the sun/Sol these days. I wonder if that’s a good idea. Not saying we shouldn’t do it, but this new religion of Science requires/demands the unquestioning belief of the followers in much the same way more traditional religions do. But Science still omits a shitload of us, all in favor of the clergy themselves.

Sound familiar? 

It should. But, that’s why I write in the first place. I’m not gonna win any awards or make any cash, but I will hopefully leave something behind for my children. Fill in some gaps, pass along some ways of looking at things that are neither faithful nor rebellious. Hopefully allow them a bit of guidance + the freedom to do what they need to do in their own time(s) and in their own moment(s). I’ve learned that there are times when the best thing to do, is throw the rule book(s) out the window.

Improvise

There are other times when you should follow the rule book(s) step by step, and without fail. You can’t remember everything. That’s why there are rule books and manuals in the first place. Or so an aircraft mechanic told me once.

Makes sense
^Why the Parker Solar Probe is NASA’s most exciting mission | Michelle Thaller^

An interesting vid, but the analogy she gives regarding a camp fire getting hotter the further away you move? That’s…not really accurate. Heat here in our context…rises. Convective activity. Not to mention that during the Tudor period, they found out real quick that it gets a helluva lot hotter above the fire/in the chimney than it does in front of the fire. Not to mention that they found out that the gases themselves and the soot/unburned stuff is pretty goddamn flammable.

Think about it like this…heat, really doesn’t go “up”…it goes out. Actually, it goes up and out at the same time. But if you see a chimney burning from space, the smoke is going to be going out, not up. A “spew” rather than a “rise”. But yeah, it does both at the same time, depending on your orientation/location. So what she is talking about regarding heat traveling laterally…is not…really…accurate.

I would imagine that much of our Sun’s matter/mass at and around the surface actually acts as to keep the temperatures more constant/consistent. Much like room temperature water or molten metal or even salt in a sodium reactor. However, in the case of molten metal or a sodium reactor, everything in the immediate area is gonna be hotter than hell because of the change in the medium for conducting heat.

Wait...did I just state the obvious? 

I guess I’m wondering why science/scientists are wondering why the corona is “hotter than the sun itself”.

^KISS – Hotter Than Hell (Live at Winterland ’75)^

I wonder sometimes if matter/energy can begin moving so fast, that it becomes immeasurably cold. Maybe even that the surrounding environment becomes ridiculously hot. Like say…

lightning

Prolly unrelated, but there’s gotta be something going on that prevents the flow of electrons from becoming constant in certain environments. I know that prolly doesn’t make much sense considering the nature of materials science – I’m actually thinking about static electricity and aircraft more than I am thinking about naturally occurring lightning – but there’s got to be something that sustains cold other than just/only the absence of heat.

Blah
^No_4mat – 1992^

Um…

Q: What do you want from these aliens?

A: ???

Seriously, what can they possibly provide for you? Is that all they can do? Provide things…for you? This seems more like government angst than it seems like some natural interest/curiosity, but that’s prolly because I’m still steaming over season 1 of Stranger Things. Yeah, I watched it last weekend, have written a bit about it, but you’ve basically got different groups of assholes fighting over…

Eleven

Doesn’t matter whether it’s that pack of creepy assholes in their government hideout, or that creepy pack of nerds playing Dungeons and Dragons in their basement…they’re basically the same people at different times. The kids start talking about Eleven as if she’s a weapon…a tool for them to use. Before long, everyone is doing the same shit. She’s something to be feared, and everyone wants to get their claws in her for various reasons. So again, I gotta ask…

Q: What do you want from these aliens?

A: ???

You want disclosure? You want proof? Or is access what you are really wanting? Can’t say I blame you really. There’s plenty of places that I’d like to visit and poke around. My itinerary and reasons for visiting these places might differ slightly from yours. Some might be similar tho.

/shrug
^Trentemøller: Moan^

Most people don’t give a fuck about the water itself, they want control of the tap. Others want to control the pipelines.

Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam

Was watching a doc yesterday on Antarctica, and the mission itself was more of a fisheries expedition than it was a research mission. Not to mention that the musical score, the editing and the narration made the whole thing seem like a commercial. But it seems to me that “business” is only willing to fund science if there is a return. And business is going to have to be in cahoots with government in order to finance the mission in the first place, so yeah…

a triad between science, business and government

That said, if you want control of the infrastructure that provides information, build your own. Hell, I thought that was the purpose of Social Media in the first place…give you a voice. So…what have you done with it, this voice you now have. Have you been honest? Have you been forthcoming? Do you actually tell the truth, or do you simply espouse to the fact that you are telling the truth, and you are you spewing whatever will get you the most votes on election day? Wait…what’s that? You never thought of likes and shares and followers as being the same as votes?

Weird 

I’d imagine a smart fucker like you woulda been all over that.

^Alice^

Oh, and here’s that documentary on the Antarctica exploitation, if you wanna watch it. The documentary was posted on YT on July 9 of 2019, but the documentary itself is a National Geographic documentary from 2008 called Expedition Antarctica.

Expedition Antarctica

So yeah, an 11 year old documentary repackaged as something new in the now. If you’re wanting to be timely, current, and on the cutting edge of discovery, this show may not be for you.

^The Secrets of Antarctica | Full Documentary | TRACKS^

Would be nice to find a copy of that Paul Watson movie/doc At the Edge of the World. I bet Roob would enjoy that. Yeah, Watson is accused of being a bit sketchy, but EVERYTHING is sketchy, so not sure what the problem is with sketchy things. In fact, if it wasn’t for sketchy shit, the Internet prolly woulda died long ago. TV too. And radio. And film. And photography. And print. Hell, is media the only thing keeping us alive? Well, maybe that and oral tradition.

The Aroostook Triangle

That appeared on my radar yesterday, and I’ve been contemplating to concepts of gossip and rumor a lot lately. Hell, most of this post is about rumor and gossip, it’s just that a lot of it gets packaged as some kind of official and/or authentic something that is reliable because of a mark or seal or something. Which, did you know that Twitter has “authenticated” accounts?

About verified accounts

Excuse me…”verified”, not authenticated. So yeah, the tap itself has a placard saying that everything is A-OK. That’s no guarantee as to what is in the pipeline tho, nor its source(s). Most information is aggregate anyway. Not clean and pure like single-malt Scotch whiskey.

😉

^CHVRCHES – Lies^

I guess that “single-malt” refers to batches of a particular production run that have not been mixed with leftovers from previous runs? I have no idea, and pretty sure I’ve never drunk a single-malt Scotch. Too fucking expensive. I ain’t spending $150 on a bottle of Scotch. I can buy several fifths of Dewar’s for that, or maybe a keg of beer. Not that I have a place to keep a keg nor a means of keeping it cold. Maybe someday I can afford both a kegerator and a bottle of single-malt.

^Fever Ray ‘When I Grow Up’^

Anyway…it’s 10:24 on Friday morning, been at this for a while, my butt is frozen to the side of the bed from sitting here writing all that bullshit above, and I guess I better get prepared to watch the rest of season 3 of Stranger Things. I don’t like much of anything of what I’ve seen thusfar. A bunch of angsty yelling and everyone trying to tell everyone else what to do/not do. The Snow Ball was kinda funny. I couldn’t decide if it was more Napoleon Dynamite or Fish Under The Sea Dance. Or Carrie. Or Footloose. It did have a Napoleon Dynamite song in it, but maybe the Snow Ball was actually not trying to be any of those previously mentioned things. I mean, it’s a dance and school dances, unlike alien landings or paranormal shitstorms, are quite a common occurrence here in the US of A.

Are school dances portrayed onscreen taboo unless approved by the Bomont, Utah Community Standards and Morality Council?* Or is this where union groups and guilds come into play. I had no idea that the entertainment industry was so inundated with guilds and unions, but it is.

*this is a nod to the movie Footloose (fyi)
^Joke Theft and Cryptomnesia^

You want to know things. Me too. I guess the question is…

Q: How do you want to know it?

A: ?? ¿

You can kill two birds with one stone that way. “They” are gonna be equally interested in how you know what you know, as well as what you know. And knowing is half the battle. No wait, surprise is half the battle. Anyway, yeah, both halves of the battle are important, and how you know what you know is equally as important as what you know. Some considerations to sequencing might not go amiss either. Chronological, topical, contextual, alphabetical…things like that.

Reference

Some reference points get a little…loopy. Especially when someone is pulling your fingernails out with a pair of pliers. You’ve only got so many fingernails, and getting them yanked out makes concentration a bit difficult.

^Deadmau5 – Sometimes Things Get, Whatever || HD^

I do wonder what you think you’re gonna find on the other side of that fence other than miles of desert, a shitload of snakes and scorpions, dehydration, sunburn, some giant runways, secret aircraft programs, a shitload of toxic waste(s), and a bunch of gung-ho types with automatic weapons who are more than willing to deal you out some government issued bullet wounds. Even if you find what you are looking for, then what? Haven’t you seen Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade?

^The Judys – Grass is Greener^

cYacFa

^Cinema – Skrillex^

*******

*Burning man, Clicky… /stubs butt… Fought so…*

Have a wonderful we kenned, Dear Reader… And have a Song…

Adventures in Remote Viewing: Camera One, Camera Two…

Camera 1

Dear Reader, this week Lone Star Texas resident, Cade Fon Apollyon, and I, Essex seaside resider, have been remote viewing, together…

Deadwood: The Movie

The Limehouse Golem

The Animatrix

Titan A.E.

Chernobyl

Good Omens

And we decided to write a post about it. Together…

Remotely

camera one camera two

*You fink Dear Reader will get the reference, Clicky? …/lights up and smokes…*

Here’s the Okie Devil now, to kick us off on this adventure.

Enjoy! ❤

Camera 2

Ever hear of a guy named Hisashi Ouchi? I went to high school with the dude. He was like a brother.

Those are lies

I don’t know Hisashi Ouchi at all, but it appears that someone named Hisashi Ouchi does in fact exist. Or, he did. I guess it depends on how you view who exists and how as to whether or not the guy still exists, and maybe even if he ever existed. Now, I know where I am going here kinda, so let us run over to Google real quick and see if Google has anything to say about some dead fuck named Hisashi Ouchi.

Tokaimura Nuclear Accident

That’s the very first Google result. No mention of Hisashi Ouchi.

But he's in the Wikipedia article

He’s also mentioned in this article from 9 October of 1999.

Japan’s worst nuclear accident leaves two fighting for life

So who the fuck is Hisashi Ouchi? Or rather, who was he? Just a corpse now. Prolly buried in a lead-lined coffin 30 feet underground and covered in cement, and just laying there being all radioactive and “festering in his own juices” as someone I used to know might say. But the person that would have said that is dead, too. I wonder if dead people get together and play cards. Have open-mic night, talent shows or community sings.

 Digress

Do you think it is possible for people to just…disappear? I wonder on what criteria we base “appearances” and “disappearances”. Convenience?

^Horrible Ways To Die – The Radiation Hell of Hisashi Ouchi^

Back over to you, RooBeeDoo…

Camera 1

Thank you, Cade, for that lighthearted start…

GO DEATH 1

GO DEATH 2

GO DEATH 3

*Ouchi, Clicky. I’d guess if you had to get a message to ‘Death’, the living can’t deliver it but the… /smirks…*

There was a lot a death in what we viewed – death of people, populations, planet. And death of empires and innocence, ways of doing things. Beliefs…

IT Crowd Sign Language

*Awe ecosystems, Clicky… /snorts smoke…*

Dear Reader, Cade had sent me his next observation before I finished making this one. Something to bear in mind as we read on…

Camera 2

I admit that I’ve recently been intentionally…erm…”steering against the current”, as it pertains to the automation(s) of YouTube. I haven’t been actively doing it, just trying to be a bit unpredictable with what I watch, why, and for how long before I actively try and go off the rails, so to speak.

That said, there was an unusual appearance in my recommended last night. One about a disappearance. Five disappearances in one event actually. They’re now referred to as “The Yuba County Five”. Odd name considering the unbalanced equation that remains. Oh, and why this “Yuba County Five” is also referred to as “America’s Dyatlov Pass Incident”? The only thing that I can figure is…

metadata

Trying to connect unrelated things. Odd considering how “irrelevance” typically figures in to more “official” types of thinking/doing. Too much dependence on Occam and popular interpretations of shaving/cutting devices? After, not everything is equal.

Did I lose you there?

Don’t sweat it.

We’ll find you.

^The STRANGE Disappearance of The Yuba County 5 – America’s Dyatlov Pass Incident^

Are we even close to being on the same page Roob? I’ve no idea what you’ve written next, but I’m interested to read it. 😀

Camera 1

Frank and Naked Miner

*Ooh I like the radioactive, pixelated look, Clicky… /innocent face… Or did you have a spot of bother making it?*

Sweet Style Moss

*/rolls eyes… Naturally…*

Despite all the death, there was an abundance of creation in our viewing, Dear Reader. Myths and Reputations. Structures and Relationships, creating and recreating Earth, ways of doing things…

GO Necessity is the Mother 1GO Necessity is the Mother 2GO Necessity is the Mother 3GO Necessity is the Mother 4GO Necessity is the Mother 5

*Aye, Clicky… /stubs butt… And beliefs…*

Now over to Cade for the finale to this post, Dear Reader. Let’s hope he has a Song…

Camera 2

Okie dokie RoobieDoobie, we’ve got two Dyatlovs providing various forms of passes, passages and passings, one Yuba, and we’ve got a bunch missing at various times + others gone. Let’s us see where these two Dyatlov connections are according to Google Maps.

Dyatlov Pass, Sverdlovsk Oblast, Russia, 624575 to Chornobyl, Kyiv Oblast, Ukraine

Wait…is it Chernobyl or Chornobyl? Or is it Wormwood? For some reason, “wormwood” always makes me think of pecans, and pecans always make me think of iodine. Is that a weird way to think? Is this a bad time to bring up the book of Numbers from The Bible and think about who we consider as “missing” and who we consider as “found”, and when?

Digress

Let’s see where Dyatlov Pass in Siberia is located relative to Yuba County Cali…for…ni…a.

Dyatlov Pass, Sverdlovsk Oblast, Russia, 624575 to Yuba City, California

I wish there was a way to add more than just an origin and destination. I guess if you are logged in to Google, you can pin multiple locations, and on the Google Maps mobile app you can add up to 9 destinations, but I can’t do that here. There’s also mention of Oroville in that Yuba 5 vid. Flows, dams, and containment vessels. Coincidence?

Q: Do you have to be alive to die?

A: Says who? 

The concept of “the deadman” has reared it’s head on many occasions over the past several years, but I honestly have no idea what “the deadman” is, nor what it represents. Not really a strange concept, just a foreign one to me in the current context. Lots of talk about dying and being reborn while you are still alive, so I wonder what death is.

Why is it always and forever so bitter?

Can the future tell me who I am?

Or is it telling me who I will be?

I guess I’m wondering what Elijah would have to say on the topic of transitioning from one plane to another without actually dying here. No connecting flights for Elijah. Non-stop all the way. What a ride that must be.

^Harrison BDP – Decompression^

BTW, I puked my guts up last night. I don’t think it had anything to do with acute radiation exposure in large quantities, but irrespective of the cause of my somewhat regular regurgitational proclivities, that tomato soup didn’t taste near as good coming back up as it did going down. Also, do I see a CCCP shirt in the background of that IT Crowd gif? What the fuck is a commie doing at a footer match in The UK?

😛

^A.B. O’Neill – California^

 

American Goods

Previously at the LoL

Recently I’ve been remote viewing ‘American Gods’ with my good friend Cade FON Apollyon, Dear Reader, and I can thoroughly recommended the series…

*I think A Void in Red Frank’s universe would enjoy it, Clicky… /lights up…*

*So would the rest of the Mero VEEPs… /drags…*

‘Christmas 2007 was the most successful trading period in Boots’ history. No surprise then that Ernie K Doe’s track became their long running musical theme. Director: Traktor (Pontus and Ola). Creative team: Susan Hosking / Peter Robertson. Creative director: Damon Collins. Agency: Mother. Year: 2007′

*2007 was a turning point, Clicky… /streams smoke…*

*Feisty and candid, I like that, Clicky… /puffs… Get a Song…*

Adventures in Remote Viewing: Christmas Special

*WTF, Clicky?! I was sleeping… /yawns… I remote viewed ‘True Detective’ with Cade last night… /rubs eyes… Didn’t get to bed until ‘what fucking time do you call this?’ o’clock…*

*Yeah, I really enjoyed watching the second season again… /coughs… What do want, Click? Why’d you get me up so early?*

Cade spots a sample and tells Roob

*/lights up… Oh that was a fantastic spot by Cade… /drags… Sampled dialogue from a TV show that I introduced him to, on a song that he’d introduced me too… /streams smoke…*

*Yeah… /flicks ash… So why’d ya feel it necessary to wake me up, Clicky? I mean, I love you dearly, adopted dolphin assistant, but significantly less so on only a couple of hours of kip, my love…*

*Oh, Cade and I remote viewed that on Boxing Night… /drags smoke… It’s one of my favs… /exhales smoke… Atlas… ATTLAS… ‘K?*

*/drops jaw… And ‘Apollo 13’ on Christmas Night! Wow… /squints… So if I work it back, that’s ATTLAS, Atlas, holding the earth’s position…*

*Clever! …/pat snout… And that’s why you woke me up so early, Clicky?*

Cade spots a sample and tells Roob 1

*Fuck! I forgot… /stubs butt… I gotta iron…*