We are just a group of retired spooks that discuss things that you’ll not find anywhere else. It makes us unique. Take a look around. Learn a thing or two.
Rage is an emotion, and as such it can be useful or dangerous. It’s up to us to figure out how to use it adequately. Many people would use other techniques to funnel their rage so that it wasn’t destructive.
Some would run, lift weights, or apply themselves in sports.
Others would internalize it, drink, brawl, or jut be an asshole.
Still others funnel that rage into music.
Those of us who are from the United States, or from the Domain, or have survived a broken marriage, a bad boss, or a corrupt government have all experienced real cold rage. I know I have. And I do my best to control it, least my “incredible hulk” comes out.
This post is going to be a tad different.
And it isn’t for everyone. What this post contains is some pretty harsh rock-n-roll music that has often served me (personally) in releasing and dealing with rage.
As such, it’s a bid dangerous and a tad toxic if you are not ready for it.
If you are not ready, then just skip this article and wait for a calmer and gentler post tomorrow. But if you are ready, or willing, or adventuresome, then have some fun…
BUT DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU
Here we go…
Austin Meade – Happier Alone
A Day To Remember: Miracle [OFFICIAL VIDEO]
Zero 9:36 – Adrenaline (Official Video)
Bring Me The Horizon feat. BABYMETAL – Kingslayer
Wolfgang Van Halen – Mammoth WVH: Distance (Official Music Video)
Seether – Bruised And Bloodied (Official Music Video)
AC/DC – Shot In The Dark (Official Video)
Beartooth – Below / Devastation (Live at St. Augustine Amphitheater)
AC/DC – Realize (Official Video)
Papa Roach – The Ending (Remastered)
Greta Van Fleet Candlelight Sessions – Broken Bells (Live)
Greta Van Fleet – Heat Above (Live)
Five Finger Death Punch – Living The Dream (Official Music Video)
Daughtry – Heavy Is The Crown (Official Music Video)
Pop Evil – Breathe Again (Official Music Video)
I Prevail – Every Time You Leave (Official Music Video) ft. Delaney Jane
Rise Against – Nowhere Generation
Architects – “Animals”
The Pretty Reckless – And So It Went (Official Music Video)
The HU – Wolf Totem feat. Jacoby Shaddix of Papa Roach (Official Music Video)
Bring Me The Horizon – Teardrops (Official Video)
Papa Roach x Jeris Johnson – Last Resort Reloaded (Official Music Video)
Chevelle – Self destructor (Official Music Video)
Five Finger Death Punch – A Little Bit Off (Official Music Video)
This is a Patreon video that I am releasing to the general pubic and MM readership. I hope that it finds you well and that you all obtain some good information from it. This post will interrupt the normal flow of MM postings of latest (cough, cough) “news”.
I have discussed this before. if you make those people around you smile, feel good about themselves, and happy, it will drench your local quanta field with positive and constructive energy charge.
Here is a simple video that illustrates this effect.
Make the people around you happy, and your quanta field will strengthen and your verbal affirmations will be energized. As each thought packet needs energy to manifest. Make other happy. Even if it is a lie. Generate an enormous positive, happy and hopeful series of thoughts that surround you.
Listen to me!
This will *BANG* things into being so much quicker. You have no idea!
Keep in mind that everything we do has an accumulated characteristic that color and alters the prayer campaign. For you to advance forward you need to be of clear mind and purpose, and control any negative and counter active thoughts and actions that might have developed into habitual problems within your life. And, as this article illustrated, inject positive power and energy into the field that surrounds you.
The “thought packets” associated with each singular verbal affirmation NEED *energy* and good-will to manifest. Spread the love around, and your dreams and goals will manifest.
If you do, you can be guaranteed of speedier implementation of all your desires.
Best Regards.
Do you want more?
I have more posts in my Intention Prayer Index here…
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This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. It takes you to a point in time. It’s about being alone. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do. It’s a great story that takes place on Mars. This is in PDF format for easy reading.
The long years
Ray Bradbury
Conclusion
It’s a very short story.
I think that this story stands alone on it’s own merits.
Loneliness is an unpleasant emotional response to perceived isolation. Loneliness is also described as social pain—a psychological mechanism which motivates individuals to seek social connections. It is often associated with an unwanted lack of connection and intimacy. Loneliness overlaps and yet is distinct from solitude. Solitude is simply the state of being apart from others; not everyone who experiences solitude feels lonely. As a subjective emotion, loneliness can be felt even when surrounded by other people; one who feels lonely, is lonely. The causes of loneliness are varied. They include social, mental, emotional, and environmental factors.
- Wikipedia
Today’s society insists that we communicate via e-mail and social media. But face to face, in depth human to human contact is what we require. Accept that fact and do everything in your power to make sure that you are never, ever alone. Your strength is your community.
This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. It takes you to a point in time. It’s about a life after the insanity of mad kings and corrupt politicians. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do.
Especially since it takes place in America in the year 2026…
There will come the soft rains
Ray Bradbury
Conclusion
It’s a very short story.
I think that this story stands alone on it’s own merits.
People have forgotten. The American leadership has forgotten what a cold war was, and the threat of any day having your complete life turned upside down by nuclear war. This week, America is going to base it’s nuclear SLBM missile subs in Australia, and Australia agrees to host the systems.
Jesus!
This kind of nuclear-war level posturing is dangerous. On one hand Biden says that “America doesn’t want war”, on the other hand, it was one year after it launched three lethal bio-weapons strains on China. And is placing nuclear weapons in the QUAD that rings the Chinese mainland.
Do they think that the rest of the world is as ignorant as the dumbed-down Americans are?
I guess so.
The United States is a run-away train and it ain’t stopping or slowing down for shit. The final crash is going to be spectacular, and horrific at the same time. This story here describes that aftermath.
RayBradbury’s “There Will Come Soft Rains” tells the story ofahouse that has survived a nuclear blast in the year 2026. Thehouse has automated systems, not unlike a modern-day smarthome. Each day, the house makes the beds, cooks dinner, and throwsoutthe trash—despite the fact that its owners have died.
This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. As I reread this story, I couldn’t help but relive the “news” that enters my feeds on a daily basis. It sounds so familiar. It’s just hard to believe that this story was written in the 1950’s. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do.
THE LUGGAGE STORE
Ray Bradbury
It was a very remote thing, when the luggage-store
proprietor heard the news on the night radio, received all the
way from Earth on a light-sound beam. The proprietor felt how
remote it was.
There was going to be a war on Earth.
…
He went out to peer into the sky.
Yes, there it was. Earth, in the evening heavens,
following the sun into the hills. The words on the radio and
that green star were one and the same.
“I don’t believe it,” said the proprietor.
“It’s because you’re not there,” said Father Peregrine,
who had stopped by to pass the time of evening.
“What do you mean, Father?”
“It’s like when I was a boy,” said Father Peregrine. “We
heard about wars in China. But we never believed them. It was
too far away. And there were too many people dying. It
was impossible. Even when we saw the motion pictures we didn’t
believe it. Well, that’s how it is now. Earth is China. It’s so
far away it’s unbelievable. It’s not here. You can’t touch it.
You can’t even see it. All you see is a green light. Two
billion people living on that light? Unbelievable! War? We
don’t hear the explosions.”
“We will,” said the proprietor. “I keep thinking about
all those people that were going to come to Mars this week.
What was it? A hundred thousand or so coming up in the next
month or so. What about _them_ if the war starts?”
“I imagine they’ll turn back. They’ll be needed on Earth.”
“Well,” said the proprietor, “I’d better get my luggage
dusted off. I got a feeling there’ll be a rush sale here any
time.”
“Do you think everyone now on Mars will go back to Earth
if this _is_ the Big War we’ve all been expecting for years?”
“It’s a funny thing, Father, but yes, I think we’ll _all_
go back. I know, we came up here to get away from
things–politics, the atom bomb, war, pressure groups,
prejudice, laws–I know. But it’s still home there. You wait
and see. When the first bomb drops on America the people up
here’ll start thinking. They haven’t been here long enough.
A couple years is all. If they’d been here forty years, it’d
be different, but they got relatives down there, and their
home towns. Me, I can’t believe in Earth any more; I can’t
imagine it much. But I’m old. I don’t count. I might stay on
here.”
“I doubt it.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
They stood on the porch watching the stars. Finally
Father Peregrine pulled some money from his pocket and handed
it to the proprietor. “Come to think of it, you’d better give
me a new valise. My old one’s in pretty bad condition. . . .”
The End
Conclusion
It’s a very short story.
Do you really think that if you were living off in a far away nation, and war broke out on American soil, that you would leave and return to America?
I don’t.
I’m in China. America is thrashing and snarling. It is going bat-shit-crazy and the LAST thing that I want to do is return to that cesspool of greedy ignorant psychopathic monsters.
Never the less, this story was written at a different time, in a different place, and the values reflected in this story has long since disappeared from the world. It’s all gone like whispers and vapor.
This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. I like it because it reminds me of the treasures of being a kid in the 1960’s / 1970’s. There things that our communities and parents provided for us that are now seemingly absent in America today. But in those days were simply precious treasures. Ray Bradbury captures these ideas and images so well.
Time in Thy Flight
A wind blew the long years away past their hot faces.
The Time Machine stopped.
“Nineteen hundred and twenty-eight,” said Janet. The two boys looked past her.
Mr. Fields stirred. “Remember, you’re here to observe the behavior of these ancient people. Be inquisitive, be intelligent, observe.”
“Yes,” said the girl and the two boys in crisp khaki uniforms. They wore identical haircuts, had identical wristwatches, sandals, and coloring of hair, eyes, teeth, and skin, though they were not related.
“Shh!” said Mr. Fields.
They looked out at a little Illinois town in the spring of the year. A cool mist lay on the early morning streets.
Far down the street a small boy came running in the last light of the marble-cream moon. Somewhere a great clock struck 5 A.M. far away.
Leaving tennis-shoe prints softly in the quiet lawns, the boy stepped near the invisible Time Machine and cried up to a high dark house window.
The house window opened. Another boy crept down the roof to the ground. The two boys ran off with banana-filled mouths into the dark cold morning.
“Follow them,” whispered Mr. Fields. “Study their life patterns.
Quick!”
Janet and William and Robert ran on the cold pavements of spring, visible now, through the slumbering town, through a park. All about, lights flickered, doors clicked, and other children rushed alone or in gasping pairs down a hill to some gleaming blue tracks.
“Here it comes!” The children milled about before dawn. Far down the shining tracks a small light grew seconds later into steaming thunder.
“What is it?” screamed Janet.
“A train, silly, you’ve seen pictures of them!” shouted Robert.
And as the Time Children watched, from the train stepped gigantic gray elephants, steaming the pavements with their mighty waters, lifting question-mark nozzles to the cold morning sky. Cumbrous wagons rolled from the long freight flats, red and gold. Lions roared and paced in boxed darkness.
“Why— this must be a—circus!” Janet trembled.
“You think so? Whatever happened to them?”
“Like Christmas, I guess. Just vanished, long ago.”
Janet looked around. “Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it.”
The boys stood numbed. “It sure is.”
Men shouted in the first faint gleam of dawn. Sleeping cars drew up, dazed faces blinked out at the children. Horses clattered like a great fall of stones on the pavement.
Mr. Fields was suddenly behind the children. “Disgusting, barbaric, keeping animals in cages. If I’d known this was here, I’d never let you come see. This is a terrible ritual.”
“Oh, yes.” But Janet’s eyes were puzzled. “And yet, you know, it’s like a nest of maggots. I want to study it.”
“I don’t know,” said Robert, his eyes darting, his fingers trembling.
“It’s pretty crazy. We might try writing a thesis on it if Mr. Fields says it’s all right …”
Mr. Fields nodded. “I’m glad you’re digging in here, finding motives, studying this horror. All right—we’ll see the circus this afternoon.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Janet.
The Time Machine hummed.
“So that was a circus,” said Janet, solemnly.
The trombone circus died in their ears. The last thing they saw was candy-pink trapeze people whirling while baking powder clowns shrieked and bounded.
“You must admit psychovision’s better,” said Robert slowly.
“All those nasty animal smells, the excitement.” Janet blinked. “That’s bad for children, isn’t it? And those older people seated with the children.
Mothers, fathers, they called them. Oh, that was strange.”
Mr. Fields put some marks in his class grading book.
Janet shook her head numbly. “I want to see it all again. I’ve missed the motives somewhere. I want to make that run across town again in the early morning. The cold air on my face—the sidewalk under my feet—the circus train coming in. Was it the air and the early hour that made the children get up and run to see the train come in? I want to retrace the entire pattern.
Why should they be excited? I feel I’ve missed out on the answer.”
“They all smiled so much,” said William.
“Manic-depressives,” said Robert.
“What are summer vacations? I heard them talk about it.” Janet looked at Mr. Fields.
“They spent their summers racing about like idiots, beating each other up,” replied Mr. Fields seriously.
“I’ll take our State Engineered summers of work for children anytime,” said Robert, looking at nothing, his voice faint.
The Time Machine stopped again.
“The Fourth of July,” announced Mr. Fields. “Nineteen hundred and twenty-eight. An ancient holiday when people blew each other’s fingers off.”
They stood before the same house on the same street but on a soft summer evening. Fire wheels hissed, on front porches laughing children tossed things out that went bang!
“Don’t run!” cried Mr. Fields. “It’s not war, don’t be afraid!”
But Janet’s and Robert’s and William’s faces were pink, now blue, now white with fountains of soft fire.
“We’re all right,” said Janet, standing very still.
“Happily,” announced Mr. Fields, “they prohibited fireworks a century ago, did away with the whole messy explosion.”
Children did fairy dances, weaving their names and destinies on the dark summer air with white sparklers.
“I’d like to do that,” said Janet, softly. “Write my name on the air.
See? I’d like that.”
“What?” Mr. Fields hadn’t been listening.
“Nothing,” said Janet.
“Bang!” whispered William and Robert, standing under the soft summer trees, in shadow, watching, watching the red, white, and green fires on the beautiful summer night lawns. “Bang!”
October.
The Time Machine paused for the last time, an hour later in the month of burning leaves. People bustled into dim houses carrying pumpkins and corn shocks. Skeletons danced, bats flew, candles flamed, apples swung in empty doorways.
“Halloween,” said Mr. Fields. “The acme of horror. This was the age of superstition, you know. Later they banned the Grimm Brothers, ghosts, skeletons, and all that claptrap. You children, thank God, were raised in an antiseptic world of no shadows or ghosts. You had decent holidays like William C. Chatterton’s Birthday, Work Day, and Machine Day.”
They walked by the same house in the empty October night, peering in at the triangle-eyed pumpkins, the masks leering in black attics and damp cellars. Now, inside the house, some party children squatted telling stories, laughing!
“I want to be inside with them,” said Janet at last.
“Sociologically, of course,” said the boys.
“No,” she said.
“What?” asked Mr. Fields.
“No, I just want to be inside, I just want to stay here, I want to see it all and be here and never be anywhere else, I want firecrackers and pumpkins and circuses, I want Christmases and Valentines and Fourths, like we’ve seen.”
“This is getting out of hand …” Mr. Fields started to say.
But suddenly Janet was gone. “Robert, William, come on!” She ran.
The boys leaped after her.
“Hold on!” shouted Mr. Fields. “Robert! William, I’ve got you!” He seized the last boy, but the other escaped. “Janet, Robert—come back here!
You’ll never pass into the seventh grade!
You’ll fail, Janet, Bob— Bob! ”
An October wind blew wildly down the street, vanishing with the children off among moaning trees.
William twisted and kicked.
“No, not you, too, William, you’re coming home with me. We’ll teach those other two a lesson they won’t forget. So they want to stay in the past, do they?” Mr. Fields shouted so everyone could hear. “All right, Janet, Bob, stay in this horror, in this chaos! In a few weeks you’ll come sniveling back here to me. But I’ll be gone! I’m leaving you here to go mad in this world!”
He hurried William to the Time Machine. The boy was sobbing.
“Don’t make me come back here on any more Field Excursions ever again, please, Mr. Fields, please—”
“Shut up!”
Almost instantly the Time Machine whisked away toward the future, toward the underground hive cities, the metal buildings, the metal flowers, the metal lawns.
“Good-bye, Janet, Bob!”
A great cold October wind blew through the town like water. And when it had ceased blowing it had carried all the children, whether invited or uninvited, masked or unmasked, to the doors of houses which closed upon them. There was not a running child anywhere in the night. The wind whined away in the bare treetops.
And inside the big house, in the candlelight, someone was pouring cold apple cider all around, to everyone, no matter who they were.
The End
Conclusion
This story takes me back to a time when things were simpler and reminds me of how precious the moments were that we possessed. Don’t let the preciousness of the moments that you have today slip from your hands.
Whether it is the 1950’s or the 1990’s, or even today. Treasure what you have now. For it is all fleeting….
This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury.Three hundred years after his death, William Lantry awakes from his coffin. One thing is very clear to him – this sterile world without superstition, fear, or imagination must be destroyed. Ray Bradbury was one of the best-known writers of our time. He was a master storyteller, a champion of creative freedom, and a space-age visionary.
Pillar of Fire
I
He came out of the earth, hating. Hate was his father; hate was his mother.
It was good to walk again. It was good to leap up out of the earth, off of your back, and stretch your cramped arms violently and try to take a deep breath!
He tried. He cried out.
He couldn’t breathe. He flung his arms over his face and tried to breathe. It was impossible. He walked on the earth, he came out of the earth.
But he was dead. He couldn’t breathe. He could take air into his mouth and force it half down his throat, with withered moves of long-dormant muscles, wildly, wildly! And with this little air he could shout and cry! He wanted to have tears, but he couldn’t make them come, either. All he knew was that he was standing upright, he was dead, he shouldn’t be walking! He couldn’t breathe and yet he stood.
The smells of the world were all about him. Frustratedly, he tried to smell the smells of autumn. Autumn was burning the land down into ruin. All across the country the ruins of summer lay; vast forests bloomed with flame, tumbled down timber on empty, unleafed timber. The smoke of the burning was rich, blue, and invisible.
He stood in the graveyard, hating. He walked through the world and yet could not taste nor smell of it. He heard, yes. The wind roared on his newly opened ears. But he was dead. Even though he walked he knew he was dead and should expect not too much of himself or this hateful living world.
He touched the tombstone over his own empty grave. He knew his own name again. It was a good job of carving.
WILLIAM LANTRY
That’s what the gravestone said.
His fingers trembled on the cool stone surface.
BORN 1898—DIED 1933
Born again…?
What year? He glared at the sky and the midnight autumnal stars moving in slow illuminations across the windy black. He read the tiltings of centuries in those stars. Orion thus and so, Aurega here! and where Taurus?
There!
His eyes narrowed. His lips spelled out the year:
“2349.”
An odd number. Like a school sum. They used to say a man couldn’t encompass any number over a hundred. After that it was all so damned abstract there was no use counting. This was the year 2349! A numeral, a sum. And here he was, a man who had lain in his hateful dark coffin, hating to be buried, hating the living people above who lived and lived and lived, hating them for all the centuries, until today, now, born out of hatred, he stood by his own freshly excavated grave, the smell of raw earth in the air, perhaps, but he could not smell it!
“I,” he said, addressing a poplar tree that was shaken by the wind, “am an anachronism.” He smiled faintly.
He looked at the graveyard. It was cold and empty. All of the stones had been ripped up and piled like so many flat bricks, one atop another, in the far corner by the wrought iron fence. This had been going on for two endless weeks. In his deep secret coffin he had heard the heartless, wild stirring as the men jabbed the earth with cold spades and tore out the coffins and carried away the withered ancient bodies to be burned. Twisting with fear in his coffin, he had waited for them to come to him.
Today they had arrived at his coffin. But—late. They had dug down to within an inch of the lid. Five o’clock bell, time for quitting. Home to supper.
The workers had gone off. Tomorrow they would finish the job, they said, shrugging into their coats.
Silence had come to the emptied tombyard.
Carefully, quietly, with a soft rattling of sod, the coffin lid had lifted.
William Lantry stood trembling now, in the last cemetery on Earth.
“Remember?” he asked himself, looking at the raw earth. “Remember those stories of that last man on Earth? Those stories of men wandering in ruins, alone? Well, you, William Lantry, are a switch on the old story. Do you know that? You are the last dead man in the whole world!”
There were no more dead people. Nowhere in any land was there a dead person. Impossible! Lantry did not smile at this. No, not impossible at all in this foolish, sterile, unimaginative, antiseptic age of cleansings and scientific methods! People died, oh my God, yes. But— dead people?
Corpses? They didn’t exist!
What happened to dead people?
The graveyard was on a hill. William Lantry walked through the dark burning night until he reached the edge of the graveyard and looked down upon the new town of Salem. It was all illumination, all color. Rocket ships cut fire above it, crossing the sky to all the far ports of Earth.
In his grave the new violence of this future world had driven down and seeped into William Lantry. He had been bathed in it for years. He knew all about it, with a hating dead man’s knowledge of such things.
Most important of all, he knew what these fools did with dead men.
He lifted his eyes. In the center of the town a massive stone finger pointed at the stars. It was three hundred feet high and fifty feet across. There was a wide entrance and a drive in front of it.
In the town, theoretically, thought William Lantry, say you have a dying man. In a moment he will be dead. What happens? No sooner is his pulse cold when a certificate is flourished, made out, his relatives pack him into a car-beetle and drive him swiftly to—
The Incinerator!
That functional finger, that Pillar of Fire pointing at the stars.
Incinerator. A functional, terrible name. But truth is truth in this future world.
Like a stick of kindling your Mr. Dead Man is shot into the furnace.
Flume!
William Lantry looked at the top of the gigantic pistol shoving at the stars. A small pennant of smoke issued from the top.
There’s where your dead people go.
“Take care of yourself, William Lantry,” he murmured. “You’re the last one, the rare item, the last dead man. All the other graveyards of Earth have been blasted up. This is the last graveyard and you’re the last dead man from the centuries. These people don’t believe in having dead people about, much less walking dead people. Everything that can’t be used goes up like a matchstick. Superstitions right along with it!”
He looked at the town. All right, he thought, quietly, I hate you. You hate me, or you would if you knew I existed. You don’t believe in such things as vampires or ghosts. Labels without referents, you cry! You snort. All right, snort! Frankly, I don’t believe in you, either! I don’t like you! You and your Incinerators.
He trembled. How very close it had been. Day after day they had hauled out the other dead ones, burned them like so much kindling. An edict had been broadcast around the world. He had heard the digging men talk as they worked!
“I guess it’s a good idea, this cleaning up the graveyards,” said one of the men.
“Guess so,” said another. “Grisly custom. Can you imagine? Being buried, I mean! Unhealthy! All them germs!”
“Sort of a shame. Romantic, kind of. I mean, leaving just this one graveyard untouched all these centuries. The other graveyards were cleaned out, what year was it, Jim?”
“About 2260, I think. Yeah, that was it, 2260, almost a hundred years ago. But some Salem Committee, they got on their high horse and they said,
‘Look here, let’s have just one graveyard left, to remind us of the customs of the barbarians.’ And the government scratched its head, thunk it over, and said, ‘Okay. Salem it is. But all other graveyards go, you understand, all!’”
“And away they went,” said Jim.
“Sure, they sucked out ’em with fire and steam shovels and rocket-cleaners. If they knew a man was buried in a cow pasture, they fixed him!
Evacuated them, they did. Sort of cruel, I say.”
“I hate to sound old-fashioned,but still there were a lot of tourists came here every year, just to see what a real graveyard was like.”
“Right. We had nearly a million people in the last three years visiting.
A good revenue. But—a government order is an order. The government says no more morbidity, so flush her out we do! Here we go. Hand me that spade, Bill.”
William Lantry stood in the autumn wind, on the hill. It was good to walk again, to feel the wind and to hear the leaves scuttling like mice on the road ahead of him. It was good to see the bitter cold stars almost blown away by the wind.
It was even good to know fear again.
For fear rose in him now, and he could not put it away. The very fact that he was walking made him an enemy. And there was not another friend, another dead man, in all of the world, to whom one could turn for help or consolation. It was the whole melodramatic living world against one. William Lantry. It was the whole vampire-disbelieving, body-burning, graveyard-annihilating world against a man in a dark suit on a dark autumn hill. He put out his pale cold hands into the city illumination. You have pulled the tombstones, like teeth, from the yard, he thought. Now I will find some way to push your Incinerators down into rubble. I will make dead people again, and I will make friends in so doing. I cannot be alone and lonely. I must start manufacturing friends very soon. Tonight.
“War is declared,” he said, and laughed. It was pretty silly, one man declaring war on an entire world.
The world did not answer back. A rocket crossed the sky on a rush of flame, like an Incinerator taking wing.
Footsteps. Lantry hastened to the edge of the cemetery. The diggers, coming back to finish up their work? No. Just someone, a man, walking by.
As the man came abreast the cemetery gate, Lantry stepped swiftly out. “Good evening,” said the man, smiling.
Lantry struck the man in the face. The man fell. Lantry bent quietly down and hit the man a killing blow across the neck with the side of his hand.
Dragging the body back into shadow, he stripped it and changed clothes with it. It wouldn’t do for a fellow to go wandering about this future world with ancient clothing on. He found a small pocket knife in the man’s coat; not much of a knife, but enough if you knew how to handle it properly.
He knew how.
He rolled the body down into one of the already opened and exhumed graves. In a minute he had shoveled dirt down upon it, just enough to hide it.
There was little chance of it being found. They wouldn’t dig the same grave twice.
He adjusted himself in his new loose-fitting metallic suit. Fine, fine.
Hating. William Lantry walked down into town, to do battle with the Earth.
II
The Incinerator was open. It never closed. There was a wide entrance, all lighted up with hidden illumination, there was a helicopter landing table and a beetle drive. The town itself was dying down after another day of the dynamo. The lights were going dim, and the only quiet, lighted spot in the town now was the Incinerator. God, what a practical name, what an unromantic name.
William Lantry entered the wide, well-lighted door. It was an entrance, really; there were no doors to open or shut. People could go in and out, summer or winter, the inside was always warm. Warm from the fire that rushed whispering up the high round flue to where the whirlers, the propellors, the air jets pushed the leafy gray ashes on away for a ten-mile ride down the sky.
There was the warmth of the bakery here. The halls were floored with rubber parquet. You couldn’t make a noise if you wanted to. Music played in hidden throats somewhere. Not music of death at all, but music of life and the way the sun lived inside the Incinerator; or the sun’s brother, anyway. You could hear the flame floating inside the heavy brick wall.
William Lantry descended a ramp. Behind him he heard a whisper and turned in time to see a beetle stop before the entranceway. A bell rang. The music, as if at a signal, rose to ecstatic heights. There was joy in it.
From the beetle, which opened from the rear, some attendants stepped carrying a golden box. It was six feet long and there were sun symbols on it.
From another beetle the relatives of the man in the box stepped and followed as the attendants took the golden box down a ramp to a kind of altar. On the side of the altar were the words, “WE THAT WERE BORN OF THE SUN RETURN TO THE SUN.” The golden box was deposited upon the altar, the music leaped upward, the Guardian of this place spoke only a few words, then the attendants picked up the golden box, walked to a transparent wall, a safety lock, also transparent, and opened it. The box was shoved into the glass slot.
A moment later an inner lock opened, the box was injected into the interior of the flue, and vanished instantly in quick flame.
The attendants walked away. The relatives without a word turned and walked out. The music played.
William Lantry approached the glass fire lock. He peered through the wall at the vast, glowing never-ceasing heart of the Incinerator. It burned steadily, without a flicker, singing to itself peacefully. It was so solid it was like a golden river flowing up out of the earth toward the sky. Anything you put into the river was borne upward, vanished.
Lantry felt again his unreasoning hatred of this thing, this monster, cleansing fire.
A man stood at his elbow. “May I help you, sir?”
“What?” Lantry turned abruptly. “What did you say?”
“May I be of service?”
“I—that is—” Lantry looked quickly at the ramp and the door. His hands trembled at his sides. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“Never?” The Attendant was surprised.
That had been the wrong thing to say, Lantry realized. But it was said, nevertheless. “I mean,” he said. “Not really. I mean, when you’re a child, somehow, you don’t pay attention. I suddenly realized tonight that I didn’t really know the Incinerator.”
The Attendant smiled. “We never know anything, do we, really? I’ll be glad to show you around.”
“Oh, no. Never mind. It—it’s a wonderful place.”
“Yes, it is.” The Attendant took pride in it. “One of the finest in the world, I think.”
“I—” Lantry felt he must explain further. “I haven’t had many relatives die on me since I was a child. In fact, none. So, you see I haven’t been here for many years.”
“I see.” The Attendant’s face seemed to darken somewhat.
What’ve I said now, thought Lantry. What in God’s name is wrong?
What’ve I done? If I’m not careful I’ll get myself shoved right into that monstrous firetrap. What’s wrong with this fellow’s face? He seems to be giving me more than the usual going-over.
“You wouldn’t be one of the men who’ve just returned from Mars, would you?” asked the Attendant.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“No matter.” The Attendant began to walk off. “If you want to know anything, just ask me.”
“Just one thing,” said Lantry.
“What’s that?”
“This.”
Lantry dealt him a stunning blow across the neck.
He had watched the fire-trap operator with expert eyes. Now, with the sagging body in his arms, he touched the button that opened the warm outer lock, placed the body in, heard the music rise, and saw the inner lock open.
The body shot out into the river of fire. The music softened.
“Well done, Lantry, well done.”
Barely an instant later another Attendant entered the room. Lantry was caught with an expression of pleased excitement on his face. The Attendant looked around as if expecting to find someone, then he walked toward Lantry.
“May I help you?”
“Just looking,” said Lantry.
“Rather late at night,” said the Attendant.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
That was the wrong answer, too. Everybody slept in this world.
Nobody had insomnia. If you did you simply turned on a hypnoray, and, sixty seconds later, you were snoring. Oh, he was just full of wrong answers. First he had made the fatal error of saying he had never been in the Incinerator before, when he knew that all children were brought here on tours, every year, from the time they were four, to instill the idea of the clean fire death and the Incinerator in their minds. Death was a bright fire, death was warmth and the sun. It was not a dark, shadowed thing. That was important in their education.
And he, pale, thoughtless fool, had immediately gabbled out his ignorance.
And another thing, this paleness of his. He looked at his hands and realized with growing terror that a pale man also was nonexistent in this world. They would suspect his paleness. That was why the first attendant had asked, “Are you one of those men newly returned from Mars?” Here, now, this new Attendant was clean and bright as a copper penny, his cheeks red with health and energy. Lantry hid his pale hands in his pockets. But he was finally aware of the searching the Attendant did on his face.
“I mean to say,” said Lantry, “I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to think.”
“Was there a service held here a moment ago?” asked the Attendant, looking about.
“I don’t know, I just came in.”
“I thought I heard the fire lock open and shut.”
“I don’t know,” said Lantry.
The man pressed a wall button. “Anderson?”
A voice replied. “Yes.”
“Locate Saul for me, will you?”
“I’ll ring the corridors.” A pause. “Can’t find him.”
“Thanks.” The Attendant was puzzled. He was beginning to make little sniffing motions with his nose. “Do you— smell anything?”
Lantry sniffed. “No. Why?”
“I smell something.”
Lantry took hold of the knife in his pocket. He waited.
“I remember once when I was a kid,” said the man. “And we found a cow lying dead in the field. It had been there two days in the hot sun. That’s what this smell is. I wonder what it’s from?”
“Oh, I know what it is,” said Lantry quietly. He held out his hand.
“Here.”
“What?”
“Me, of course.”
“You?”
“Dead several hundred years.”
“You’re an odd joker.” The Attendant was puzzled.
“Very.” Lantry took out the knife. “Do you know what this is?”
“A knife.”
“Do you ever use knives on people any more?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean—killing them, with knives or guns or poison?”
“You are an odd joker!” The man giggled awkwardly.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Lantry.
“Nobody kills anybody,” said the man.
“Not any more they don’t. But they used to, in the old days.”
“I know they did.”
“This will be the first murder in three hundred years. I just killed your friend. I just shoved him into the fire lock.”
That remark had the desired effect. It numbed the man so completely, it shocked him so thoroughly with its illogical aspects that Lantry had time to walk forward. He put the knife against the man’s chest. “I’m going to kill you.”
“That’s silly,” said the man, numbly. “People don’t do that.”
“Like this,” said Lantry. “You see?”
The knife slid into the chest. The man stared at it for a moment.
Lantry caught the falling body.
III
The Salem flue exploded at six that morning. The great fire chimney shattered into ten thousand parts and flung itself into the earth and into the sky and into the houses of the sleeping people. There was fire and sound, more fire than autumn made burning in the hills.
William Lantry was five miles away at the time of the explosion. He saw the town ignited by the great spreading cremation of it. And he shook his head and laughed a little bit and clapped his hands smartly together.
Relatively simple. You walked around killing people who didn’t believe in murder, had only heard of it indirectly as some dim gone custom of the old barbarian races. You walked into the control room of the Incinerator and said, “How do you work this Incinerator?” and the control man told you, because everybody told the truth in this world of the future, nobody lied, there was no reason to lie, there was no danger to lie against. There was only one criminal in the world, and nobody knew HE existed yet.
Oh, it was an incredibly beautiful setup. The Control Man had told him just how the Incinerator worked, what pressure gauges controlled the flood of fire gases going up the flue, what levers were adjusted or readjusted.
He and Lantry had had quite a talk. It was an easy, free world. People trusted people. A moment later Lantry had shoved a knife in the Control Man also and set the pressure gauges for an overload to occur half an hour later, and walked out of the Incinerator halls, whistling.
Now even the sky was palled with the vast black cloud of the explosion.
“This is only the first,” said Lantry, looking at the sky. “I’ll tear all the others down before they even suspect there’s an unethical man loose in their society. They can’t account for a variable like me. I’m beyond their understanding. I’m incomprehensible, impossible, therefore I do not exist. My God, I can kill hundreds of thousands of them before they even realize murder is out in the world again. I can make it look like an accident each time. Why, the idea is so huge, it’s unbelievable!”
The fire burned the town. He sat under a tree for a long time, until morning. Then, he found a cave in the hills, and went in, to sleep.
He awoke at sunset with a sudden dream of fire. He saw himself pushed into the flue, cut into sections by flame, burned away to nothing. He sat up on the cave floor, laughing at himself. He had an idea.
He walked down into the town and stepped into an audio booth. He dialed OPERATOR. “Give me the Police Department,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” said the operator.
He tried again. “The Law Force,” he said.
“I will connect you with the Peace Control,” she said, at last.
A little fear began ticking inside him like a tiny watch. Suppose the operator recognized the term Police Department as an anachronism, took his audio number, and sent someone out to investigate? No, she wouldn’t do that.
Why should she suspect? Paranoids were nonexistent in this civilization.
“Yes, the Peace Control,” he said.
A buzz. A man’s voice answered. “Peace Control. Stephens speaking.”
“Give me the Homicide Detail,” said Lantry, smiling.
“The what? ”
“Who investigates murders?”
“I beg your pardon, what are you talking about?”
“Wrong number.” Lantry hung up, chuckling. Ye gods, there was no such a thing as a Homicide Detail. There were no murders, therefore they needed no detectives. Perfect, perfect!
The audio rang back. Lantry hesitated, then answered.
“Say,” said the voice on the phone. “Who are you?”
“The man just left who called,” said Lantry, and hung up again.
He ran. They would recognize his voice and perhaps send someone out to check. People didn’t lie. He had just lied. They knew his voice. He had lied. Anybody who lied needed a psychiatrist. They would come to pick him up to see why he was lying. For no other reason. They suspected him of nothing else. Therefore—he must run.
Oh, how very carefully he must act from now on. He knew nothing of this world, this odd straight truthful ethical world. Simply by looking pale you were suspect. Simply by not sleeping nights you were suspect. Simply by not bathing, by smelling like a—dead cow?—you were suspect. Anything.
He must go to a library. But that was dangerous, too. What were libraries like today? Did they have books or did they have film spools which projected books on a screen? Or did people have libraries at home, thus eliminating the necessity of keeping large main libraries?
He decided to chance it. His use of archaic terms might well make him suspect again, but now it was very important he learn all that could be learned of this foul world into which he had come again. He stopped a man on the street. “Which way to the library?”
The man was not surprised. “Two blocks east, one block north.”
“Thank you.”
Simple as that.
He walked into the library a few minutes later.
“May I help you?”
He looked at the librarian. May I help you, may I help you. What a world of helpful people! “I’d like to ‘have’ Edgar Allan Poe.” His verb was carefully chosen. He didn’t say ‘read.’ He was too afraid that books were passé, that printing itself was a lost art. Maybe all ‘books’ today were in the form of fully delineated three-dimensional motion pictures. How in blazes could you make a motion picture out of Socrates, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Freud?
“What was that name again?”
“Edgar Allan Poe.”
“There is no such author listed in our files.”
“Will you please check?”
She checked. “Oh, yes. There’s a red mark on the file card. He was one of the authors in the Great Burning of 2265.
“How ignorant of me.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “Have you heard much of him?”
“He had some interesting barbarian ideas on death,” said Lantry.
“Horrible ones,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Ghastly.”
“Yes. Ghastly. Abominable, in fact. Good thing he was burned.
Unclean. By the way, do you have any of Lovecraft?”
“Is that a sex book?”
Lantry exploded with laughter. “No, no. It’s a man.”
She riffled the file. “He was burned, too. Along with Poe.”
“I suppose that applies to Machen and a man named Derleth and one named Ambrose Bierce, also?”
“Yes.” She shut the file cabinet. “All burned. And good riddance.” She gave him an odd warm look of interest. “I bet you’ve just come back from Mars.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There was another explorer in here yesterday. He’d just made the Mars hop and return. He was interested in supernatural literature, also. It seems there are actually ‘tombs’ on Mars.”
“What are ‘tombs’?” Lantry was learning to keep his mouth closed.
“You know, those things they once buried people in.”
“Barbarian custom. Ghastly!”
“Isn’t it? Well, seeing the Martian tombs made this young explorer curious. He came and asked if we had any of those authors you mentioned. Of course we haven’t even a smitch of their stuff.” She looked at his pale face.
“You are one of the Martian rocket men, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Got back on the ship the other day.”
“The other young man’s name was Burke.”
“Of course. Burke! Good friend of mine!”
“Sorry I can’t help you. You’d best get yourself some vitamin shots and some sun lamps. You look terrible, Mr.—?”
“Lantry. I’ll be good. Thanks ever so much. See you next Hallows’
Eve!”
“Aren’t you the clever one.” She laughed. “If there were a Hallows’
Eve, I’d make it a date.”
“But they burned that, too,” he said.
“Oh, they burned everything,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night.” And he went on out.
Oh, how carefully he was balanced in this world! Like some kind of dark gyroscope, whirling with never a murmur, a very silent man. As he walked along the eight o’clock evening street he noticed with particular interest that there was not an unusual amount of lights about. There were the usual street lights at each corner, but the blocks themselves were only faintly illuminated. Could it be that these remarkable people were not afraid of the dark? Incredible nonsense! Every one was afraid of the dark. Even he himself had been afraid, as a child. It was as natural as eating.
A little boy ran by on pelting feet, followed by six others. They yelled and shouted and rolled on the dark cool October lawn, in the leaves. Lantry looked on for several minutes before addressing himself to one of the small boys who was for a moment taking a respite, gathering his breath into his small lungs, as a boy might blow to refill a punctured paper bag.
“Here, now,” said Lantry. “You’ll wear yourself out.”
“Sure,” said the boy.
“Could you tell me,” said the man, “why there are no street lights in the middle of the blocks?”
“Why?” asked the boy.
“I’m a teacher, I thought I’d test your knowledge,” said Lantry.
“Well,” said the boy, “you don’t need lights in the middle of the block, that’s why.”
“But it gets rather dark,” said Lantry.
“So?” said the boy.
“Aren’t you afraid?” asked Lantry.
“Of what?” asked the boy.
“The dark,” said Lantry.
“Ho ho,” said the boy. “Why should I be?”
“Well,” said Lantry. “It’s black, it’s dark. And after all, street lights were invented to take away the dark and take away fear.”
“That’s silly. Street lights were made so you could see where you were walking. Outside of that there’s nothing.”
“You miss the whole point—” said Lantry. “Do you mean to say you would sit in the middle of an empty lot all night and not be afraid?”
“Of what?”
“Of what, of what, of what, you little ninny! Of the dark!”
“Ho ho.”
“Would you go out in the hills and stay all night in the dark?”
“Sure.”
“Would you stay in a deserted house alone?”
“Sure.”
“And not be afraid?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a liar!”
“Don’t you call me nasty names!” shouted the boy. Liar was the improper noun, indeed. It seemed to be the worst thing you could call a person.
Lantry was completely furious with the little monster. “Look,” he insisted. “Look into my eyes …”
The boy looked.
Lantry bared his teeth slightly. He put out his hands, making a clawlike gesture. He leered and gesticulated and wrinkled his face into a terrible mask of horror.
“Ho ho,” said the boy. “You’re funny.”
“What did you say?”
“You’re funny. Do it again. Hey, gang, c’mere! This man does funny things!”
“Never mind.”
“Do it again, sir.”
“Never mind, never mind. Good night!” Lantry ran off.
“Good night, sir. And mind the dark, sir!” called the little boy.
Of all the stupidity, of all the rank, gross, crawling, jelly-mouthed stupidity! He had never seen the like of it in his life! Bringing the children up without so much as an ounce of imagination! Where was the fun in being children if you didn’t imagine things?
He stopped running. He slowed and for the first time began to appraise himself. He ran his hand over his face and bit his fingers and found that he himself was standing midway in the block and he felt uncomfortable. He moved up to the street corner where there was a glowing lantern. “That’s better,” he said, holding his hands out like a man to an open warm fire.
He listened. There was not a sound except the night breathing of the crickets. Finally there was a fire-hush as a rocket swept the sky. It was the sound a torch might make brandished gently on the dark air.
He listened to himself and for the first time he realized what there was so peculiar to himself. There was not a sound in him. The little nostril and lung noises were absent. His lungs did not take nor give oxygen or carbon dioxide; they did not move. The hairs in his nostrils did not quiver with warm combing air. That faint purling whisper of breathing did not sound in his nose.
Strange. Funny. A noise you never heard when you were alive, the breath that fed your body, and yet, once dead, oh how you missed it!
The only other time you ever heard it was on deep dreamless awake nights when you wakened and listened and heard first your nose taking and gently poking out the air, and then the dull deep dim red thunder of the blood in your temples, in your eardrums, in your throat, in your aching wrists, in your warm loins, in your chest. All of those little rhythms, gone. The wrist beat gone, the throat pulse gone, the chest vibration gone. The sound of the blood coming up down around and through, up down around and through.
Now it was like listening to a statue.
And yet he lived. Or, rather, moved about. And how was this done, over and above scientific explanations, theories, doubts?
By one thing, and one thing alone.
Hatred.
Hatred was a blood in him, it went up down around and through, up down around and through. It was a heart in him, not beating, true, but warm.
He was—what? Resentment. Envy. They said he could not lie any longer in his coffin in the cemetery. He had wanted to. He had never had any particular desire to get up and walk around. It had been enough, all these centuries, to lie in the deep box and feel but not feel the ticking of the million insect watches in the earth around, the moves of worms like so many deep thoughts in the soil.
But then they had come and said, “Out you go and into the furnace!”
And that is the worst thing you can say to any man. You cannot tell him what to do. If you say you are dead, he will want not to be dead. If you say there are no such things as vampires, by God, that man will try to be one just for spite. If you say a dead man cannot walk, he will test his limbs. If you say murder is no longer occurring, he will make it occur. He was, in toto, all the impossible things. They had given birth to him with their practices and ignorances. Oh, how wrong they were. They needed to be shown. He would show them! Sun is good, so is night, there is nothing wrong with dark, they said.
Dark is horror, he shouted, silently, facing the little houses. It is meant for contrast. You must fear, you hear! That has always been the way of this world. You destroyers of Edgar Allan Poe and fine big-worded Lovecraft, you burner of Halloween masks and destroyer of pumpkin jack-o-lanterns! I will make night what it once was, the thing against which man built all his lanterned cities and his many children!
As if in answer to this, a rocket, flying low, trailing a long rakish feather of flame. It made Lantry flinch and draw back.
IV
It was but ten miles to the little town of Science Port. He made it by dawn, walking. But even this was not good. At four in the morning a silver beetle pulled up on the road beside him.
“Hello,” called the man inside.
“Hello,” said Lantry, wearily.
“Why are you walking?” asked the man.
“I’m going to Science Port.”
“Why don’t you ride?”
“I like to walk.”
“Nobody likes to walk. Are you sick? May I give you a ride?”
“Thanks, but I like to walk.”
The man hesitated, then closed the beetle door. “Good night.”
When the beetle was gone over the hill, Lantry retreated into a nearby forest. A world full of bungling, helping people. By God, you couldn’t even walk without being accused of sickness. That meant only one thing. He must not walk any longer, he had to ride. He should have accepted that fellow’s offer.
The rest of the night he walked far enough off the highway so that if a beetle rushed by he had time to vanish in the underbrush. At dawn he crept into an empty dry water drain and closed his eyes.
The dream was as perfect as a rimed snowflake.
He saw the graveyard where he had lain deep and ripe over the centuries. He heard the early morning footsteps of the laborers returning to finish their work.
“Would you mind passing me the shovel, Jim?”
“Here you go.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!”
“What’s up?”
“Look here. We didn’t finish last night, did we?”
“No.”
There was one more coffin, wasn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here it is, and open!”
“You’ve got the wrong hole.”
“What’s the name say on the gravestone?”
“Lantry. William Lantry.”
“That’s him, that’s the one! Gone!”
“What could have happened to it?”
“How do I know. The body was here last night.”
“We can’t be sure, we didn’t look.”
“God man, people don’t bury empty coffins. He was in his box. Now he isn’t.”
“Maybe this box was empty.”
“Nonsense. Smell that smell? He was here all right.”
A pause.
“Nobody would have taken the body, would they?”
“What for?”
“A curiosity, perhaps.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. People just don’t steal. Nobody steals.”
“Well, then, there’s only one solution.”
“And?”
“He got up and walked away.”
A pause. In the dark dream, Lantry expected to hear laughter. There was none. Instead, the voice of the grave-digger, after a thoughtful pause, said, “Yes. That’s it, indeed. He got up and walked away.”
“That’s interesting to think about,” said the other.
“Isn’t it, though!”
Silence.
Lantry awoke. It had all been a dream, but, how realistic. How strangely the two men had carried on. But not unnaturally, oh, no. That was exactly how you expected men of the future to talk. Men of the future. Lantry grinned wryly. That was an anachronism for you. This was the future. This was happening now. It wasn’t three hundred years from now, it was now, not then, or any other time. This wasn’t the twentieth century. Oh, how calmly those two men in the dream had said, “He got up and walked away.” “—
interesting to think about.” “Isn’t it, though?” With never a quaver in their voices. With not so much as a glance over their shoulders or a tremble of spade in hand. But, of course, with their perfectly honest, logical minds, there was but one explanation; certainly nobody had stolen the corpse. “Nobody steals.” The corpse had simply got up and walked off. The corpse was the only one who could have possibly moved the corpse. By the few casual slow words of the gravediggers Lantry knew what they were thinking. Here was a man that had lain in suspended animation, not really dead, for hundreds of years. The jarring about, the activity, had brought him back.
Everyone had heard of those little green toads that are sealed for centuries inside mud rocks or in ice patties, alive, alive oh! And how when scientists chipped them out and warmed them like marbles in their hands the little toads leapt about and frisked and blinked. Then it was only logical that the gravediggers think of William Lantry in like fashion.
But what if the various parts were fitted together in the next day or so?
If the vanished body and the shattered, exploded Incinerator were connected?
What if this fellow named Burke, who had returned pale from Mars, went to the library again and said to the young woman he wanted some books and she said, “Oh, your friend Lantry was in the other day.” And he’d say, ‘Lantry who? Don’t know anyone by that name.’ And she’d say, “Oh, he lied.” And people in this time didn’t lie. So it would all form and coalesce, item by item, bit by bit. A pale man who was pale and shouldn’t be pale had lied and people don’t lie, and a walking man on a lonely country road had walked and people don’t walk any more, and a body was missing from a cemetery, and the Incinerator had blown up and and and—
They would come after him. They would find him. He would be easy to find. He walked. He lied. He was pale. They would find him and take him and stick him through the open fire lock of the nearest Burner and that would be your Mr. William Lantry, like a Fourth of July set-piece!
There was only one thing to be done efficiently and completely. He arose in violent moves. His lips were wide and his dark eyes were flared and there was a trembling and burning all through him. He must kill and kill and kill and kill and kill. He must make his enemies into friends, into people like himself who walked but shouldn’t walk, who were pale in a land of pinks. He must kill and then kill and then kill again. He must make bodies and dead people and corpses. He must destroy Incinerator after Flue after Burner after Incinerator. Explosion on explosion. Death on death. Then, when the Incinerators were all in thrown ruin, and the hastily established morgues were jammed with the bodies of people shattered by the explosion, then he would begin his making of friends, his enrollment of the dead in his own cause.
Before they traced and found and killed him, they must be killed themselves. So far he was safe. He could kill and they would not kill back.
People simply do not go around killing. That was his safety margin. He climbed out of the abandoned drain, stood in the road.
He took the knife from his pocket and hailed the next beetle.
It was like the Fourth of July! The biggest firecracker of them all. The Science Port Incinerator split down the middle and flew apart. It made a thousand small explosions that ended with a greater one. It fell upon the town and crushed houses and burned trees. It woke people from sleep and then put them to sleep again, forever, an instant later.
William Lantry, sitting in a beetle that was not his own, tuned idly to a station on the audio dial. The collapse of the Incinerator had killed some four hundred people. Many had been caught in flattened houses, others struck by flying metal. A temporary morgue was being set up at—
An address was given.
Lantry noted it with a pad and pencil.
He could go on this way, he thought, from town to town, from country to country, destroying the Burners, the Pillars of Fire, until the whole clean magnificent framework of flame and cauterization was tumbled. He made a fair estimate—each explosion averaged five hundred dead. You could work that up to a hundred thousand in no time.
He pressed the floor stud on the beetle. Smiling, he drove off through the dark streets of the city.
The city coroner had requisitioned an old warehouse. From midnight until four in the morning the gray beetles hissed down the rain-shiny streets, turned in, and the bodies were laid out on the cold concrete floors, with white sheets over them. It was a continuous flow until about four-thirty, then it stopped. There were about two hundred bodies there, white and cold.
The bodies were left alone; nobody stayed behind to tend them. There was no use tending the dead; it was a useless procedure; the dead could take care of themselves.
About five o’clock, with a touch of dawn in the east, the first trickle of relatives arrived to identify their sons or their fathers or their mothers or their uncles. The people moved quickly into the warehouse, made the identification, moved quickly out again. By six o’clock, with the sky still lighter in the east, this trickle had passed on, also.
William Lantry walked across the wide wet street and entered the warehouse.
He held a piece of blue chalk in one hand.
He walked by the coroner who stood in the entranceway talking to two others. “… drive the bodies to the Incinerator in Mellin Town, tomorrow …”
The voices faded.
Lantry moved, his feet echoing faintly on the cool concrete. A wave of sourceless relief came to him as he walked among the shrouded figures. He was among his own. And—better than that! He had created these! He had made them dead! He had procured for himself a vast number of recumbent friends!
Was the coroner watching? Lantry turned his head. No. The warehouse was calm and quiet and shadowed in the dark morning. The coroner was walking away now; across the street, with his two attendants; a beetle had drawn up on the other side of the street, and the coroner was going over to talk with whoever was in the beetle.
William Lantry stood and made a blue chalk pentagram on the floor by each of the bodies. He moved swiftly, swiftly, without a sound, without blinking. In a few minutes, glancing up now and then to see if the coroner was still busy, he had chalked the floor by a hundred bodies. He straightened up and put the chalk in his pocket.
Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time …
Lying in the earth, over the centuries, the processes and thoughts of passing peoples and passing times had seeped down to him, slowly, as into a deep-buried sponge. From some death-memory in him now, ironically, repeatedly, a black typewriter clacked out black even lines of pertinent words: Now is the time for all good men, for all good men, to come to the aid of—
William Lantry.
Other words—
Arise my love, and come away—
The quick brown fox jumped over … Paraphrase it. The quick risen body jumped over the tumbled Incinerator…
Lazarus, come forth from the tomb …
He knew the right words. He need only speak them as they had been spoken over the centuries. He need only gesture with his hands and speak the words, the dark words that would cause these bodies to quiver, rise and walk!
And when they had risen he would take them through the town, they would kill others, and the others would rise and walk. By the end of the day there would be thousands of good friends, walking with him. And what of the naïve, living people of this year, this day, this hour? They would be completely unprepared for it. They would go down to defeat because they would not be expecting war of any sort. They wouldn’t believe it possible, it would all be over before they could convince themselves that such an illogical thing could happen.
He lifted his hands. His lips moved. He said the words. He began in a chanting whisper and then raised his voice, louder. He said the words again and again. His eyes were closed tightly. His body swayed. He spoke faster and faster. He began to move forward among the bodies. The dark words flowed from his mouth. He was enchanted with his own formulae. He stooped and made further blue symbols on the concrete, in the fashion of long-dead sorcerers, smiling, confident. Any moment now the first tremor of the still bodies, any moment now the rising, the leaping up of the cold ones!
His hands lifted in the air. His head nodded. He spoke, he spoke, he spoke. He gestured. He talked loudly over the bodies, his eyes flaring, his body tensed. “Now!” he cried, violently. “Rise, all of you!”
Nothing happened.
“Rise!” he screamed, with a terrible torment in his voice.
The sheets lay in white blue-shadow folds over the silent bodies.
“Hear me, and act!” he shouted.
Far away, on the street, a beetle hissed along.
Again, again, again he shouted, pleaded. He got down by each body and asked of it his particular violent favor. No reply. He strode wildly between the even white rows, flinging his arms up, stooping again and again to make blue symbols!
Lantry was very pale. He licked his lips. “Come on, get up,” he said.
“They have, they always have, for a thousand years. When you make a mark
—so! and speak a word—so! they always rise! Why not now, why not you!
Come on, come on, before they come back!”
The warehouse went up into shadow. There were steel beams across and down. In it, under the roof, there was not a sound, except the raving of a lonely man.
Lantry stopped.
Through the wide doors of the warehouse he caught a glimpse of the last cold stars of morning.
This was the year 2349.
His eyes grew cold and his hands fell to his sides. He did not move.
Once upon a time people shuddered when they heard the wind about the house, once people raised crucifixes and wolfbane, and believed in walking dead and bats and loping white wolves. And as long as they believed, then so long did the dead, the bats, the loping wolves exist. The mind gave birth and reality to them.
But …
He looked at the white sheeted bodies.
These people did not believe.
They had never believed. They would never believe. They had never imagined that the dead might walk. The dead went up flues in flame. They had never heard superstition, never trembled or shuddered or doubted in the dark. Walking dead people could not exist, they were illogical. This was the year 2349, man, after all!
Therefore, these people could not rise, could not walk again. They were dead and flat and cold. Nothing, chalk, imprecation, superstition, could wind them up and set them walking. They were dead and knew they were dead!
He was alone.
There were live people in the world who moved and drove beetles and drank quiet drinks in little dimly illumined bars by country roads, and kissed women and talked much good talk all day and every day.
But he was not alive.
Friction gave him what little warmth he possessed.
There were two hundred dead people here in this warehouse now, cold upon the floor. The first dead people in a hundred years who were allowed to be corpses for an extra hour or more. The first not to be immediately trundled to the Incinerator and lit like so much phosphorus.
He should be happy with them, among them.
He was not.
They were completely dead. They did not know nor believe in walking once the heart had paused and stilled itself. They were deader than dead ever was.
He was indeed alone, more alone than any man had ever been. He felt the chill of his aloneness moving up into his chest, strangling him quietly.
William Lantry turned suddenly and gasped.
While he had stood there, someone had entered the warehouse. A tall man with white hair, wearing a light weight tan overcoat and no hat. How long the man had been nearby there was no telling.
There was no reason to stay here. Lantry turned and started to walk slowly out. He looked hastily at the man as he passed and the man with the white hair looked back at him, curiously. Had he heard? The imprecations, the pleadings, the shoutings? Did he suspect? Lantry slowed his walk. Had this man seen him make the blue chalk marks? But then, would he interpret them as symbols of an ancient superstition? Probably not.
Reaching the door, Lantry paused. For a moment he did not want to do anything but lie down and be coldly, really dead again and be carried silently down the street to some distant burning flue and there dispatched in ash and whispering fire. If he was indeed alone and there was no chance to collect an army to his cause, what, then, existed as a reason for going on? Killing? Yes, he’d kill a few thousand more. But that wasn’t enough. You can only do so much of that before they drag you down.
He looked at the cold sky.
A rocket went across the black heaven, trailing fire.
Mars burned red among a million stars.
Mars. The library. The librarian. Talk. Returning rocket men. Tombs.
Lantry almost gave a shout. He restrained his hand, which wanted so much to reach up into the sky and touch Mars. Lovely red star on the sky.
Good star that gave him sudden new hope. If he had a living heart now it would be thrashing wildly, and sweat would be breaking out of him and his pulses would be stammering, and tears would be in his eyes!
He would go down to wherever the rockets sprang up into space. He would go to Mars, one way or another. He would go to the Martian tombs.
There, there were bodies, he would bet his last hatred on it, that would rise and walk and work with him! Theirs was an ancientculture, much different from that of Earth, patterned on the Egyptian, if what the librarian had said was true. And the Egyptian—what a crucible of dark superstition and midnight terror that culture had been. Mars it was, then. Beautiful Mars!
But he must not attract attention to himself. He must move carefully.
He wanted to run, yes, to get away, but that would be the worst possible move he could make. The man with the white hair was glancing at Lantry from time to time, in the entranceway. There were too many people about. If anything happened he would be outnumbered. So far he had taken on only one man at a time.
Lantry forced himself to stop and stand on the steps before the warehouse. The man with the white hair came on onto the steps also and stood, looking at the sky. He looked as if he was going to speak at any moment. He fumbled in his pockets and took out a packet of cigarettes.
V
They stood outside the morgue together, the tall, pink, white-haired man, and Lantry, hands in their pockets. It was a cool night with a white shell of a moon that washed a house here, a road there, and farther on, parts of a river.
“Cigarette?” The man offered Lantry one.
“Thanks.”
They lit up together. The man glanced at Lantry’s mouth. “Cool night.”
“Cool.”
They shifted their feet. “Terrible accident.”
“Terrible.”
“So many dead.”
“So many.”
Lantry felt himself some sort of delicate weight upon a scale. The other man did not seem to be looking at him, but rather listening and feeling toward him. There was a feathery balance here that made for vast discomfort.
He wanted to move away and get out from under this balancing, weighing.
The tall white-haired man said, “My name’s McClure.”
“Did you have any friends inside?” asked Lantry.
“No. A casual acquaintance. Awful accident.”
“Awful.”
They balanced each other. A beetle hissed by on the road with its seventeen tires whirling quietly. The moon showed a little town farther over in the black hills.
“I say,” said the man McClure.
“Yes.”
“Could you answer me a question?”
“Be glad to.” He loosened the knife in his coat pocket, ready.
“Is your name Lantry?” asked the man at last.
“Yes.”
“William Lantry?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the man who came out of the Salem graveyard day before yesterday, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good Lord, I’m glad to meet you, Lantry! We’ve been trying to find you for the past twenty-four hours!”
The man seized his hand, pumped it, slapped him on the back.
“What, what?” said Lantry.
“Good Lord, man, why did you run off? Do you realize what an instance this is? We want to talk to you!”
McClure was smiling, glowing. Another handshake, another slap. “I thought it was you!”
The man is mad, thought Lantry. Absolutely mad. Here I’ve toppled his incinerators, killed people, and he’s shaking my hand. Mad, mad!
“Will you come along to the Hall?” said the man, taking his elbow.
“Wh-what hall?” Lantry stepped back.
“The Science Hall, of course. It isn’t every year we get a real case of suspended animation. In small animals, yes, but in a man, hardly! Will you come?”
“What’s the act!” demanded Lantry, glaring. “What’s all this talk.”
“My dear fellow, what do you mean?” the man was stunned.
“Never mind. Is that the only reason you want to see me?”
“What other reason would there be, Mr. Lantry? You don’t know how glad I am to see you!” He almost did a little dance. “I suspected. When we were in there together. You being so pale and all. And then the way you smoked your cigarette, something about it, and a lot of other things, all subliminal. But it is you, isn’t it, it is you!”
“It is I. William Lantry.” Dryly.
“Good fellow! Come along!”
The beetle moved swiftly through the dawn streets. McClure talked rapidly.
Lantry sat, listening, astounded. Here was this fool, McClure, playing his cards for him! Here was this stupid scientist, or whatever, accepting him not as a suspicious baggage, a murderous item. Oh no! Quite the contrary!
Only as a suspended animation case was he considered! Not as a dangerous man at all. Far from it!
“Of course,” cried McClure, grinning. “You didn’t know where to go, whom to turn to. It was all quite incredible to you.”
“Yes.”
“I had a feeling you’d be there at the morgue tonight,” said McClure, happily.
“Oh?” Lantry stiffened.
“Yes. Can’t explain it. But you, how shall I put it? Ancient Americans? You had funny ideas on death. And you were among the dead so long, I felt you’d be drawn back by the accident, by the morgue and all. It’s not very logical. Silly, in fact. It’s just a feeling. I hate feelings but there it was. I came on a, I guess you’d call it a hunch, wouldn’t you?”
“You might call it that.”
“And there you were!”
“There I was,” said Lantry.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’ve eaten.”
“How did you get around?”
“I hitchhiked.”
“You what? ”
“People gave me rides on the road.”
“Remarkable.”
“I imagine it sounds that way.” He looked at the passing houses. “So this is the era of space travel, is it?”
“Oh, we’ve been traveling to Mars for some forty years now.”
“Amazing. And those big funnels, those towers in the middle of every town?”
“Those. Haven’t you heard? The Incinerators. Oh, of course, they hadn’t anything of that sort in your time. Had some bad luck with them. An explosion in Salem and one here, all in a forty-eight-hour period. You looked as if you were going to speak; what is it?”
“I was thinking,” said Lantry. “How fortunate I got out of my coffin when I did. I might well have been thrown into one of your Incinerators and burned up.”
“Quite.”
Lantry toyed with the dials on the beetle dash. He wouldn’t go to Mars. His plans were changed. If this fool simply refused to recognize an act of violence when he stumbled upon it, then let him be a fool. If they didn’t connect the two explosions with a man from the tomb, all well and good. Let them go on deluding themselves. If they couldn’t imagine someone being mean and nasty and murderous, heaven help them. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. No, no Martian trip for you, as yet, Lantry lad. First, we’ll see what can be done boring from the inside. Plenty of time. The Incinerators can wait an extra week or so. One has to be subtle, you know. Any more immediate explosions might cause quite a ripple of thought.
McClure was gabbling wildly on.
“Of course, you don’t have to be examined immediately. You’ll want a rest. I’ll put you up at my place.”
“Thanks. I don’t feel up to being probed and pulled. Plenty of time in a week or so.”
They drew up before a house and climbed out.
“You want to sleep, naturally.”
“I’ve been asleep for centuries. Be glad to stay awake. I’m not a bit tired.”
“Good.” McClure let them into the house. He headed for the drink bar.
“A drink will fix us up.”
“You have one,” said Lantry. “Later for me. I just want to sit down.”
“By all means sit.” McClure mixed himself a drink. He looked around the room, looked at Lantry, paused for a moment with the drink in his hand, tilted his head to one side, and put his tongue in his cheek. Then he shrugged and stirred the drink. He walked slowly to a chair and sat, sipping the drink quietly. He seemed to be listening for something. “There are cigarettes on the table,” he said.
“Thanks.” Lantry took one and lit it and smoked it. He did not speak for some time.
Lantry thought, I’m taking this all too easily. Maybe I should kill and run. He’s the only one that has found me, yet. Perhaps this is all a trap.
Perhaps we’re simply sitting here waiting for the police. Or whatever in blazes they use for police these days. He looked at McClure. No. They weren’t waiting for police. They were waiting for something else.
McClure didn’t speak. He looked at Lantry’s face and he looked at Lantry’s hands. He looked at Lantry’s chest a long time, with easy quietness.
He sipped his drink. He looked at Lantry’s feet.
Finally he said, “Where’d you get the clothing?”
“I asked someone for clothes and they gave these things to me. Darned nice of them.”
“You’ll find that’s how we are in this world. All you have to do is ask.”
McClure shut up again. His eyes moved. Only his eyes and nothing else. Once or twice he lifted his drink.
A little clock ticked somewhere in the distance.
“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Lantry.”
“Nothing much to tell.”
“You’re modest.”
“Hardly. You know about the past. I know nothing of the future, or I should say ‘today’ and day before yesterday. You don’t learn much in a coffin.”
McClure did not speak. He suddenly sat forward in his chair and then leaned back and shook his head.
They’ll never suspect me, thought Lantry. They aren’t superstitious, they simply can’t believe in a dead man walking. Therefore, I’ll be safe. I’ll keep putting off the physical checkup. They’re polite. They won’t force me.
Then, I’ll work it so I can get to Mars. After that, the tombs, in my own good time, and the plan. God, how simple. How naïve these people are.
McClure sat across the room for five minutes. A coldness had come over him. The color was very slowly going from his face, as one sees the color of medicine vanishing as one presses the bulb at the top of a dropper. He leaned forward, saying nothing, and offered another cigarette to Lantry.
“Thanks.” Lantry took it. McClure sat deeply back into his easy chair, his knees folded one over the other. He did not look at Lantry, and yet somehow did. The feeling of weighing and balancing returned. McClure was like a tall thin master of hounds listening for something that nobody else could hear. There are little silver whistles you can blow that only dogs can hear. McClure seemed to be listening acutely, sensitively for such an invisible whistle, listening with his eyes and with his half-opened, dry mouth, and with his aching, breathing nostrils.
Lantry sucked the cigarette, sucked the cigarette, sucked the cigarette, and, as many times, blew out, blew out, blew out. McClure was like some lean red-shagged hound listening and listening with a slick slide of eyes to one side, with an apprehension in that hand that was so precisely microscopic that one only sensed it, as one sensed the invisible whistle, with some part of the brain deeper than eyes or nostril or ear.
The room was so quiet the cigarette smoke made some kind of invisible noise rising to the ceiling. McClure was a thermometer, a chemist’s scales, a listening hound, a litmus paper, an antennae; all these. Lantry did not move. Perhaps the feeling would pass. It had passed before. McClure did not move for a long while and then, without a word, he nodded at the sherry decanter, and Lantry refused as silently. They sat looking but not looking at each other, again and away, again and away.
McClure stiffened slowly. Lantry saw the color getting paler in those lean cheeks, and the hand tightening on the sherry glass, and a knowledge come at last to stay, never to go away, into the eyes.
Lantry did not move. He could not. All of this was of such a fascination that he wanted only to see, to hear what would happen next. It was McClure’s show from here on in.
McClure said, “At first I thought it was the first psychosis I have ever seen. You, I mean. I thought, he’s convinced himself, Lantry’s convinced himself, he’s quite insane, he’s told himself to do all these little things.”
McClure talked as if in a dream, and continued talking and didn’t stop.
“I said to myself, he purposely doesn’t breathe through his nose. I watched your nostrils, Lantry. The little nostril hairs never once quivered in the last hour. That wasn’t enough. It was a fact I filed. It wasn’t enough. He breathes through his mouth, I said, on purpose. And then I gave you a cigarette and you sucked and blew, sucked and blew. None of it ever came out your nose. I told myself, well, that’s all right. He doesn’t inhale. Is that terrible, is that suspect? All in the mouth, all in the mouth. And then, I looked at your chest. I watched. It never moved up or down, it did nothing. He’s convinced himself, I said to myself. He’s convinced himself about all this. He doesn’t move his chest, except slowly, when he thinks you’re not looking.
That’s what I told myself.”
The words went on in the silent room, not pausing, still in a dream.
“And then I offered you a drink but you don’t drink and I thought, he doesn’t drink, I thought. Is that terrible? And I watched and watched you all this time.
Lantry holds his breath, he’s fooling himself. But now, yes, now, I understand it quite well. Now I know everything the way it is. Do you know how I know?
I do not hear breathing in the room. I wait and I hear nothing. There is no beat of heart or intake of lung. The room is so silent. Nonsense, one might say, but I know. At the Incinerator I know. There is a difference. You enter a room where a man is on a bed and you know immediately whether he will look up and speak to you or whether he will not speak to you ever again. Laugh if you will, but one can tell. It is a subliminal thing. It is the whistle the dog hears when no human hears. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.”
McClure shut his eyes a moment. He put down his sherry glass. He waited a moment. He took up his cigarette and puffed it and then put it down in a black tray.
“I am alone in this room,” he said.
Lantry did not move.
“You are dead,” said McClure. “My mind does not know this. It is not a thinking thing. It is a thing of the senses and the subconscious. At first I thought, this man thinks he is dead, risen from the dead, a vampire. Is that not logical? Would not any man, buried as many centuries, raised in a superstitious, ignorant culture, think likewise of himself once risen from the tomb? Yes, that is logical. This man has hypnotized himself and fitted his bodily functions so that they would in no way interfere with his self-delusion, his great paranoia. He governs his breathing. He tells himself, I cannot hear my breathing, therefore I am dead. His inner mind censors the sound of breathing. He does not allow himself to eat or drink. These things he probably does in his sleep, with part of his mind, hiding the evidences of this humanity from his deluded mind at other times.”
McClure finished it. “I was wrong. You are not insane. You are not deluding yourself. Nor me. This is all very illogical and—I must admit—
almost frightening. Does that make you feel good, to think you frighten me? I have no label for you. You’re a very odd man, Lantry. I’m glad to have met you. This will make an interesting report indeed.”
“Is there anything wrong with me being dead?” said Lantry. “Is it a crime?”
“You must admit it’s highly unusual.”
“But, still now, is it a crime?” asked Lantry.
“We have no crime, no criminal court. We want to examine you, naturally, to find out how you have happened. It is like that chemical which, one minute is inert, the next is living cell. Who can say where what happened to what. You are that impossibility. It is enough to drive a man quite insane.”
“Will I be released when you are done fingering me?”
“You will not be held. If you don’t wish to be examined, you will not be. But I am hoping you will help by offering us your services.”
“I might,” said Lantry.
“But tell me,” said McClure. “What were you doing at the morgue?”
“Nothing.”
“I heard you talking when I came in.”
“I was merely curious.”
“You’re lying. That is very bad, Mr. Lantry. The truth is far better. The truth is, is it not, that you are dead and, being the only one of your sort, were lonely. Therefore you killed people to have company.”
“How does that follow?”
McClure laughed. “Logic, my dear fellow. Once I knew you were really dead, a moment ago, really a—what do you call it—a vampire (silly word!) I tied you immediately to the Incinerator blasts. Before that there was no reason to connect you. But once the one piece fell into place, the fact that you were dead, then it was simple to guess your loneliness, your hate, your envy, all of the tawdry motivations of a walking corpse. It took only an instant then to see the Incinerators blown to blazes, and then to think of you, among the bodies at the morgue, seeking help, seeking friends and people like yourself to work with—”
“Blast you!” Lantry was out of the chair. He was halfway to the other man when McClure rolled over and scuttled away, flinging the sherry decanter. With a great despair Lantry realized that, like an idiot, he had thrown away his one chance to kill McClure. He should have done it earlier. It had been Lantry’s one weapon, his safety margin. If people in a society never killed each other, they never suspected one another. You could walk up to any one of them and kill him.
“Come back here!” Lantry threw the knife.
McClure got behind a chair. The idea of flight, of protection, of fighting, was still new to him. He had part of the idea, but there was still a bit of luck on Lantry’s side if Lantry wanted to use it.
“Oh, no,” said McClure, holding the chair between himself and the advancing man. “You want to kill me. It’s odd, but true. I can’t understand it.
You want to cut me with that knife or something like that, and it’s up to me to prevent you from doing such an odd thing.”
“I will kill you!” Lantry let it slip out. He cursed himself. That was the worst possible thing to say.
Lantry lunged across the chair, clutching at McClure.
McClure was very logical. “It won’t do you any good to kill me. You know that.” They wrestled and held each other in a wild, toppling shuffle.
Tables fell over, scattering articles. “You remember what happened in the morgue?”
“I don’t care!” screamed Lantry.
“You didn’t raise those dead, did you?”
“I don’t care!” cried Lantry.
“Look here,” said McClure, reasonably. “There will never be any more like you, ever, there’s no use.”
“Then I’ll destroy all of you, all of you!” screamed Lantry.
“And then what? You’ll still be alone, with no more like you about.”
“I’ll go to Mars. They have tombs there. I’ll find more like myself!”
“No,” said McClure. “The executive order went through yesterday. All of the tombs are being deprived of their bodies. They’ll be burned in the next week.”
They fell together to the floor. Lantry got his hands on McClure’s throat.
“Please,” said McClure. “Do you see, you’ll die.”
“What do you mean?” cried Lantry.
“Once you kill all of us, and you’re alone, you’ll die! The hate will die. That hate is what moved you, nothing else! That envy moves you.
Nothing else! You’ll die, inevitably. You’re not immortal. You’re not even alive, you’re nothing but a moving hate.”
“I don’t care!” screamed Lantry, and began choking the man, beating his head with his fists, crouched on the defenseless body. McClure looked up at him with dying eyes.
The front door opened. Two men came in.
“I say,” said one of them. “What’s going on? A new game?”
Lantry jumped back and began to run.
“Yes, a new game!” said McClure, struggling up. “Catch him and you win!”
The two men caught Lantry. “We win,” they said.
“Let me go!” Lantry thrashed, hitting them across their faces, bringing blood.
“Hold him tight!” cried McClure.
They held him.
“A rough game, what?” one of them said. “What do we do now? ”
The beetle hissed along the shining road. Rain fell out of the sky and a wind ripped at the dark green wet trees. In the beetle, his hands on the half-wheel, McClure was talking. His voice was susurrant, a whispering, a hypnotic thing. The two other men sat in the back seat. Lantry sat, or rather lay, in the front seat, his head back, his eyes faintly open, the glowing green light of the dash dials showing on his cheeks. His mouth was relaxed. He did not speak.
McClure talked quietly and logically, about life and moving, about death and not moving, about the sun and the great sun Incinerator, about the emptied tombyard, about hatred and how hate lived and made a clay man live and move, and how illogical it all was, it all was, it all was. One was dead, was dead, was dead, that was all, all, all. One did not try to be otherwise. The car whispered on the moving road. The rain spattered gently on the windshield. The men in the back seat conversed quietly. Where were they going, going? To the Incinerator, of course. Cigarette smoke moved slowly up on the air, curling and tying into itself in gray loops and spirals. One was dead and must accept it.
Lantry did not move. He was a marionette, the strings cut. There was only a tiny hatred in his heart, in his eyes, like twin coals, feeble, glowing, fading.
I am Poe, he thought. I am all that is left of Edgar Allan Poe, and I am all that is left of Ambrose Bierce and all that is left of a man named Lovecraft.
I am a gray night bat with sharp teeth, and I am a square black monolith monster. I am Osiris and Bal and Set. I am the Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. I am the house of Usher, falling into flame. I am the Red Death. I am the man mortared into the catacomb with a cask of Amontillado … I am a dancing skeleton. I am a coffin, a shroud, a lightning bolt reflected in an old house window. I am an autumn-empty tree, I am a rapping, flinging shutter. I am a yellowed volume turned by a claw hand. I am an organ played in an attic at midnight. I am a mask, a skull mask behind an oak tree on the last day of October. I am a poison apple bobbling in a water tub for child noses to bump at, for child teeth to snap … I am a black candle lighted before an inverted cross. I am a coffin lid, a sheet with eyes, a foot-step on a black stairwell. I am Dunsany and Machen and I am the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I am The Monkey’s Paw and I am The Phantom Rickshaw. I am the Cat and the Canary, the Gorilla, the Bat. I am the ghost of Hamlet’s father on the castle wall.
All of these things am I. And now these last things will be burned.
While I lived they still lived. While I moved and hated and existed, they still existed. I am all that remembers them. I am all of them that still goes on, and will not go on after tonight. Tonight, all of us, Poe and Bierce and Hamlet’s father, we burn together. They will make a big heap of us and burn us like a bonfire, like things of Guy Fawkes’ day, gasoline, torches, cries, and all!
And what a wailing will we put up. The world will be clean of us, but in our going we shall say, oh what is the world like, clean of fear, where is the dark imagination from the dark time, the thrill and the anticipation, the suspense of old October, gone, never more to come again, flattened and smashed and burned by the rocket people, by the Incinerator people, destroyed and obliterated, to be replaced by doors that open and close and lights that go on and off without fear. If only you could remember how once we lived, what Halloween was to us, and what Poe was, and how we gloried in the dark morbidities. One more drink, dear friends, of Amontillado, before the burning. All of this, all, exists but in one last brain on earth. A whole world dying tonight. One more drink, pray.
“Here we are,” said McClure.
The Incinerator was brightly lighted. There was quiet music nearby.
McClure got out of the beetle, came around to the other side. He opened the door. Lantry simply lay there. The talking and the logical talking had slowly drained him of life. He was no more than wax now, with a small glow in his eyes. This future world, how the men talked to you, how logically they reasoned away your life. They wouldn’t believe in him. The force of their disbelief froze him. He could not move his arms or his legs. He could only mumble senselessly, coldly, eyes flickering.
McClure and the two others helped him out of the car, put him in a golden box, and rolled him on a roller table into the warm glowing interior of the building.
I am Edgar Allan Poe, I am Ambrose Bierce, I am Halloween, I am a coffin, a shroud, a Monkey’s Paw, a Phantom, a Vampire …
“Yes, yes,” said McClure, quietly, over him. “I know. I know.”
The table glided. The walls swung over him and by him, the music played. You are dead, you are logically dead.
I am Usher, I am the Maelstrom, I am the MS Found In A Bottle, I am the Pit and I am the Pendulum, I am the Telltale Heart, I am the Raven nevermore, nevermore.
“Yes,” said McClure, as they walked softly. “I know.”
“I am in the catacomb,” cried Lantry.
“Yes, the catacomb,” said the walking man over him.
“I am being chained to a wall, and there is no bottle of Amontillado here!” cried Lantry weakly, eyes closed.
“Yes,” someone said.
There was movement. The flame door opened.
“Now someone is mortaring up the cell, closing me in!”
“Yes, I know.” A whisper.
The golden box slid into the flame lock.
“I’m being walled in! A very good joke indeed! Let us be gone!” A wild scream and much laughter.
“We know, we understand …”
The inner flame lock opened. The golden coffin shot forth into flame.
“For the love of God, Montresor! For the love of God !”
The End
Conclusion
It’s a nice little story to read. A bit on the horrific side, but a good read never the less. I hope that you all enjoyed it.
This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. I dedicate it to the many, many MM readers that tell me that they have changed by visiting this site, and that they are all the better for it. They tell me stories, and adventures, and just amazing events that confirm that everyone is on the right track. This story is about a man who changes.
Chrysalis.
This story is dedicated to youse guys. It’s my way of telling you that I recognize what you are tying to ell me, and that I am so gladdened by your stories. It’s just a fictional story, and you all, well, you all are the “real deal”. But Ray Bradbury has such a way with the words, and he conjures up such imagery, that I think that this is a treasure.
A treasure that is worthy for you all.
Chrysalis
Rockwell didn’t like the room’s smell. Not so much McGuke’s odor of beer, or Hartley’s unwashed, tired smell—-but the sharp insect tang rising from Smith’s cold green-skinned body lying stiffly naked on the table. There was also a smell of oil and grease from the nameless machinery gleaming in one comer of the small room.
The man Smith was a corpse. Irritated, Rockwell rose from his chair and packed his stethoscope. “I must get back to the hospital. War rush. You understand, Hartley. Smith’s been dead eight hours. If you want further information call a post-mortem—”
He stopped as Hartley raised a trembling, bony hand. Hartley gestured at the corpse—this corpse with brittle hard green shell grown solid over every inch of flesh. “Use your stethoscope again, Rockwell. Just once more. Please.”
Rockwell wanted to complain, but instead he sighed, sat down, and used the stethoscope. You have to treat fellow doctors politely. You press your stethoscope into cold green flesh, pretending to listen—
The small, dimly lit room exploded around him. Exploded in one green cold pulsing. It hit Rockwell’s ears like fists. It hit him. He saw his own fingers jerk over the recumbent corpse.
He heard a pulse.
Deep in the dark body the heart beat once. It sounded like an echo in fathoms of sea water.
Smith was dead, unbreathing, mummified. But at the core of that deadness—his heart lived. Lived, stirring like a small unborn baby!
Rockwell’s crisp surgeon’s fingers darted rapidly. He bent his head. In the light it was dark-haired, with flecks of gray in it. He had an even, level, nice-looking face. About thirty-five. He listened again and again, with sweat coming cold on his smooth cheeks. The pulse was not to be believed.
One heartbeat every thirty-five seconds.
Smith’s respiration—how could you believe that, too one breath of air every four minutes. Lungcase movement imperceptible.
Body temperature?
Sixty degrees.
Hartley laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. More like an echo that had gotten lost. “He’s alive,” he said tiredly. “Yes, he is. He almost fooled me many times. I injected adrenalin to speed that pulse, but it was no use. He’s been this way for twelve weeks. And I couldn’t stand keeping him a secret any longer. That’s why I phoned you, Rockwell. He’s—unnatural.
The impossibility of it overwhelmed Rockwell with an inexplicable excitement. He tried to lift Smiths’ eyelids. He couldn’t. They were webbed with epidermis. So were the lips. So were the nostrils. There was no way for Smith to breathe—
“Yet, he’s breathing.” Rockwell’s voice was numb. He dropped his stethoscope blankly, picked it up, and saw his fingers shaking.
Hartley grew tall, emaciated, nervous over the table. “Smith didn’t like my calling you. I called anyway. Smith warned me not to. Just an hour ago.”
Rockell’s eyes dilated into hot black circles. “How could he warn you? He can’t move.”
Hartley’s face, all razor-sharp bone, hard jaw, tight squinting gray eyes, twitched nervously. Smith— thinks. I know his thoughts. He’s afraid you’ll expose him to the world. He hates me. Why? I want to kill him, that’s why. Here.” Hardey fumbled blindly for a blue-steel revolver in his rumpled, stained coat. “Murphy. Take this. Take it before I use it on Smith’s foul body!”
Murphy pulled back, his thick red face afraid. “Don’t like guns. You take it, Rockwell.”
Like a scalpel, Rockwell made his voice slash. “Put the gun away, Hartley. After three months tending one patient you’ve got a psychological blemish. Sleep’ll help that.” He licked his lips. “What sort of disease has Smith got?”
Hartley swayed. His mouth moved words out slowly. Falling asleep on his feet, Rockwell realized. “Not diseased,” Hartley managed to say. “Don’t know what. But I resent him, like a kid resents the birth of a new brother or sister. He’s wrong. Help me. Help me, will you?”
“Of course.” Rockwell smiled. “My desert sanitarium’s the place to check him over, good. Why—why Smith’s the most incredible medical phenomenon in history. Bodies just don’t act this way!”
He got no further. Hartley had his gun pointed right at Rockwell’s stomach. “Wait. Wait. You—you’re not going to bury Smith! I thought you’d help me. Smith’s not healthy. I want him killed! He’s dangerous! I know he is!”
Rockwell blinked. Hartley was obviously psychoneurotic. Didn’t know what he was saying. Rockwell straightened his shoulders, feeling cool and calm inside. “Shoot Smith and I’ll turn you in for murder. You’re overworked mentally and physically. Put the gun away.”
They stared at one another.
Rockwell walked forward quietly and took the gun, patted Hartley understandingly on the shoulder, and gave the weapon to Murphy, who looked at it as if it would bite him. “Call the hospital. Murphy. I’m taking a week off. Maybe longer. Tell them I’m doing research at the sanitarium.”
A scowl formed in the red fat flesh of Murphy’s face. “What do I do with this gun?”
Hartley shut his teeth together, hard. “Keep it. You’ll want to use it—
later.”
Rockwell wanted to shout it to the world that he was sole possessor of the most incredible human in history. The sun was bright in the desert sanitarium room where
Smith lay, not saying a word, on his table; his handsome face frozen into a green, passionless expression.
Rockwell walked into the room quietly. He used the stethoscope on the green chest. It scraped, making the noise of metal tapping a beetle’s carapace.
McGuire stood by, eyeing the body dubiously, smelling of several recently acquired beers.
Rockwell listened intently. “The ambulance ride may have jolted him.
No use taking a chance—”
Rockwell cried out.
Heavily, McGuire lumbered to his side. ‘What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Rockwell stared about in desperation. He made one hand into a fist. “Smith’s dying!”
“How do you know? Hartley said Smith plays possum. He’s fooled you again—”
“No!” Rockwell worked furiously over the body, injecting drugs. Any drugs. Swearing at the top of his voice. After all this trouble, he couldn’t lose Smith. No, not now.
Shaking, jarring, twisting deep down inside, going completely liquidly mad. Smith’s body sounded like dim volcanic tides bursting.
Rockwell fought to remain calm. Smith was a case unto himself.
Normal treatment did nothing for him. What then? What?
Rockwell stared. Sunlight gleamed on Smith’s hard flesh. Hot sunlight. It flashed, glinting off the stethoscope tip. The sun. As he watched, clouds shifted across the sky outside, taking the sun away. The room darkened. Smith’s body shook into silence. The volcanic tides died.
“McGuire! Pull the blinds! Before the sun comes back!”
McGuire obeyed.
Smith’s heart slowed down to its sluggish, infrequent breathing.
“Sunlight’s bad for Smith. It counteracts something. I don’t know what or why, but it’s not good—” Rockwell relaxed. “Lord, I wouldn’t want to lose Smith. Not for anything. He’s different, making his own standards, doing things men have never done. Know something, Murphy?”
“What?”
“Smith’s not in agony. He’s not dying either. He wouldn’t be better off dead, no matter what Hartley says. Last night as I arranged Smith on the stretcher, readying him for his trip to this sanitarium, I realized, suddenly, that Smith likes me.”
“Gah. First Hartley. Now you. Did Smith tell you that?”
“He didn’t tell me. But he’s not unconscious under all that hard skin.
He’s aware. Yes, that’s it. He’s aware.”
“Pure and simply—he’s petrifying. He’ll die. It’s been weeks since he was fed. Hartley said so. Hartley fed him intravenously until the skin toughened so a needle couldn’t poke through it.”
Whining, the cubicle door swung slowly open. Rockwell started.
Hartley, his sharp face relaxed after hours of sleep, his eyes still a bitter gray, hostile, stood tall in the door. “If you’ll leave the room,” he said, quietly, “I’ll destroy Smith in a very few seconds. Well?”
“Don’t come a step closer.” Rockwell walked, feeling irritation, to Hartley’s side. “Every time you visit, you’ll have to be searched. Frankly, I don’t trust you.” There were no weapons. “Why didn’t you tell me about the sunlight?”
“Eh?” Soft and slow Hartley said it. “Oh—yes. I forgot. I tried shifting Smith weeks ago. Sunlight struck him and he began really dying.
Naturally, I stopped trying to move him. Smith seemed to know what was coming, vaguely. Perhaps he planned it; I’m not sure. While he was still able to talk and eat ravenously, before his body stiffened completely, he warned me not to move him for a twelve-week period. Said he didn’t like the sun.
Said it would spoil things. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He ate like an animal, a hungry, wild animal, fell into a coma, and here he is—” Hartley swore under his breath. “I’d rather hoped you’d leave him in the sun long enough to kill him inadvertently.”
McGuire shifted his two hundred fifty pounds. “Look here, now.
What if we catch Smith’s disease?”
Hartley looked at the body, his pupils shrinking. “Smith’s not diseased. Don’t you recognize degeneration when you see it? It’s like cancer.
You don’t catch it, you inherit a tendency. I didn’t begin to fear and hate Smith until a week ago when I discovered he was breathing and existing and thriving with his nostrils and mouth sealed. It can’t happen. It mustn’t happen.”
McGuire’s voice trembled. “What if you and I and Rockwell all turn green and a plague sweeps the country—what then?”
“Then,” replied Rockwell, “if I’m wrong, perhaps I am, I’ll die. But it doesn’t worry me in the least.”
He turned back to Smith and went on with his work.
A bell. A bell. Two bells, two bells. A dozen bells, a hundred bells.
Ten thousand and a million clangorous, hammering metal dinning bells. All born at once in the silence, squalling, screaming, hurting echoes, bruising ears!
Ringing, chanting with loud and soft, tenor and bass, low and high voices. Great-armed clappers knocking the shells and ripping air with the thrusting din of sound!
With all those bells ringing, Smith could not immediately know where he was. He knew that he could not see, because his eyelids were sealed tight, knew he could not speak because his lips had grown together. His ears were clamped shut, but the bells hammered nevertheless.
He could not see. But yes, yes, he could, and it was like inside a small dark red cavern, as if his eyes were turned inward upon his skull. And Smith tried to twist his tongue, and suddenly, trying to scream, he knew his tongue was gone, that the place where it used to be was vacant, an itching spot that wanted a tongue but couldn’t have it just now.
No tongue. Strange. Why? Smith tried to stop the bells. They ceased, blessing him with a silence that wrapped him up in a cold blanket. Things were happening. Happening.
Smith tried to twitch a finger, but he had no control. A foot, a leg, a toe, his head, everything. Nothing moved. Torso, limbs—immovable, frozen in a concrete coffin.
A moment later came the dread discovery that he was no longer breathing. Not with his lungs, anyway.
“BECAUSE I HAVE NO LUNGS!” he screamed. Inwardly he screamed and that mental scream was drowned, webbed, clotted, and journeyed drowsily down in a red, dark tide. A red drowsy tide that sleepily swathed the scream, garroted it, took it all away, making Smith rest easier.
I am not afraid, he thought. I understand that which I do not understand. I understand that I do not fear, yet know not the reason.
No tongue, no nose, no lungs.
But they would come later. Yes, they would. Things were—
happening.
Through the pores of his shelled body air slid, like rain needling each portion of him, giving life. Breathing through a billion gills, breathing oxygen and nitrogen and hydrogen and carbon dioxide, and using it all. Wondering.
Was his heart still beating?
But yes, it was beating. Slow, slow, slow. A red dim susurrance, a flood, a river surging around him, slow, slower, slower. So nice.
So restful.
The jigsaw pieces fitted together faster as the days drifted into weeks.
McGuire helped. A retired surgeon-medico, he’d been Rockwell’s secretary for a number of years. Not much help, but good company.
Rockwell noted that McGuire joked gruffly about Smith, nervously; and a lot. Trying to be calm. But one day McGuire stopped, thought it over, and drawled, “Hey, it just came to me! Smith’s alive. He should be dead. But he’s alive. Good God!”
Rockwell laughed. “What in blazes do you think I’m working on? I’m bringing an X-ray machine out next week so I can find out what’s going on inside Smith’s shell.” Rockwell jabbed with a hypo needle. It broke on the hard shell.
Rockwell tried another needle, and another, until finally he punctured, drew blood, and placed the slides under the microscope for study. Hours later he calmly shoved a serum test under McGuire’s red nose, and spoke quickly.
“Lord, I can’t believe it. His blood’s germicidal. I dropped a streptococci colony into it and the strep was annihilated in eight seconds! You could inject every known disease into Smith and he’d destroy them all, thrive on them!”
It was only a matter of hours until other discoveries. It kept Rockwell sleepless, tossing at night, wondering, theorizing the titanic ideas over and over. For instance—
Hartley’d fed Smith so many cc’s of blood-food every day of his illness until recently. NONE OF THAT FOOD HAD EVER BEEN
ELIMINATED. All of it had been stored, not in bulk-fats, but in a perfectly abnormal solution, an x-liquid contained in high concentrate form in Smith’s blood. An ounce of it would keep a man well fed for three days. This x-liquid circulated through the body until it was actually needed, when it was seized upon and used. More serviceable than fat. Much more!
Rockwell glowed with his discovery. Smith had enough x-liquid stored in him to last months and months more. Self-sustaining.
McGuire, when told, contemplated his paunch sadly.
“I wish I stored my food that way.”
That wasn’t all. Smith needed little air. What air he had he seemed to acquire by an osmotic process through his skin. And he used every molecule of it. No waste.
“And,” finished Rockwell, “eventually Smith’s heart might even take vacations from beating, entirely!”
“Then he’d be dead,” said McGuire.
“To you and I, yes. To Smith—maybe. Just maybe. Think of it, McGuire. Collectively, in Smith, we have a self-purifying blood stream demanding no replenishment but an interior one for months, having little breakdown and no elimination of wastes whatsoever because every molecule is utilized, self-evolving, and fatal to any and all microbic life. All this, and Hartley speaks of degeneration!”
Hartley was irritated when he heard of the discoveries. But he still insisted that Smith was degenerating. Dangerous.
McGuire tossed his two cents in. “How do we know that this isn’t some super microscopic disease that annihilates all other bacteria while it works on its victim. After all—malarial fever is sometimes used surgically to cure syphilis; why not a new bacillus that conquers all?”
“Good point,” said Rockwell. “But we’re not sick, are we?”
“It may have to incubate in our bodies.”
“A typical old-fashioned doctor’s response. No matter what happens to a man, he’s ‘sick’—if he varies from the norm. That’s your idea, Hartley,”
declared Rockwell, “not mine. Doctors aren’t satisfied unless they diagnose and label each case. Well, I think that Smith’s healthy; so healthy you’re afraid of him.”
“You’re crazy,” said McGuire.
“Maybe. But I don’t think Smith needs medical interference. He’s working out his own salvation. You believe he’s degenerating. I say he’s growing.’*
“Look at Smith’s skin,” complained McGuire.
“Sheep in wolfs clothing. Outside, the hard, brittle epidermis. Inside, ordered regrowth, change. Why? I’m on the verge of knowing. These changes inside Smith are so violent that they need a shell to protect their action. And as for you. Hartley, answer me truthfully, when you were young, were you afraid of insects, spiders, things like that?”
“Yes.”
“There you are. A phobia. A phobia you use against Smith. That explains your distaste for Smith’s change.”
In the following weeks, Rockwell went back over Smith’s life carefully. He visited the electronics lab where Smith had been employed and fallen ill. He probed the room where Smith had spent the first weeks of his
“illness” with Hartley in attendance. He examined the machinery there.
Something about radiations
While he was away from the sanitarium, Rockwell locked Smith tightly, and had McGuire guard the door in case Hartley got any unusual ideas.
The details of Smith’s twenty-three years were simple. He had worked for five years in the electronics lab, experimenting. He had never been seriously sick in his life.
And as the days went by Rockwell took long walks in the dry-wash near the sanitarium, alone. It gave him time to think and solidify the incredible theory that was becoming a unit in his brain.
And one afternoon he paused by a night-blooming jasmine outside the sanitarium, reached up, smiling, and plucked a dark shining object off of a high branch. He looked at the object and tucked it in his pocket. Then he walked into the sanitarium.
He summoned McGuire in off the veranda. McGuire came. Hartley trailed behind, threatening, complaining. The three of them sat in the living quarters of the building.
Rockwell told them.
“Smith’s not diseased. Germs can’t live in him. He’s not inhabited by banshees or weird monsters who’ve ‘taken over’ his body. I mention this to show I’ve left no stone untouched. I reject all normal diagnoses of Smith. I offer the most important, the most easily accepted possibility of—delayed hereditary mutation.”
“Mutation?” McGuire’s voice was funny.
Rockwell held up the shiny dark object in the light.
“I found this on a bush in the garden. It’ll illustrate my theory to perfection. After studying Smith’s symptoms, examining his laboratory, and considering several of these”—he twirled the dark object in his fingers— “I’m certain. It’s metamorphosis. It’s regeneration, change, mutation after birth.
Here. Catch. This is Smith.”
He tossed the object to Hartley. Hartley caught it.
“This is the chrysalis of a caterpillar,” said Hartley.
Rockwell nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“You don’t mean to infer that Smith’s a— chrysalis?”
“I’m positive of it,” replied Rockwell.
Rockwell stood over Smith’s body in the darkness of evening. Hartley and McGuire sat across the patient’s room, quiet, listening. Rockwell touched Smith softly. “Suppose that there’s more to life than just being born, living seventy years, and dying. Suppose there’s one more great step up in man’s existence, and Smith has been the first of us to make that step.
“Looking at a caterpillar, we see what we consider a static object. But it changes to a butterfly. Why? There are no final theories explaining it. It’s progress, mainly. The pertinent thing is that a supposedly unchangeable object weaves itself into an intermediary object, wholly unrecognizable, a chrysalis, and emerges a butterfly. Outwardly the chrysalis looks dead. This is misdirection. Smith has misdirected us, you see. Outwardly, dead. Inwardly, fluids whirlpool, reconstruct, rush about with wild purpose. From grub to mosquito, from caterpillar to butterfly, from Smith to—?”
“Smith a chrysalis?” McGuire laughed heavily.
“Yes.”
“Humans don’t work that way.”
“Stop it, McGuire. This evolutionary step’s too great for your comprehension. Examine this body and tell me anything else. Skin, eyes, breathing, blood flow. Weeks of assimilating food for his brittle hibernation.
Why did he eat all that food, why did he need that x-liquid in his body except for his metamorphosis? And the cause of it all was—eradiations. Hard radiations from Smith’s laboratory equipment. Planned or accidental I don’t know. It touched some part of his essential gene-structure, some part of the evolutionary structure of man that wasn’t scheduled for working for thousands of years yet, perhaps.”
“Do you think that some day all men—?”
“The maggot doesn’t stay in the stagnant pond, the grub in the soil, or the caterpillar on a cabbage leaf. They change, spreading across space in waves.
“Smith’s the answer to the problem ‘What happens next for man, where do we go from here?’ We’re faced with the blank wall of the universe and the fatality of living in that universe, and man as he is today is not prepared to go against the universe. The least exertion tires man, overwork kills his heart, disease his body. Maybe Smith will be prepared to answer the philosophers’ problem of life’s purpose. Maybe he can give it new purpose.
“Why, we’re just petty insects, all of us, fighting on a pinhead planet.
Man isn’t meant to remain here and be sick and small and weak, but he hasn’t discovered the secret of the greater knowledge yet.
“But—change man. Build your perfect man. Your— your superman, if you like. Eliminate petty mentality, give him complete physiological, neurological, psychological control of himself: give him clear, incisive channels of thought, give him an indefatigable blood stream, a body that can go months without outside food, that can adjust to any climate anywhere and kill any disease. Release man from the shackles of flesh and flesh misery and then he’s no longer a poor, petty little man afraid to dream because he knows his frail body stands between him and the fulfillment of dreams, then he’s ready to wage war, the only war worth waging—the conflict of man reborn and the whole confounded universe!”
Breathless, voice hoarse, heart pounding, Rockwell tensed over Smith, placed his hands admiringly, firmly on the cold length of the chrysalis and shut his eyes. The power and drive and belief in Smith surged through him. He was right. He was right. He knew he was right. He opened his eyes and looked at McGuire and Hartley who were mere shadows in the dim shielded light of the room.
After a silence of several seconds. Hartley snuffed out his cigarette. “I don’t believe that theory.”
McGuire said, “How do youknow Smith’s not just a mess of jelly inside? Did you X-ray him?”
“I couldn’t risk it, it might interfere with his change, like the sunlight did.”
“So he’s going to be a superman? What will he look like?”
“We’ll wait and see.”
“Do you think he can hear us talking about him now?”
“Whether or not he can, there’s one thing certain— we’re sharing a secret we weren’t intended to know. Smith didn’t plan on myself and McGuire entering the case. He had to make the most of it. But a superman doesn’t like people to know about him. Humans have a nasty way of being envious, jealous, and hateful. Smith knew he wouldn’t be safe if found out. Maybe that explains your hatred, too. Hartley.”
They all remained silent, listening. Nothing sounded. Rockwell’s blood whispered in his temples, that was all. There was Smith, no longer Smith, a container labeled Smith, its contents unknown.
“If what you say is true,” said Hartley, “then indeed we should destroy him. Think of the power over the world he would have. And if it affects his brain as I think it will affect it—he’ll try to kill us when he escapes because we are the only ones who know about him. He’ll hate us for prying.”
Rockwell said it easily. “I’m not afraid.”
Hartley remained silent. His breathing was harsh and loud in the room.
Rockwell came around the table, gesturing.
“I think we’d better say good-night now, don’t you?”
The thin rain swallowed Hartley’s car. Rockwell closed the door, instructed McGuire to sleep downstairs tonight on a cot fronting Smith’s room, and then he walked upstairs to bed.
Undressing, he had time to conjure over all the unbelievable events of the passing weeks. A superman. Why not? Efficiency, strength—
He slipped into bed.
When. When does Smith emerge from his chrysalis? When?
The rain drizzled quietly on the roof of the sanitarium.
McGuire lay in the middle of the sound of rain and the earthquaking of thunder, slumbering on the cot, breathing heavy breaths. Somewhere, a door creaked, but McGuire breathed on. Wind gusted down the hall.
McGuire granted and rolled over. A door closed softly and the wind ceased.
Footsteps tread softly on the deep carpeting. Slow footsteps, aware and alert and ready. Footsteps. McGuire blinked his eyes and opened them.
In the dim light a figure stood over him.
Upstairs, a single light m the hall thrust down a yellow shaft near McGuire’s cot.
An odor of crashed insect filled the air. A hand moved. A voice started to speak.
McGuire screamed.
Because the hand that moved into the light was green.
Green.
“Smith!’
McGuire flung himself ponderously down the hall, yelling.
“He’s walking! He can’t walk, but he’s walking!”
The door rammed open under McGuire’s bulk. Wind and rain shrieked in around him and he was gone into the storm, babbling.
In the hall, the figure was motionless. Upstairs a door opened swiftly and Rockwell ran down the steps. The green hand moved back out of the light behind the figure’s back.
“Who is it?” Rockwell paused halfway.
The figure stepped into the light.
Rockwell’s eyes narrowed.
“Hartley! What are you doing back here?”
“Something happened,” said Hartley. “You’d better get McGuire. He ran out in the rain babbling like a fool.”
Rockwell kept his thoughts to himself. He searched Hartley swiftly with one glance and then ran down the hall and out into the cold wind.
“McGuire! McGuire, come back you idiot!” The rain fell on Rockwell’s body as he ran. He found McGuire about a hundred yards from the sanitarium, blubbering,
“Smith—Smith’s walking .. .” “Nonsense. Hartley came back, that’s all.”
“I saw a green hand. It moved.”
“You dreamed.”
“No. No.” McGuire’s face was flabby pale, with water on it. “I saw a green hand, believe me. Why did Hartley come back? He—”
At the mention of Hartley’s name, full comprehension came smashing to Rockwell. Fear leaped through his mind, a mad blur of warning, a jagged edge of silent screaming for help.
“Hartley!”
Shoving McGuire abruptly aside, Rockwell twisted and leaped back toward the sanitarium, shouting. Into the hall, down the hall—
Smith’s door was broken open.
Gun in hand, Hartley was in the center of the room. He turned at the noise of Rockwell’s running. They both moved simultaneously. Hartley fired his gun and Rockwell pulled the light switch.
Darkness. Flame blew across the room, profiling Smith’s rigid body like a flash photo. Rockwell jumped at the flame. Even as he jumped, shocked deep, realizing why Hartley had returned. In that instant before the lights blinked out Rockwell had a glimpse of Hartley’s fingers.
They were a brittle mottled green.
Fists then. And Hartley collapsing as the lights came on, and McGuire, dripping wet at the door, shook out the words, “Is—is Smith killed?”
Smith wasn’t harmed. The shot had passed over him.
“This fool, this fool,” cried Rockwell, standing over Hartley’s numbed shape. “Greatest case in history and he tries to destroy it!”
Hartley came around, slowly. “I should’ve known. Smith warned you.”
“Nonsense, he—” Rockwell stopped, amazed. Yes. That sudden premonition crashing into his mind. Yes. Then he glared at Hartley. “Upstairs with you. You’re being locked in for the night. McGuire, you, too. So you can watch him.”
McGuire croaked. “Hartley’s hand. Look at it. It’s green. It was Hartley in the hall—not Smith!”
Hartley stared at his fingers. “Pretty, isn’t it?” he said, bitterly. “I was in range of those radiations for a long time at the start of Smith’s illness. I’m going to be a—creature—like Smith. It’s been this way for several days. I kept it hidden. I tried not to say anything. Tonight, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I came back to destroy Smith for what he’s done to me …”
A dry noise racked, dryly, splitting the air. The three of them froze.
Three tiny flakes of Smith’s chrysalis flicked up and then spiraled down to the floor.
Instantly, Rockwell was to the table, and gaping.
“It’s starting to crack. From the collar-bone to the navel, a miscroscopic fissure! He’ll be out of his chrysalis soon!”
McGuire’s jowls trembled. “And then what?”
Hartley’s words were bitter sharp. “We’ll have a superman. Question: what does a superman look like? Answer: nobody knows.”
Another crust of flakes crackled open.
McGuire shivered. “Will you try to talk to him?”
“Certainly.”
“Since when do—butterflies—speak?”
“Oh, Good God, McGuire!”
With the two others securely imprisoned upstairs, Rockwell locked himself into Smith’s room and bedded down on a cot, prepared to wait through the long wet night, watching, listening, thinking.
Watching the tiny flakes flicking off the crumbling skin of chrysalis as the Unknown within struggled quietly outward.
Just a few more hours to wait. The rain slid over the house, pattering.
What would Smith look like? A change in the earcups perhaps for greater hearing; extra eyes, maybe; a change in the skull structure, the facial setup, the bones of the body, the placement of organs, the texture of skin, a million and one changes.
Rockwell grew tired and yet was afraid to sleep. Eyelids heavy, heavy. What if he was wrong? What if his theory was entirely disjointed?
What if Smith was only so much moving jelly inside? What if Smith was mad, insane—so different that he’d be a world menace?
No. No. Rockwell shook his head groggily. Smith was perfect.
Perfect. There’d be no room for evil thought in Smith. Perfect.
The sanitarium was death quiet. The only noise was the faint crackle of chrysalis flakes skimming to the hard floor …
Rockwell slept. Sinking into the darkness that blotted out the room as dreams moved in upon him. Dreams in which Smith arose, walked in stiff, parched gesticulations and Hartley, screaming, wielded an ax, shining, again and again into the green armor of the creature and hacked it into liquid horror.
Dreams in which McGuire ran babbling through a rain of blood. Dreams in which—
Hot sunlight. Hot sunlight all over the room. It was morning.
Rockwell rubbed his eyes, vaguely troubled by the fact that someone had raised the blinds. Someone had—he leaped! Sunlight! There was no way for the blinds to be up. They’d been down for weeks! He cried out.
The door was open. The sanitarium was silent. Hardly daring to turn his head, Rockwell glanced at the table. Smith should have been lying there.
He wasn’t.
There was nothing but sunlight on the table. That— and a few remnants of shattered chrysalis. Remnants.
Brittle shards, a discarded profile cleft in two pieces, a shell segment that had been a thigh, a trace of arm, a splint of chest—these were the fractured remains of Smith!
Smith was gone. Rockwell staggered to the table, crushed. Scrabbling like a child among the rattling papyrus of skin. Then he swung about, as if drunk, and swayed out of the room and pounded up the stairs, shouting:
“Hartley! What did you do with him? Hartley! Did you think you could kill him, dispose of his body, and leave a few bits of shell behind to throw me off trail?”
The door to the room where McGuire and Hartley had slept was locked. Fumbling, Rockwell unlocked it. Both McGuire and Hartley were there.
“You’re here,” said Rockwell, dazed. “You weren’t downstairs, then.
Or did you unlock the door, come down, break in, kill Smith and—no, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Smith’s gone! McGuire, did Hartley move out of this room?”
“Not all night.’*
“Then—there’s only one explanation—Smith emerged from his chrysalis and escaped during the night! I’ll never see him, I’ll never get to see him, damn it! What a fool I was to sleep!”
“That settles it!” declared Hartley. “The man’s dangerous or he would have stayed and let us see him! God only knows what he is.”
“We’ve got to search, then. He can’t be far off. We’ve got to search then! Quick now. Hartley. McGuire!”
McGuire sat heavily down. “I won’t budge. Let him find himself. I’ve had enough.”
Rockwell didn’t wait to hear more. He went downstairs with Hartley close after him. McGuire puffed down a few moments later.
Rockwell moved wildly down the hall, halted at the wide windows that overlooked the desert and the mountains with morning shining over them.
He squinted out, and wondered if there was any chance at all of finding Smith. The first superbeing. The first perhaps in a new long line. Rockwell sweated. Smith wouldn’t leave without revealing himself to at least Rockwell.
He couldn’t leave. Or could he?
The kitchen door swung open, slowly.
A foot stepped through the door, followed by another. A hand lifted against the wall. Cigarette smoke moved from pursed lips.
“Somebody looking for me?”
Stunned, Rockwell turned. He saw the expression on Hartley’s face, heard McGuire choke with surprise. The three of them spoke one word together, as if given their cue:
“Smith.”
Smith exhaled cigarette smoke. His face was red-pink as he had been sunburnt, his eyes were glittering blue.
He was barefoot and his nude body was attired in one of Rockwell’s old robes.
“Would you mind telling me where I am? What have I been doing for the last three or four months? Is this a—hospital or isn’t it?”
Dismay slammed Rockwell’s mind, hard. He swallowed.
“Hello. I. That is— Don’t you remember—anything?”
Smith displayed his fingertips. “I recall turning green, if that’s what you mean. Beyond that—nothing.” He raked his pink hand through his nut-brown hair with the vigor of a creature newborn and glad to breathe again.
Rockwell slumped back against the wall. He raised his hands, with shock, to his eyes, and shook his head. Not believing what he saw he said,
“What time did you come out of the chrysalis?’*
“What time did I come out of—what?”
Rockwell took him down the hall to the next room and pointed to the table.
“I don’t see what you mean,” said Smith, frankly sincere. “I found myself standing in this room half an hour ago, stark naked.”
“That’s all?” said McGuire, hopefully. He seemed relieved.
Rockwell explained the origin of the chrysalis on the table.
Smith frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Who are you?”
Rockwell introduced the others.
Smith scowled at Hartley. “When I first was sick you came, didn’t you. I remember. At the radiations plant. But this is silly. What disease was it?”
Hartley’s cheek muscles were taut wire. “No disease. Don’t you know anything about it?”
“I find myself with strange people in a strange sanitarium. I find myself naked in a room with a man sleeping on a cot. I walk around the sanitarium, hungry. I go to the kitchen, find food, eat, hear excited voices, and then am accused of emerging from a chrysalis. What am I supposed to think?
Thanks, by the way, for this robe, for food, and the cigarette I borrowed. I didn’t want to wake you at first, Mr. Rockwell. I didn’t know who you were and you looked dead tired.”
“Oh, that’s all right.’ Rockwell wouldn’t let himself believe it.
Everything was crumbling. With every word Smith spoke, his hopes were pulled apart like the crumpled chrysalis. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Strong. Remarkable, when you consider how long I was under.”
“Very remarkable,” said Hartley.
“You can imagine how I felt when I saw the calendar. All those months—crack—gone. I wondered what I’d been doing all that time.”
“So have we.”
McGuire laughed. “Oh, leave him alone, Hartley. Just because you hated him—”
“Hated?” Smith’s brows went up. “Me? Why?”
“Here. This is why!” Hartley thrust his fingers out “Your damned radiations. Night after night sitting by you in your laboratory. What can I do about it?”
“Hartley,” warned Rockwell. “Sit down. Be quiet.”
“I won’t sit down and I won’t be quiet! Are you both fooled by this imitation of a man, this pink fellow who’s carrying on the greatest hoax in history? If you had any sense you’d destroy Smith before he escapes!”
Rockwell apologized for Hartley’s outburst.
Smith shook his head. “No, let him talk. What’s this about?”
“You know already!” shouted Hartley, angrily. “You’ve lain there for months, listening, planning. You can’t fool me. You’ve got Rockwell bluffed, disappointed. He expected you to be a superman. Maybe you are. But whatever you are, you’re not Smith any more. Not any more. It’s just another of your misdirections. We weren’t supposed to know all about you, and the world shouldn’t know about you. You could kill us, easily, but you’d prefer to stay and convince us that you’re normal. That’s the best way. You could have escaped a few minutes ago, but that would have left the seeds of suspicion behind. Instead, you waited, to convince us that you’re normal.”
“He is normal,” complained McGuire.
“No he’s not. His mind’s different. He’s clever.’*
“Give him word association tests then,” said McGuire.
“He’s too clever for that, too.”
“It’s very simple, then. We take blood tests, listen to his heart, and inject serums into him.”
Smith looked dubious. “I feel like an experiment, but if you really want to. This is silly.”
That shocked Hartley. He looked at Rockwell. “Get the hypos,” he said.
Rockwell got the hypos, thinking. Now, maybe after all, Smith was a superman. His blood. That super-blood. Its ability to kill germs. His heartbeat.
His breathing. Maybe Smith was a superman and didn’t know it. Yes. Yes, maybe—
Rockwell drew blood from Smith and slid it under a microscope. His shoulders sagged. It was normal blood. When you dropped germs into it the germs took a normal length of time to die. The blood was no longer super germicidal. The x-liquid, too, was gone. Rockwell sighed miserably. Smith’s temperature was normal. So was his pulse. His sensory and nervous system responded according to rule.
“Well, that takes care of that,” said Rockwell, softly.
Hartley sank into a chair, eyes widened, holding his head between bony fingers. He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I guess my—mind—it just imagined things. The months were so long. Night after night. I got obsessed, and afraid.
I’ve made a fool out of myself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He stared at his green fingers. “But what about myself?”
Smith said, “I recovered. You’ll recover, too, I guess. I can sympathize with you. But it wasn’t bad … I don’t really recall anything.”
Hartley relaxed. “But—yes I guess you’re right. I don’t like the idea of my body getting hard, but it can’t be helped. I’ll be all right.”
Rockwell was sick. The tremendous letdown was too much for him.
The intense drive, the eagerness, the hunger and curiosity, the fire, had all sunk within him.
So this was the man from the chrysalis? The same man who had gone m. All this waiting and wondering for nothing.
He gulped a breath of air, tried to steady his innermost, racing thoughts. Turmoil. This pink-cheeked, fresh-voiced man who sat before him smoking calmly, was no more than a man who had suffered some partial skin petrification, and whose glands had gone wild from radiation, but, nevertheless, just a man now and nothing more. Rockwell’s mind, his overimaginative, fantastic mind had seized upon each facet of the illness and built it into a perfect organism of wishful thinking. Rockwell was deeply shocked, deeply stirred and disappointed.
The question of Smith’s living without food, his pure blood, low temperature, and the other evidences of superiority were now fragments of a strange illness. An illness and nothing more. Something that was over, down and gone and left nothing behind but brittle scraps on a sunlit tabletop.
There’d be a chance to watch Hartley now, if his illness progressed, and report the new sickness to the medical world.
But Rockwell didn’t care about illness. He cared about perfection.
And that perfection had been split and ripped and torn and it was gone. His dream^ was gone. His supercreature was gone. He didn’t care if the whole world went hard, green, brittle-mad now.
Smith was shaking hands all around. “I’d better get back to Los Angeles. Important work for me to do at the plant. I have my old job waiting for me. Sorry I can’t stay on. You understand.”
“You should stay on and rest a few days, at least,” said Rockwell. He hated to see the last wisp of his dream vanish.
“No thanks. I’ll drop by your office in a week or so for another checkup, though. Doctor, if you like? I’ll drop in every few weeks for the next year or so so you can check me, yes?”
“Yes. Yes,’smith. Do that, will you please? I’d like to talk your illness over with you. You’re lucky to be alive.”
McGuire said, happily, “I’ll drive you to L.A.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll walk to Tujunga and get a cab. I want to walk. It’s been so long, I want to see what it feels like.”
Rockwell lent him an old pair of shoes and an old suit of clothes.
“Thanks, Doctor. I’ll pay you what I owe you as soon as possible.”
“You don’t owe me a penny. It was interesting.”
“Well, good-bye, Doctor. Mr. McGuire. Hartley.”
“Good-bye, Smith.”
“Good-bye.”
Smith walked down the path to the dry wash, which was already baked dry by the late afternoon sun. He walked easily and happily and whistled. I wish I could whistle now, thought Rockwell tiredly.
Smith turned once, waved to them, and then he strode up the hillside and went on over it toward the distant city.
Rockwell watched him go as a small child watches his favorite sand castle eroded and annihilated by the waves of the sea. “I can’t believe it,” he said, over and over again. “I can’t believe it. The whole thing’s ending so soon, so abruptly for me. I’m dull and empty inside.”
“Everything looks rosy to me!” chuckled McGuire happily.
Hartley stood in the sun. His green hands hung softly at his side and his white face was really relaxed for the first time in months, Rockwell realized. Hartley said, softly,
“I’ll come out all right. I’ll come out all right. Oh, thank God for that.
Thank God for that. I won’t be a monster. I won’t be anything but myself.” He turned to Rockwell. “Just remember, remember, don’t let them bury me by mistake. Don’t let them bury me by mistake, thinking I’m dead. Remember that.”
Smith took the path across the dry wash and up the hill. It was late afternoon already and the sun had started to vanish behind blue hills. A few stars were visible. The odor of water, dust, and distant orange blossoms hung in the warm air.
Wind stirred. Smith took deep breaths of air. He walked.
Out of sight, away from the sanitarium, he paused and stood very still. He looked up at the sky.
Tossing away the cigarette he’d been smoking, he mashed it precisely under one heel. Then he straightened his well-shaped body, tossed his brown hair back, closed his eyes, swallowed, and relaxed his fingers at his sides.
With nothing of effort, just a little murmur of sound, Smith lifted his body gently from the ground into the warm air.
He soared up quickly, quietly—and- very soon he was lost among the stars as Smith headed for outer space …
…
…
The End
Conclusion
When you all tell me your stories, about how you have changed since arriving at MM… well, this is always what comes to mind.
And this is only the beginning.
Who knows what greatness lies in the futures ahead of you?
The story begins with a scene the three witches from Macbeth brewing a potion and staring into a crystal, which reveals another scene that takes place on a rocket ship. Originating from Earth, the men on the rocket ship are panicking because they have recently experienced nightmares, confusing illnesses, and unexpected death. They are destined for Mars, and they are worried that these events may be warnings from Martians not to arrive.
As the crewmembers talk, it becomes clear that the Earth they are leaving has banned many books, some of which are considered some of the best authors of all time. The rocket ship has the last edition of many of these works, and their goal is to burn the books upon their arrival at Mars. Once they have burned the books, there will be no remaining evidence that these authors ever existed...
The Exiles
THEIR EYES were fire and the breath flamed out the witches’ mouths as they bent to probe the caldron with greasy stick and bony finger.
‘When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’
They danced drunkenly on the shore of an empty sea, fouling the air with their
three tongues, and burning it with their cats’ eyes malevolently aglitter:
‘Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!’
They paused and cast a glance about. ‘Where’s the crystal? Where the needles?’
‘Here!’
‘Good!’
‘Is the yellow wax thickened?’
‘Yes!’
‘Pour it in the iron mold!’
‘Is the wax figure done?’ They shaped it like molasses adrip on their green
hands.
‘Shove the needle through the heart!’
‘The crystal, the crystal; fetch it from the tarot bag. Dust it off; have a
look!’
They bent to the crystal, their faces white.
‘See, see, see . . .’
…
A rocket ship moved through space from the planet Earth to the planet Mars. On
the rocket ship men were dying.
The captain raised his head, tiredly. ‘We’ll have to use the morphine.’
‘But, Captain”
‘You see yourself this man’s condition.’ The captain lifted the wool blanket and
the man restrained beneath the wet sheet moved and groaned. The air was full of
sulphurous thunder.
‘I saw it’I saw it.’ The man opened his eyes and stared at the port where there
were only black spaces, reeling stars, Earth far removed, and the planet Mars
rising large and red. ‘I saw it’a bat, a huge thing, a bat with a man’s face,
spread over the front port. Fluttering and fluttering, fluttering and
fluttering.’
‘Pulse?’ asked the captain.
The orderly measured it. ‘One hundred and thirty.’
‘He can’t go on with that. Use the morphine. Come along, Smith.’
They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed. The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said, ‘Is this where Perse is?’ turning in at a hatch.
A white-smocked surgeon stepped away from a body. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
‘How did Perse die?’
‘We don’t know, Captain. It wasn’t his heart, his brain, or shock. He just’ died.’
The captain felt the doctor’s wrist, which changed to a hissing snake and bit
him. The captain did not flinch. ‘Take care of yourself. You’ve a pulse too.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Perse complained of pains’needles, he said’ in his wrists and
legs. Said he felt like wax, melting. He fell. I helped him up. He cried like a
child. Said he had a silver needle in his heart. He died. Here he is. We can
repeat the autopsy for you. Everything’s physically normal.’
‘That’s impossible! He died of something!’
The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentifriced, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks. His uniform was the color of new
salt, and his boots were black mirrors shining below him. His crisp crew-cut
hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean.
There was no spot to him. He was a fresh instrument, honed and ready, still hot
from the surgeon’s oven.
The men with him were from the same mold. One expected huge brass keys spiraling
slowly from their backs. They were expensive, talented, well-oiled toys,
obedient and quick.
The captain watched the planet Mars grow very large in space. ‘We’ll be landing
in an hour on that damned place. Smith, did you see any bats, or have other
nightmares?’
‘Yes, sir. The month before our rocket took off from New York, sir. White rats
biting my neck, drinking my blood. I didn’t tell. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come on this trip.’
‘Never mind,’ sighed the captain. ‘I had dreams too. In all of my fifty years I
never had a dream until that week before we took off from Earth. And then every night I dreamed I was a white wolf. Caught on a snowy hill. Shot with a silver bullet. Buried with a stake in my heart.’ He moved his head toward Mars. ‘Do you think, Smith, they know we’re coming?’
‘We don’t know if there are Martian people, sir.’
‘Don’t we? They began frightening us off eight weeks ago, before we started.
They’ve killed Perse and Reynolds now. Yesterday they made Crenville go blind.
How? I don’t know. Bats, needles, dreams, men dying for no reason. I’d call it
witchcraft in another day. But this is the year 2120, Smith. We’re rational men.
This all can’t be happening. But it is! Whoever they are, with their needles and
their bats, they’ll try to finish us all.’ He swung about. ‘Smith, fetch those books from my file. I want them when we land.’
Two hundred books were piled on the rocket deck.
‘Thank you, Smith. Have you glanced at them? Think I’m insane? Perhaps. It’s a
crazy hunch. At that last moment I ordered these books from the Historical
Museum. Because of my dreams. Twenty nights I was stabbed, butchered, a
screaming bat pinned to a surgical mat, a thing rotting underground in a black
box; bad, wicked dreams. Our whole crew dreamed of witch-things and were-things, vampires and phantoms, things they couldn’t know anything about. Why? Because books on such ghastly subjects were destroyed a century ago. By law. Forbidden for anyone to own the grisly volumes. These books you see here are the last copies, kept for historical purposes in the locked museum vaults.’
Smith bent to read the dusty titles:
‘Tales of Mystery and Imagination, by Edgar Allan Poe. Dracula, by Brain Stoker.
Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving. Rappaccini’s Daughter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, by Ambrose Bierce. Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. The Willows, by Algernon Blackwood. The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The Weird Shadow Over Innsmouth, by H. P. Lovecraft. And more! Books by Walter de la Mare, Wakefield, Harvey, Wells, Asquith, Huxley’all forbidden authors. All burned in the same year that Halloween was outlawed and Christmas was banned! But, sir, what good are these to us on the rocket?’
‘I don’t know,’ sighed the captain, ‘yet.’
…
The three bags lifted the crystal where the captain’s image flickered, his tiny
voice tinkling out of the glass:
‘I don’t know,’ sighed the captain, ‘yet.’
The three witches glared redly into one another’s faces.
‘We haven’t much time,’ said one.
‘Better warn Them in the City.’
‘They’ll want to know about the books. It doesn’t look good. That fool of a
captain!’
‘In an hour they’ll land their rocket.’
The three bags shuddered and blinked up at the Emerald City by the edge of the
dry Martian sea.
…
In its highest window a small man held a blood-red drape aside.
He watched the wastelands where the three witches fed their caldron and shaped the waxes. Farther along, ten thousand other blue fires and laurel incenses, black tobacco smokes and fir weeds, cinnamons and bone dusts rose soft as moths through the Martian night. The man counted the angry, magical fires. Then, as the three witches stared, he turned. The crimson drape, released, fell, causing the distant portal to wink, like a yellow eye.
Mr. Edgar Allan Poe stood in the tower window, a faint vapor of spirits upon his
breath. ‘Hecate’s friends are busy tonight,’ he said, seeing the witches, far
below.
A voice behind him said, ‘I saw Will Shakespeare at the shore, earlier, whipping
them on. All along the sea Shakespeare’s army alone, tonight, numbers thousands: the three witches, Oberon, Hamlet’s father, Puck’all, all of them’thousands!
Good lord, a regular sea of people.’
‘Good William.’ Poe turned. He let the crimson drape fall shut. He stood for a
moment to observe the raw stone room, the black-timbered table, the candle
flame, the other man, Mr. Ambrose Bierce, sitting very idly there, lighting
matches and watching them burn down, whistling under his breath, now and then laughing to himself.
‘We’ll have to tell Mr. Dickens now,’ said Mr. Poe. ‘We’ve put it off too long.
It’s a matter of hours. Will you go down to his home with me, Bierce?’
Bierce glanced up merrily. ‘I’ve just been thinking’what’ll happen to us?’
‘If we can’t kill the rocket men off, frighten them away, then we’ll have to
leave, of course. We’ll go on to Jupiter, and when they come to Jupiter, we’ll
go on to Saturn, and when they come to Saturn, we’ll go to Uranus, or Neptune,
and then on out to Pluto”’
‘Where then?’
Mr. Poe’s face was weary; there were fire coals remaining, fading, in his eyes,
and a sad wildness in the way he talked, and a uselessness of his hands and the
way his hair fell lankly over his amazing white brow. He was like a satan of
some lost dark cause, a general arrived from a derelict invasion. His silky,
soft, black mustache was worn away by his musing lips. He was so small his brow
seemed to float, vast and phosphorescent, by itself, in the dark room.
‘We have the advantages of superior forms of travel,’ he said. ‘We can always
hope for one of their atomic wars, dissolution, the dark ages come again. The
return of superstition. We could go back then to Earth, all of us, in one
night.’ Mr. Poe’s black eyes brooded under his round and luminant brow. He gazed
at the ceiling. ‘So they’re coming to ruin this world too? They won’t leave
anything undefiled, will they?’
‘Does a wolf pack stop until it’s killed its prey and eaten the guts? It should
be quite a war. I shall sit on the side lines and be the scorekeeper. So many
Earthmen boiled in oil, so many Mss. Found in Bottles burnt, so many Earthmen
stabbed with needles, so many Red Deaths put to flight by a battery of
hypodermic syringes’ha!’
Poe swayed angrily, faintly drunk with wine. ‘What did we do? Be with us,
Bierce, in the name of God! Did we have a fair trial before a company of
literary critics? No! Our books were plucked up by neat, sterile, surgeon’s
pliers, and flung into vats, to boil, to be killed of all their mortuary germs.
Damn them all!’
‘I find our situation amusing,’ said Bierce.
They were interrupted by a hysterical shout from the tower stair.
‘Mr. Poe! Mr. Bierce!’
‘Yes, yes, we’re coming!’ Poe and Bierce descended to find a man gasping against
the stone passage wall.
‘Have you heard the news?’ he cried immediately, clawing at them like a man
about to fall over a cliff. ‘In an hour they’ll land! They’re bringing books
with them’old books, the witches said! What’re you doing in the tower at a time
like this? Why aren’t you acting?’
Poe said: ‘We’re doing everything we can, Blackwood. You’re new to all this.
Come along, we’re going to Mr. Charles Dickens’ place”’
”to contemplate our doom, our black doom,’ said Mr. Bierce, with a wink.
They moved down the echoing throats of the castle, level after dim green level,
down into mustiness and decay and spiders and dreamlike webbing. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Poe, his brow like a huge white lamp before them, descending, sinking. ‘All along the dead sea tonight I’ve called the others. Your friends and mine, Blackwood’Bierce. They’re all there. The animals and the old women and the tall men with the sharp white teeth. The traps are waiting; the pits, yes, and the pendulums. The Red Death.’ Here he laughed quietly. ‘Yes, even the Red Death. I never thought’no, I never thought the time would come when a thing like the Red Death would actually be. But they asked for it, and they shall have it!’
‘But are we strong enough?’ wondered Blackwood.
‘How strong is strong? They won’t be prepared for us, at least. They haven’t the
imagination. Those clean young rocket men with their antiseptic bloomers and
fish-bowl helmets, with their new religion. About their necks, on gold chains,
scalpels. Upon their heads, a diadem of microscopes. In their holy fingers,
steaming incense urns which in reality are only germicidal ovens for steaming
out superstition. The names of Poe, Bierce, Hawthorne, Blackwood’blasphemy to
their clean lips.’
Outside the castle they advanced through a watery space, a tarn that was not a
tarn, which misted before them like the stuff of nightmares. The air filled with
wing sounds and a whirring, a motion of winds and blacknesses. Voices changed,
figures swayed at campfires. Mr. Poe watched the needles knitting, knitting,
knitting, in the firelight; knitting pain and misery, knitting wickedness into
wax marionettes, clay puppets. The caldron smells of wild garlic and cayenne and saffron hissed up to fill the night with evil pungency.
‘Get on with it!’ said Poe. ‘I’ll be back!’
All down the empty seashore black figures spindled and waned, grew up and blew into black smoke on the sky. Bells rang in mountain towers and licorice ravens spilled out with the bronze sounds and spun away to ashes.
Over a lonely moor and into a small valley Poe and Bierce hurried, and found
themselves quite suddenly on a cobbled street, in cold, bleak, biting weather,
with people stomping up and down stony courtyards to warm their feet; foggy
withal, and candles flaring in the windows of offices and shops where hung the
Yuletide turkeys. At a distance some boys, all bundled up, snorting their pale
breaths on the wintry air, were trilling, ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,’ while
the immense tones of a great clock continuously sounded midnight. Children
dashed by from the baker’s with dinners all asteam in their grubby fists, on
trays and under silver bowls.
At a sign which read SCROOGE, MARLEY AND DICKENS, Poe gave the Marley-faced knocker a rap, and from within, as the door popped open a few inches, a sudden gust of music almost swept them into a dance. And there, beyond the shoulder of the man who was sticking a him goatee and mustaches at them, was Mr. Fezziwig clapping his hands, and Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile, dancing and colliding with other merrymakers, while the fiddle chirped and laughter ran about a table like chandelier crystals given a sudden push of wind. The large table was heaped with brawn and turkey and holly and geese; with mince pies, suckling pigs, wreaths of sausages, oranges and apples; and there was Bob Cratchit and Little Dorrit and Tiny Tim and Mr. Fagin himself, and a man who looked as if he might be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato’who else but Mr. Marley, chains and all, while the wine poured and the brown turkeys did their excellent best to steam!
‘What do you want?’ demanded Mr. Charles Dickens.
‘We’ve come to plead with you again, Charles; we need your help,’ said Poe.
‘Help? Do you think I would help you fight against those good men coming in the
rocket? I don’t belong here, anyway. My books were burned by mistake. I’m no
supernaturalist, no writer of horrors and terrors like you, Poe; you, Bierce, or
the others. I’ll have nothing to do with you terrible people!’
‘You are a persuasive talker,’ reasoned Poe. ‘You could go to meet the rocket
men, lull them, lull their suspicions and then’then we would take care of them.’
Mr. Dickens eyed the folds of the black cape which hid Poe’s hands. From it,
smiling, Poe drew forth a black cat. ‘For one of our visitors.’
‘And for the others?’
Poe smiled again, well pleased. ‘The Premature Burial?’
‘You are a grim man, Mr. Poe.’
‘I am a frightened and an angry man. I am a god, Mr. Dickens, even as you are a
god, even as we all are gods, and our inventions’our people, if you wish’have
not only been threatened, but banished and burned, torn up and censored, ruined and done away with. The worlds we created are falling into ruin. Even gods must fight!’
‘So?’ Mr. Dickens tilted his head, impatient to return to the party, the music,
the food. ‘Perhaps you can explain why we are here? How did we come here?’
‘War begets war. Destruction begets destruction. On Earth, a century ago, in the
year 2020 they outlawed our books. Oh, what a horrible thing’to destroy our
literary creations that way! It summoned us out of’what? Death? The Beyond? I
don’t like abstract things. I don’t know. I only know that our worlds and our
creations called us and we tried to save them, and the only saving thing we
could do was wait out the century here on Mars, hoping Earth might overweight
itself with these scientists and their doubtings; but now they’re coming to
clean us out of here, us and our dark things, and all the alchemists, witches,
vampires, and were-things that, one by one, retreated across space as science
made inroads through every country on Earth and finally left no alternative at
all but exodus. You must help us. You have a good speaking manner. We need you.’
‘I repeat, I am not of you, I don’t approve of you and the others,’ cried
Dickens angrily. ‘I was no player with witches and vampires and midnight
things.’
‘What of A Christmas Carol?’
‘Ridiculous! One story. Oh, I wrote a few others about ghosts, perhaps, but what
of that? My basic works had none of that nonsense!’
‘Mistaken or not, they grouped you with us. They destroyed your books’your
worlds too. You must hate them, Mr. Dickens!’
‘I admit they are stupid and rude, but that is all. Good day!’
‘Let Mr. Marley come, at least!’
‘No!’
The door slammed. As Poe turned away, down the street, skimming over the frosty ground, the coachman playing a lively air on a bugle, came a great coach, out of which, cherry-red, laughing and singing, piled the Pickwickians, banging on the door, shouting Merry Christmas good and loud, when the door was opened by the fat boy.
Mr. Poe hurried along the midnight shore of the dry sea. By fires and smoke he
hesitated, to shout orders, to check the bubbling caldrons, the poisons and the
chalked pentagrams. ‘Good!’ he said, and ran on. ‘Fine!’ he shouted, and ran
again. People joined him and ran with him. Here were Mr. Coppard and Mr. Machen running with him now. And there were hating serpents and angry demons and fiery bronze dragons and spitting vipers and trembling witches like the barbs and nettles and thorns and all the vile flotsam and jetsam of the retreating sea of imagination, left on the melancholy shore, whining and frothing and spitting.
Mr. Machen stopped. He sat like a child on the cold sand. He began to sob. They
tried to soothe him, but he would not listen. ‘I just thought,’ he said. ‘What
happens to us on the day when the last copies of our books are destroyed?’
The air whirled.
‘Don’t speak of it!’
‘We must,’ wailed Mr. Machen. ‘Now, now, as the rocket comes down, you, Mr. Poe; you, Coppard; you, Bierce’all of you grow faint. Like wood smoke. Blowing away.
Your faces melt”
‘Death! Real death for all of us.’
‘We exist only through Earth’s sufferance. If a final edict tonight destroyed
our last few works we’d be like lights put out.’
Coppard brooded gently. ‘I wonder who I am. In what Earth mind tonight do I
exist? In some African hut? Some hermit, reading my tales? Is he the lonely
candle in the wind of time and science? The flickering orb sustaining me here in
rebellious exile? Is it him? Or some boy in a discarded attic, finding me, only
just in time! Oh, last night I felt ill, ill, ill to the marrows of me, for
there is a body of the soul as well as a body of the body, and this soul body
ached in all of its glowing parts, and last night I felt myself a candle,
guttering. When suddenly I sprang up, given new light! As some child, sneezing
with dust, in some yellow garret on Earth once more found a worn, time-specked
copy of me! And so I’m given a short respite!’
A door banged wide in a little hut by the shore. A thin short man, with flesh
hanging from him in folds, stepped out and, paying no attention to the others,
sat down and stared into his clenched fists.
‘There’s the one I’m sorry for,’ whispered Blackwood. ‘Look at him, dying away.
He was once more real than we, who were men. They took him, a skeleton thought,
and clothed him in centuries of pink flesh and snow beard and red velvet suit
and black boot; made him reindeers, tinsel, holly. And after centuries of
manufacturing him they drowned him in a vat of Lysol, you might say.’
The men were silent.
‘What must it be on Earth?’ wondered Poe. ‘Without Christmas? No hot chestnuts,
no tree, no ornaments or drums or candles’nothing; nothing but the snow and wind
and the lonely, factual people. . . .’
They all looked at the thin little old man with the scraggly beard and faded red
velvet suit.
‘Have you heard his story?’
‘I can imagine it. The glitter-eyed psychiatrist, the clever sociologist, the
resentful, froth-mouthed educationalist, the antiseptic parents”’
‘A regrettable situation,’ said fierce, smiling, ‘for the Yuletide merchants
who, toward the last there, as I recall, were beginning to put up holly and sing
Noel the day before Halloween. With any luck at all this year they might have
started on Labor Day!’
Bierce did not continue. He fell forward with a sigh. As he lay upon the ground
he had time to say only, ‘How interesting.’ And then, as they all watched,
horrified, his body burned into blue dust and charred bone, the ashes of which
fled through the air in black tatters.
‘Bierce, Berce!’
‘Gone!’
‘His last book gone. Someone on Earth just now burned it.’
‘God rest him. Nothing of him left now. For what are we but books, and when
those are gone, nothing’s to be seen.’
A rushing sound filled the sky.
They cried out, terrified, and looked up. In the sky, dazzling it with sizzling
fire clouds, was the rocket! Around the men on the seashore lanterns bobbed;
there was a squealing and a bubbling and an odor of cooked spells. Candle-eyed
pumpkins lifted into the cold clear air. Thin fingers clenched into fists and a
witch screamed from her withered mouth:
‘Ship, ship, break, fall!
Ship, ship, burn all!
Crack, flake, shake, melt!
Mummy dust, cat pelt!’
‘Time to go,’ murmured Blackwood. ‘On to Jupiter, on to Saturn or Pluto.’
‘Run away?’ shouted Poe in the wind. ‘Never!’
‘I’m a tired old man!’
Poe gazed into the old man’s face and believed him. He climbed atop a huge
boulder and faced the ten thousand gray shadows and green lights and yellow eyes
on the hissing wind.
‘The powders!’ he shouted.
A thick hot smell of bitter almond, civet, cumin, wormseed and orris!
The rocket came down’steadily down, with the shriek of a damned spirit! Poe
raged at it! He flung his fists up and the orchestra of heat and smell and
hatred answered in symphony! Like stripped tree fragments, bats flew upward!
Burning hearts, flung like missiles, burst in bloody fireworks on the singed
air. Down, down, relentlessly down, like a pendulum the rocket came. And Poe
howled, furiously, and shrank back with every sweep and sweep of the rocket
cutting and ravening the air! All the dead sea seemed a pit in which, trapped,
they waited the sinking of the dread machinery, the glistening ax; they were
people under the avalanche!
‘The snakes!’ screamed Poe.
And luminous serpentines of undulant green hurtled toward the rocket. But it
came down, a sweep, a fire, a motion, and it lay panting out exhaustions of red
plumage on the sand, a mile away.
‘At it!’ shrieked Poe. ‘The plan’s changed! Only one chance! Run! At it! At it!
Drown them with our bodies! Kill them!’
And as if he had commanded a violent sea to change its course, to suck itself
free from primeval beds, the whirls and savage gouts of fire spread and ran like
wind and rain and stark lightning over the sea sands, down empty river deltas,
shadowing and screaming, whistling and whining, sputtering and coalescing toward the rocket which, extinguished, lay like a clean metal torch in the farthest
hollow. As if a great charred caldron of sparkling lava had been overturned, the
boiling people and snapping animals churned down the dry fathoms.
‘Kill them!’ screamed Poe, running.
The rocket men leaped out of their ship, guns ready. They stalked about,
sniffing the air like hounds. They saw nothing. They relaxed.
The captain stepped forth last. He gave sharp commands. Wood was gathered,
kindled, and a fire leapt up in an instant. The captain beckoned his men into a
half circle about him.
‘A new world,’ he said, forcing himself to speak deliberately, though he glanced
nervously, now and again, over his shoulder at the empty sea. ‘The old world
left behind. A new start. What more symbolic than that we here dedicate
ourselves all the more firmly to science and progress.’ He nodded crisply to his
lieutenant. ‘The books.’
Firelight limned the faded gilt titles: The Willows, The Outsider, Behold, The
Dreamer, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Land of Oz, Pellucidar, The Land That Time
Forgot A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the monstrous names of Machen and Edgar
Allan Poe and Cabell and Dunsany and Blackwood and Lewis Carroll; the names, the
old names, the evil names.
‘A new world. With a gesture, we burn the last of the old.’ The captain ripped
pages from the books. Leaf by seared leaf, he fed them into the fire.
A scream!
Leaping back, the men stared beyond the firelight at the edges of the
encroaching and uninhabited sea.
Another scream! A high and wailing thing, like the death of a dragon and the
thrashing of a bronzed whale left gasping when the waters of a leviathan’s sea
drain down the shingles and evaporate.
It was the sound of air rushing in to fill a vacuum, where, a moment before,
there had been something!
…
The captain neatly disposed of the last book by putting it into the fire.
The air stopped quivering. Silence!
The rocket men leaned and listened. ‘Captain, did you hear it?’
‘No.’
‘Like a wave, sir. On the sea bottom! I thought I saw something. Over there. A
black wave. Big. Running at us.’
‘You were mistaken.’
‘There, sir!’
‘What?’
‘See it? There! The city! Way over! That green city near the lake! It’s
splitting in half. It’s falling!’
The men squinted and shuffled forward.
Smith stood trembling among them. He put his hand to his head as if to find a
thought there. ‘I remember. Yes, now I do. A long time back. When I was a child.
A book I read. A story. Oz, I think it was. Yes, Oz. The Emerald City of Oz . .
.’
‘Oz? Never heard of it.’
‘Yes, Oz, that’s what it was. I saw it just now, like in the story. I saw it
fall.’
‘Smith!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Report for psychoanalysis tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir!’ A brisk salute.
‘Be careful.’
…
The men tiptoed, guns alert, beyond the ship’s aseptic light to gaze at the long
sea and the low hills.
‘Why,’ whispered Smith, disappointed, ‘there’s no one here at all, is there? No
one here at all.’
The wind blew sand over his shoes, whining.
No
The End
A final MM note.
Our reality is one ruled by quantum physics. An within this reality is the idea that thoughts create and change our reality. So what happens when entire groups of people no longer have , or possess, certain thoughts? What will the resulting landscape look like?
This post serves as an introduction to “Hemi-Sync” or the “Gateway Process”. It is a system that permits the isolation of consciousness from the reality that it inhabits. There have been a flood of articles regarding this process because the CIA declassified it’s use when it was involved in “Remote Viewing” activities. Yet all of the theories, and articles put forth still come associated with the “baggage” of an imperfect understanding of the true and real nature of the universe. Here, we are going to present the techniques alongside the way the universe actually operates.
This post was originally posted on VICE. It was edited to fit this venue and all credit to the author. Note that my comments on the post are highlighted and italicized. Written by Thobey Campion on February 16, 2021, at 11:33pm. The original post is from VICE.
Dear MM reader; don't get too caught up on the CIA, and other things that seem outer-worldly and fantastical. Keep yourself grounded and keep in mind that we are consciousness that inhabits a body within a reality that is constantly changing through our thoughts.
How to Escape the Confines of Time and Space According to the CIA
In the 80s, the spy agency investigated the “Gateway Experience” technique to alter consciousness and ultimately escape spacetime.
She turned to me the other morning and said, “You heard of The Gateway?” It didn’t register in the moment. She continued, “It’s blowing up on TikTok.”
Later on, she elaborated: it was not in fact the ill-fated 90s computer hardware company folks were freaking out about. No, they’ve gone further back in time, to find a true treasure of functional media.
The intrigue revolves around a classified 1983 CIA report on a technique called the Gateway Experience. The “Gateway Experience” is a training system designed to focus brainwave output to control one’s consciousness.
As such it can ultimately be used to escape the restrictions of time and space.
"Remote Viewing" is when someone views real events with only the power of their mind. The documents have since been declassified and are available to view.
This is a comprehensive excavation of The Gateway Process report.
The first section provides a timeline of the key historical developments that led to the CIA’s investigation and subsequent experimentations.
The second section is a review of The Gateway Process report. It opens with a wall of theoretical context, on the other side of which lies enough understanding to begin to grasp the principles underlying the Gateway Experience training.
The last section outlines the Gateway technique itself and the steps that go into achieving spacetime transcendence.
The Timeline
• 1950s – Robert Monroe, a radio broadcasting executive, begins producing evidence that specific sound patterns have identifiable effects on human capabilities. These include alertness, sleepiness, and expanded states of consciousness.
• 1956 – Monroe forms an R&D division inside his radio program production corporation RAM Enterprises. The goal is to study sound’s effect on human consciousness. He was obsessed with “Sleep-Learning,” or hypnopedia, which exposes sleepers to sound recordings to boost memory of previously learned information.Advertisement
• 1958 – While experimenting with Sleep-Learning, Monroe discovers an unusual phenomenon. He describes it as sensations of paralysis and vibration accompanied by bright light. It allegedly happens nine times over the proceeding six weeks, and culminates in an out-of-body experience (OBE).
• 1962 – RAM Enterprises moves to Virginia, and renames itself Monroe Industries. It becomes active in radio station ownership, cable television, and later in the production and sale of audio cassettes. These cassettes contain applied learnings from the corporate research program, which is renamed The Monroe Institute.
• 1971 – Monroe publishes Journeys Out of the Body, a book that is credited with popularizing the term “out-of-body experience.”
Journeys Out of the Body,
.
• 1972 – A classified report circulates in the U.S. military and intelligence communities. It claims that the Soviet Union is pouring money into research involving ESP and psychokinesis for espionage purposes.
• 1975 – Monroe registers the first of several patents concerning audio techniques designed to stimulate brain functions until the left and right hemispheres become synchronized. Monroe dubs the state “Hemi-Sync” (hemispheric synchronization), and claims it could be used to promote mental well-being or to trigger an altered state of consciousness.
• 1978 to 1984 – Army veteran Joseph McMoneagle contributes to 450 remote viewing missions under Project Stargate. He is known as “Remote View No. 1”. This is kind of a whole other story.
• June 9th, 1983 – The CIA report “Analysis and Assessment of The Gateway Process” is produced. It provides a scientific framework for understanding and expanding human consciousness, out-of-body experiments, and other altered states of mind.
• 1989 – Remote viewer Angela Dellafiora Ford helps track down a former customs agent who has gone on the run. She pinpoints his location as “Lowell, Wyoming”. U.S. Customs apprehend him 100 miles west of a Wyoming town called Lovell.
• 2003 – The CIA approves declassification of the Gateway Process report.
• 2017 – The CIA declassifies 12 million pages of records revealing previously unknown details about the program, which would eventually become known as Project Stargate.
The Report
Personnel
The author of The Gateway Process report is Lieutenant Colonel Wayne M. McDonnell, hereon referred to simply as Wayne. There isn’t a tremendous amount of information available on the man, nor any photographs.
In 1983, Wayne was tasked by the Commander of the U.S. Army Operational Group with figuring out how The Gateway Experience, astral projection and out-of-body experiences work.
Wayne partnered with a bunch of different folks to produce the report, most notably Itzhak Bentov, a very Googleable American-Israeli scientist who helped pioneer the biomedical engineering industry.
From the outset of the report, Wayne states his intent to employ an objective scientific method in order to understand the Gateway process. The various scientific avenues he takes include:
A biomedical inquiry to understand the physical aspects of the process.
Information on quantum mechanics to describe the nature and functioning of human consciousness.
Theoretical physics to explain the time-space dimension and means by which expanded human consciousness transcends it.
Classical physics to bring the whole phenomenon of out-of-body states into the language of physical science (and remove the stigma of an occult connotation).
Methodological frames of reference
Before diving into the Gateway Experience, Wayne develops a frame of reference by dissecting three discrete consciousness-altering methodologies.
He’s basically saying, there’s no way you’re going to get through The Gateway without a solid grounding in the brain-altering techniques that came before it.
1) He begins with hypnosis.
The language is extremely dense, but the basic gist is as follows:
..the left side of the brain screens incoming stimuli, categorizing, assessing and assigning meaning to everything through self-cognitive, verbal, and linear reasoning.
The left hemisphere then dishes the carefully prepared data to the non-critical, holistic, pattern-oriented right hemisphere, which accepts everything without question.
Hypnosis works by putting the left side to sleep, or at least distracting it long enough to allow incoming data directly, unchallenged entry to the right hemisphere.
There, stimuli can reach the sensor and motor cortices of the right brain, which corresponds to points in the body.
Suggestions then can send electrical signals from the brain to certain parts of the body.
Directing these signals appropriately, according to the report, can elicit reactions ranging from left leg numbness to feelings of happiness. Same goes for increased powers of concentration.
2) Wayne continues with a snapshot of transcendental meditation.
He distinguishes it from hypnotism.
Through concentration the subject draws energy up the spinal cord, resulting in acoustical waves that run through the cerebral ventricles, to the right hemisphere, where they stimulate the cerebral cortex, run along the homunculus and then to the body.
The waves are the altered rhythm of heart sounds, which create sympathetic vibrations in the walls of the fluid-filled cavities of the brain’s ventricles.
He observed that the symptoms begin in the left side of the body, confirming the right brain’s complicity.
Bentov also states that the same effect might be achieved by prolonged exposure to 4 - 7 Hertz/second acoustical vibrations.
He suggests standing by an air conditioning duct might also do the trick. (David Lynch and other celebrities are committed adherents to transcendental meditation today.)
3) Biofeedback, on the other hand, uses the left hemisphere to gain access to the right brain’s lower cerebral, motor, and sensory cortices.
Whereas hypnosis suppresses one side of the brain, and TM bypasses that side altogether, biofeedback teaches the left hemisphere to visualize the desired result, recognize the feelings associated with right hemisphere access, and ultimately achieve the result again.
With repetition, the left brain can reliably key into the right brain, and strengthen the pathways so that it can be accessed during a conscious demand mode.
A digital thermometer is subsequently placed on a target part of the body.
When its temperature increases, objective affirmation is recognized and the state is reinforced. Achieving biofeedback can block pain, enhance feeling, and even suppress tumors, according to the report.
The Gateway mechanics
With that, Wayne takes a first stab at the Gateway process.
He classifies it as a “training system designed to bring enhanced strength, focus and coherence to the amplitude and frequency of brainwave output between the left and right hemispheres so as to alter consciousness.”
What distinguishes the Gateway process from hypnosis, TM, and biofeedback, is that it requires achieving a state of consciousness in which the electrical brain patterns of both hemispheres are equal in amplitude and frequency.
This is called Hemi-Sync.
Hemi-Sync
Lamentably, and perhaps conveniently, we cannot as humans achieve this state on our own.
The audio techniques developed by Bob Monroe and his Institute (which comprise a series of tapes), claim to induce and sustain Hemi-Sync.
Here, the document shifts to the usage of quotes and other reports to describe the powers of Hemi-Sync. Wayne employs the analogy of a lamp versus a laser.
Left to its own devices the human mind expends energy like a lamp, in a chaotic and incoherent way, achieving lots of diffusion but relatively little depth.
Under Hemi-Sync though, the mind produces a “disciplined stream of light.”
So, once the frequency and amplitude of the brain are rendered coherent it can then synchronize with the rarified energy levels of the universe.
With this connection intact, the brain begins to receive symbols and display astonishing flashes of holistic intuition.
The Hemi-Sync technique takes advantage of a Frequency Following Response (FFR).
It works like this: an external frequency emulating a recognized one will cause the brain to mimic it.
So if a subject hears a frequency at the Theta level, it will shift from its resting Beta level. To achieve these unnatural levels, Hemi-Sync puts a single frequency in the left ear and a contrasting frequency in the right.
The brain then experiences the Delta frequency, also known as the beat frequency.
With the FFR and beat frequency phenomena firmly in place, The Gateway Process introduces a series of frequencies at marginally audible, subliminal levels. With the left brain relaxed and the body in a virtual sleep state, the conditions are ideal to promote brainwave outputs of higher and higher amplitude and frequency.
Alongside subliminal suggestions from Bob Monroe (naturally), the subject can then alter their consciousness.
FFR
.
The Gateway system only works when the audio, which is introduced through headphones, is accompanied by a physical quietude comparable to other forms of meditation.
This increases the subject’s internal resonance to the body’s sound frequencies, for example the heart.
This eliminates the “bifurcation echo”, in which the heartbeat moves up and down the body seven times a second.
By placing the body in a sleep-like state, The Gateway Tapes, like meditation, lessen the force and frequency of the heartbeat pushing blood into the aorta.
The result is a rhythmic sine wave that in turn amplifies the sound volume of the heart three times. This then amplifies the frequency of brainwave output. The film surrounding the brain—the dura—and fluid between that film and the skull, eventually begin to move up and down, by .0005 and .010 millimeters.
The body, based on its own micro-motions, then functions as a tuned vibrational system.
The report claims that the entire body eventually transfers energy at between 6.8 and 7.5 Hertz. This matches Earth’s own energy (7 – 7.5 Hertz). The resulting wavelengths are long. They are about 40,000 kilometers in length. Which curiously also happens to be the perimeter of the planet earth.
According to Bentov, the signal can move around the world’s electrostatic field in 1/7th of a second.
To recap, the Gateway Process goes like this:
Induced state of calm
Blood pressure lowers
Circulatory system, skeleton and other organ systems begin to vibrate at 7 – 7.5 cycles per second
Increased resonance is achieved
The resulting sound waves matches the electrostatic field of the earth
The body and earth and other similarly tuned minds become a single energy continuum.
Image: kovacevicmiro via Getty Images
A psycho-quantum level deeper
Wayne then turns to the very nature of matter and energy.
More materially (or less if you will), solid matter in the strict construction of the term, he explains, doesn’t exist.
The atomic structure is composed of oscillating energy grids surrounded by other oscillating energy grids at tremendous speeds.
These oscillation rates vary—the nucleus of an atom vibrates at 10 to the power of 22, a molecule vibrates at 10 to the power of 9, a human cell vibrates at 10 to the power of 3. The point is that the entire universe is one complex system of energy fields. States of matter in this conception then are merely variations in the state of energy.
The result of all these moving energies, bouncing off of energy at rest, projects a 3D mode, a pattern, called a hologram, A.K.A our reality as we experience it.
This describes the individual world-line realities. Don't get too confused.
It’s best to think of it as a 3D photograph. There’s a whole rabbit hole to go down here. Suffice it to say, the hologram that is our experience is incredibly good at depicting and recording all the various energies bouncing around creating matter. So good, in fact, that we buy into it hook, line, and sinker, going so far as to call it our “life.”
Consciousness then can be envisaged as a 3D grid system superimposed over all energy patterns, Wayne writes…
Using mathematics, each plane of the grid system can then reduce the data to a 2D form. Our binary (go/no go) minds can then process the data and compare it to other historical data saved in our memory. Our reality is then formed by comparisons. The right hemisphere of the brain acts as the primary matrix or receptor for this holographic input. The left hemisphere then compares it to other data, reducing it to its 2D form.
In keeping with our species’ commitment to exceptionalism, as far as we know humans are uniquely capable of achieving this level of consciousness. Simply, humans not only know, but we know that we know. This bestows upon us the ability to duplicate aspects of our own hologram, project them out, perceive that projection, run it through a comparison with our own memory of the hologram, measure the differences using 3D geometry, then run it through our binary system to yield verbal cognition of the self.
Screengrab: CIA
Metallicman comment
This is very similar to the way that the consciousness moves in and out of different world-lines. It moves in a sine wave. One instance it is in a world-line, and the next it is between world-lines in the non-physical reality. We move in this similar way.
The click-out phase
Wayne then shows his cards as a true punisher, issuing, “Up to this point our discussion of the Gateway process has been relatively simple and easy to follow. Now the fun begins.”
Shots fired, Wayne.
What he’s preparing the commander reading this heady report for is the reveal—how we can use the Gateway to transcend the dimension of spacetime.
Time is a measurement of energy or force in motion; it is a measurement of change.
This is really important.
For energy to be classified as in motion, it must be confined within a vibratory pattern that can contain its motion, keeping it still. Energy not contained like this is boundary-less, and moves without limit or dimension, to infinity. This disqualifies boundary-less energy from the dimension of time because it has no rate of change.
Energy in infinity, also called “the absolute state,” is completely at rest because nothing is accelerating or decelerating it—again, no change. It therefore does not contribute to our hologram, our physical experience.
We cannot perceive it.
Now back to frequencies.
Wave oscillation occurs because a wave is bouncing between two rigid points of rest. It’s like a game of electromagnetic hot potato (the potato being the wave and the participants’ hands being the boundaries of the wave).
Without these limits, there would be no oscillation. When a wave hits one of those points of rest, just for a very brief instant, it “clicks out” of spacetime and joins infinity.
For this to occur, the speed of the oscillation has to drop below 10 the power of -33 centimeters per second. For a moment, the wave enters into a new world.
The potato simply disappears into a dimension we cannot perceive.
Theoretically speaking, if the human consciousness wave pattern reaches a high enough frequency, the “click-outs” can reach continuity.
Put another way, if the frequency of human consciousness can dip below 10 to the power of 33 centimeters per second but above a state of total rest, it can transcend spacetime.
The Gateway experience and associated Hemi-Sync technique is designed for humans to achieve this state and establish a coherent pattern of perception in the newly realized dimensions.
Image: Spectral-Design via Getty Images
Passport to the hologram
In theory, we can achieve the above at any time.
The entire process though is helped along if we can separate the consciousness from our body. It’s like an existential running head start where the click-out of a consciousness already separated from its body starts much closer to, and has more time to dialogue with, other dimensions.
This is where things get a little slippery; hold on as best you can.
The universe is in on the whole hologram thing, too, Wayne writes. This super hologram is called a “torus” because it takes the shape of a fuck-off massive self-contained spiral.
Give yourself a moment to let the above motion sink in…
This pattern of the universe conspicuously mirrors the patterns of electrons around the nucleus of an atom. Galaxies north of our own are moving away from us faster than the galaxies to the south; galaxies to the east and west of us are more distant. The energy that produced the matter that makes up the universe we presently enjoy, will turn back in on itself eventually. Its trajectory is ovoid, also known as the cosmic egg. As it curls back on itself it enters a black hole, goes through a densely packed energy nucleus then gets spat out the other side of a white hole and begins the process again. Springtime in the cosmos, baby!
Screengrab: CIA
The entire universe hologram—the torus—represents all the phases of time: the past, present, and future.
The takeaway is that human consciousness brought to a sufficiently altered (focused) state could obtain information about the past, present, and future, since they all live in the universal hologram simultaneously.
Wayne reasons that our all-reaching consciousness eventually participates in an all-knowing infinite continuum.
Long after we depart the space-time dimension and the hologram each one of us perceives is snuffed out, our consciousness continues. Reassuring in a way.
And that is the context in which the Gateway Experience sits.
The Technique
The following is an outline of the key steps to reach focus levels necessary to defy the spacetime dimension. This is an involved and lengthy process best attempted in controlled settings.
The Energy Conversion Box: The Gateway Process begins by teaching the subject to isolate any extraneous concerns using a visualization process called “the energy conversion box.”
Resonant Humming: The individual is introduced to resonant humming. Through the utterance of a protracted single tone, alongside a chorus on the tapes, the mind and body achieve a state of resonance.
The Gateway Affirmation: The participant is exposed to something close to a mantra called The Gateway Affirmation . They must repeat to themselves variations of, “I am merely a physical body and deeply desire to expand my consciousness.”
Hemi-Sync: The individual is finally exposed to the Hemi-Sync sound frequencies, and encouraged to develop a relationship with the feelings that emerge.
Additional Noise: Physical relaxation techniques are practiced while the Hemi-Sync frequencies are expanded to include “pink and white” noise. This puts the body in a state of virtual sleep, while calming the left hemisphere and raising the attentiveness of the right hemisphere.Advertisement
The Energy Balloon: The individual is then encouraged to visualize the creation of an “energy balloon” beginning at the top of the head, extending down in all directions to the feet then back up again. There are a few reasons for this, the main one being that this balloon will provide protection against conscious entities possessing lower energy levels that he or she may encounter when in the out-of-body state.
Focus 12: The practitioner can consistently achieve sufficient expanded awareness to begin interacting with dimensions beyond their physical reality. To achieve this state requires conscious efforts and more “pink and white noise” from the sound stream.
Tools: Once Focus 12 is achieved, the subject can then employ a series of tools to obtain feedback from alternative dimensions.
Problem Solving: The individual identifies fundamental problems, fills their expanded awareness with them, and then projects them out into the universe. These can include personal difficulties, as well as technical or practical problems.
Patterning: Consciousness is used to achieve desired objectives in the physical, emotional, or intellectual sphere.
Color Breathing: A healing technique that revitalizes the body’s energy flows by imagining colors in a particularly vivid manner.
Energy Bar Tool: This technique involves imagining a small intensely pulsating dot of light that the participant charges up. He or she then uses the sparkling, vibrating cylinder of energy (formerly known as the dot) to channel forces from the universe to heal and revitalize the body.
Remote Viewing: A follow-on technique of the Energy Bar Tool where the dot is turned into a whirling vortex through which the individual sends their imagination in search of illuminating insights.
Living Body Map: A more organized use of the energy bar in which streams of different colors flow from the dot on to correspondingly-colored bodily systems.https://oembed.vice.com/MBh6HBt?img=1&lazy=1&v=1&app=1
Seven days of training have now occurred. Approximately 5 percent of participants get to this next level, according to the report.
Focus 15 – Travel Into the Past: Additional sound on the Hemi-Sync tapes includes more of the same, plus some subliminal suggestions to further expand the consciousness. The instructions are highly symbolic: time is a huge wheel, in which different spokes give access to the participant’s past.
Focus 21 – The Future:This is the last and most advanced state. Like Focus 15, this is a movement out of spacetime into the future.
Out-of-Body Movement: Only one tape of the many is devoted to out-of-body movement. This tape is devoted to facilitating out-of-body state when the participant’s brain wave patterns and energy levels reach harmony with the surrounding electromagnetic environment. According to Bob Monroe, the participant has to be exposed to Beta signals of around 2877.3 cycles per second.
Conclusions
Wayne expresses concern about the fidelity of information brought back from out-of-body states using the Gateway technique. Practical applications are of particular concern because of the potential for “information distortion.”
The Monroe Institute also ran into a bunch of issues in which they had individuals travel from the West to the East Coast of the U.S. to read a series of numbers off of a computer screen. They never got them exactly right. Wayne chalks this up to the trouble of differentiating between physical entities and extra-time-space dimensions when in the out-of-body state.
Wayne swings back to support mode though, lending credence to the physics foundation of the report. He cites multiple belief systems that have established identical findings. These include the Tibetan Shoug, the Hindu heaven of Indra, the Hebrew mystical philosophy, and the Christian concept of the Trinity. Here he seems more interested in hammering home the theoretical underpinnings that make The Gateway Experience possible, rather than the practical possibilities promised by The Gateway Tapes.
Possibly with his CIA top brass audience in mind, Wayne then gives an A-type nod to The Gateway Experience for providing a faster, more efficient, less subservient, energy-saving route to expanded consciousness. This finishes with a series of recommendations to the CIA for how to exploit Gateway’s potential for national defense purposes.
The missing page
One curious feature of The Gateway Report is that it seems to be missing page 25. It’s a real cliffhanger too. The bottom of page 24 reads “And, the eternal thought or concept of self which results from this self-consciousness serves the,” The report picks back up on page 26 and 3 sections later as if Wayne hadn’t just revealed the very secret of existence.
The gap has not gone unnoticed. There’s a Change.org petition requesting its release. Multiple Freedom of Information Act requests have demanded the same. In all cases, the CIA has said they never had the page to begin with. Here’s a 2019 response from Mark Lilly, the CIA’s Information and Privacy Coordinator, to one Bailey Stoner regarding these records:
One theory goes that that rascal Wayne M.-fricking-McDonnell left the page out on purpose. The theory contends that it was a litmus test—if anyone truly defies time-space dimensions, they’ll certainly be able to locate page 25.
Quick notes
This is an introductory post to this subject. I will include better, more “meaty” posts subsequent to this. I will also include the Hemi-Sync audio tracks that the MM reader can experiment with.
Do you want more?
This post starts it’s own sub-Index. Within this index will be (or are) a collection of audio files (in either MP3 or FLAC formats) for your personal use, adventures and exploration. Free.
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This is a MAJestic post. It fits somewhere in between “what is the nature of the universe” and “how thoughts can alter our reality”. This article focuses on the idea that when you are in a world-line you are pretty much “alone”. Everyone else are just “shadows” or “shadow people” that occupy the world-line that you inhabit. Here we are going to spend more time flushing out what “shadow people” are, and what you are when you are on a world-line.
We covered some of this material in other posts.
Here we are going to elaborate on some of the finer details to help provide a better picture of what is actually going on. And of course, this knowledge that I am transcribing to the MM audience is not the mainstream scientific understanding (at least as I understand it), but rather what the <redacted> benefactors that worked with us at MAJestic believe that it is.
You, being who you are, can take it or leave it, and even ignore this article. But I would argue that you need to pay attention as it will best describe how the universe actually works, in far better detail than anything currently available within conventional science.
I have simplified the way the universe works so that people can understand it. And this posts leaves the simplification to start getting to the intricacies of the entire system.
Quick Review – “Time”
We are consciousness. Not a physical being.
Our consciousness is part of something much larger. We refer to this “bigger” thing as a “soul”.
Everything that you know, experience and think derives from your consciousness.
This consciousness constantly moves.
It moves from a fixed (unchanging) world-line to another world-line. We move from one to the other, and we call this movement “time”.
“Time” is the movement of your consciousness from one world-line to another.
Consciousness defines “time”.
Quick Review- Properties of a world-line
Each world-line is static.
Meaning that nothing is moving. A “world-line” is a frozen moment in time.
And each world-line represents, not only a frozen moment in time, of what have happened in the past, but also what will happen in the future. As well as every single “what-if” world-lines no matter how trivial.
And while we consider them to be “world-lines”, they are actually a small frozen in place complete universe. With planets, galaxies, stars, and all sorts of things that we associate with “our reality”.
Each world-line is a frozen universe.
Quick Review – A Template
For our purposes, we can consider world-lines to occupy a “location” independent of time and space. Thus it is very difficult to associate them with any kinds of geometry. Never the less, these world-lines can be “stacked”, “arranged” or “associated” with others for purposes of invention. Meaning; These frozen world-lines can be arranged to provide a utility, or a purpose.
A “template” is an arrangement of world-lines.
The world-lines are set up so that it is easy for consciousness to move from one to another, and thus experience “time”. This arrangement has elements of intelligent design inherent in it.
Obviously, those world-lines that are most similar to each other are organized in close proximity. It is called a “template”.
Quick review – Pre-birth template
A “pre-birth” (world-line) Template is an arranged template.
It is referred to as a “pre-birth” template because the Soul created it (arranged it) prior to your consciousness entering the physical body on world-line number one.
It is an arrangement of world-lines with the intent on creating a (more or less) “default” path of least resistance for a (given specific) consciousness to travel through.
The consciousness, of course, can enter any world-lines that it’s thoughts desire. However, the pre-birth template defines the path of “least resistance” for the consciousness. This template is pre-arranged specifically for the consciousness to acquire specific experiences while it is part of a physical body.
This manifests in a very simple manner.
A person finds a $100 bill on the sidewalk.
The default action, and the most likely response, is for the person to pick up the money and put it in his/her pocket. That is the adjacent world-line route upon the pre-birth template. It is the easy to implement world-line migration path that the consciousness would / should take.
However, other options are available.
These other options lie off that of the pre-birth world-line template. They can include...
[1] Picking up the money, and lighting it on fire.
[2] Picking it up and using it as toilet paper.
[3] Ignoring the money.
[4] Putting it in a Salvation Army donation canister.
[5] Giving it to the neighborhood kids to play with.
For most consciousnesses, the easiest path – “the path of least resistance” – is the pre-birth template. The consciousness can take very little initiative, aside from following the conditions and situations presented to them, and experience life as defined by the template.
Following the path of least resistance on a pre-birth world-line template is to live a “fated life”.
For most consciousnesses, the easiest path – “the path of least resistance” – is the pre-birth template.
Quick review – Slide
When you, as a consciousness, decide to do something out of the normal, something difficult or something extraordinary… you travel off the template. This travel, is automatic, and it appears that you “slide” off onto some other template.
A slide is when you exit the pre-birth world-line template and go to another template.
Moving off of the pre-birth world-line template is known as a “slide”. You “slide off” of it and enter a new template. This new template can provide you with new experiences and new opportunities. However, unless you maintain your position within that new template, you will always revert back to your original pre-birth world-line template.
Quick review – Occupancy
99.99999% of world-lines are empty.
Meaning that all they are, are just full and populated with other people, animals and things without consciousness. And only YOU, the one who is moving, possesses any kind of consciousness.
These people, and animals, are referred to as “shadows” or Shadow people” because while they appear to move and think, they do not have a consciousness like you have.
They are the “what if” actions, and scenery that your consciousness interacts with.
Everything in the world-line is scenery. And it is mostly devoid of other consciousnesses.
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And the basic reality of our reality and our universe is that most of our world-lines are empty of all other consciousnesses except for our own. And so to see what it looks like is pretty much like this…
And the world-lines that we occupy only has our own singular consciousness in it.
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And this is how I have been discussing world-line travel for some time now.
Well, that is not exactly correct.
In reality, all the “shadow people” possess a consciousness.
It’s not zero like I have stated.
That is an over-simplification.
There is some small percentage of a consciousness within every shadow entity. It’s just that the percentage is very, very tiny.
So, let’s take off the “training wheels”.
Every single one of the infinity of world-lines has consciousnesses throughout. Not just of everyone else, but also yours. It’s a tiny, tiny nearly infinitesimal amount. So what is ACTUALLY going on is that your consciousness dominates all the other consciousnesses in the world-line.
It’s like this…
Some explanations are necessary – How
In quantum physics, when two quanta meet, they become entangled.
Quantum Entanglement in Physics - ThoughtCo
Quantum entanglement is one of the central principles of quantum physics, though it is also highly misunderstood.In short, quantum entanglement means that multiple particles are linked together in a way such that the measurement of one particle's quantum state determines the possible quantum states of the other particles.
https://www.thoughtco.com/what-is-quantum-entanglement-2699355
And in the realm outside of our reality; the one that contains all the near-infinite numbers of world-lines, there isn’t any time or space. It’s a region with no geometry. So everything can entangle in a quantum sense.
No world-lines are independent. They are all connected to each other.
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Theoretically.
What is actually happening is that clusters of world-lines entangle with other clusters of world-lines. They do this when ever a consciousness is injected into a world-line template.
A soul injects a consciousness into a template, and them BOOM! A hundred trillion world-lines automatically get entangled.
When a consciousness is injected into a world-line template, all the world-lines become entangled with each other.
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This happens each time when a soul injects a consciousness.
This happens each time the consciousness enters and leaves world-lines, and life-lines (life-times).
And all of this entanglement puts a little infinitesimal part of you, and those around you near you in what ever world-line that your consciousness happens to occupy at that moment.
Now…
It should be understood that there are other factors that come into play. One injection of consciousness into a template does not mean that the entire infinite numbers of world-lines are all entangled. The effect does “peter out”, or decline as the variance increases.
In effect, and for our purposes, it will resemble something like this…
The ability of a consciousness to entangle with “close proximity” world-lines happens automatically. However, the ability for the entangled world-lines to entangle with other world-lines drops off as the degree of variance increases.
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So lets consider this illustration.
You, as consciousness, are injected into a template by your soul.
You have pre-arranged the template layout and "geometry" so that you will have a very interesting and special arrangement of experiences that your consciousness would enjoy.
You, as consciousness, are injected into this template and immediately all the world-lines mapped out by your soul are now entangled. This effect ripples through all the world-lines... to a point.
Certainly the world-lines where you are driving a car, and go through an intersection has your consciousness presence.
But does the world-lines where you are a duck eating (what ever ducks eat) as well?
No. That is very unlikely. As the degree of variance from your point of entry increases, so does the drop off of entanglement.You driving a car does not resemble a duck eating (what ever ducks eat).
Now…
Consider that this is happening for the billions upon billions of people that are entering and leaving our template surface. Each one is “making their marks”. Good or bad. Right or work. Strong or soft. All combine to provide some “foot print” of their present upon the template that you inhabit.
Explanations – why
You might want to know why this occurs this way. To which I must shrug my shoulders and respond that I really do not know. I suppose that if everyone was a full-on 100% consciousness inside their body, and if thoughts control our reality, then our reality could be come a very confusing mess of constantly changing realities.
By only having one dominant consciousness inside a world-line, the thoughts that navigate though the template path are clearer and easy to track.
Or inother worlds, if everyone within your world-line were operating their consciousness at 100%, like you…
…and thoughts create our reality, and navigate on and off world-lines and their associated templates…
…then…
,,,reality would be changing and moving far too rapidly. It would be very difficult to corral your personal thoughts into any kind of functional application. The “reality” would be a real mess.
Observed “reality” as the world-lines change through time would resemble a very complex mess and confusing state were everyone that co-inhabited your world-line operated at 100% consciousness efficiency.
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How can we use this knowledge
There are many positives to understanding how the universe actually works. But I would guess that the greatest value comes from what you do with that knowledge personally. Once you realize that your consciousness is THE dominant consciousness in the world-line that you inhabit, that means that your thoughts are also the DOMINANT THOUGHTS in the world-line as well.
Thus the need to control your thoughts has never been greater.
Not only can we control our navigation, but our influence in the strong quantum entanglements of “near-by” (but untraveled) world-lines means that we have the potential to influence the trends and behaviors of the environment around us.
Which is why my role as a “dimensional anchor” was so important.
Turn off that “news”. You define what you want to happen in the world around you.
I suppose you can "skim" the headlines. But really forget about most of it. Most are lies and manipulations. If you are all caught up on 5G and brain damage, the dangers of vaccines, and the government plot to do this or that...
...you all need to start drinking alcohol more, and reading the computer less.
Have a “bad boss”? You can think him out of your influence cycle?
The nation going crazy? You can calm it down, make it stable and anchor it against the winds of the radicals.
Unsatisfied with your life? Think yourself a better one.
The path and the road lies a head of you. You have more control over it’s navigation than you are aware of. Turn off the criteria of what “happiness is”, or the need to “accumulate wealth to be happy”, or the idea of “you need to do this, or that”. The only one who knows what you need is YOU.
Control your thoughts, and you will control your mind. Control your mind, and you will navigate towards the life you want.
It’s all in your hands.
Do you want more?
I have more posts in my Intention Campaign Index here…
You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.
Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.
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Have you ever suddenly came to “an understanding”, or a”realization” that what you have thought, what you have known, and what you have “felt” was all wrong?
Wrong.
This happens to all of us, at one time or the other.
We realize that what we thought at one time, was entirely wrong, or false or not at all the entire picture. Do you know what I am talking about? A realization of the way you think the world works, or how things work, or a relationship works, is not what is really going on? It’s usually a shock. Right?
You can say that about anything really.
You can say that you thought America was one thing, when it was really something else.
Or you could say that you thought China was one thing, when it was something else.
Or you could say that you thought Boston was one place, when it was something else…
But you could say that about relationships as well.
You thought he was one thing when he was really something else.
Or your friends were one thing when they were really something else.
Or your company was one way, when it was really something else entirely different.
It’s a sudden realization that what you thought existed was all a big lie.
And no. I’m not going to start delving into secret government programs, the lifestyles of the rich oligarchy, the casting couches in Hollywood, or the secrets of the Lincoln Bedroom. I’m not going to discuss how your high school text books “got it wrong” or whether or not your best friend is sleeping with your spouse. We are going to go in a different direction here…
We are going to talk about a state of mind where there are NO preconceptions of what reality is. Things are as you see them, or not. And what you might want to happen, could or could not occur.
We are going to talk about your little universe.
The picture above.
The picture at the top of this post above is pretty amazing, eh? It depicts a gladiator over his dying opponent asking the audience for guidance as to whether to kill him or not. It’s stunning. Actually. Not only in the subject matter, but also in the artistic technique.
Now. I want to conduct a thought exercise with you. Let’s go from character to character in the painting. Try to imagine their thoughts, feelings and life that day prior to that snapshot in time.
The Audience that is giving a “thumbs down”. What do you think their life was like on that day? Maybe ate a boiled egg, and some bread and looked forward to “The Games” at “The Circus”. And after the bloody gore, will probably go home and hand out with their friends. maybe enjoy the day, and perhaps do a little shopping in the market.
The Emperor. He sits there watching on. IS this what he wants? And if so why? What does the loss of this life mean to him? After the “Games” he will have a nice big meal, cavort with women, and drink enough wine until he falls asleep.
The Losing Gladiator. He struggles for his life and asks the audience for pity. What do you think is going through his head right now? What do you think he thought about the day as he was getting ready to fight? What was his morning like?
The Winning Gladiator. He’s panting. he fought hard. He is over another person like himself. But he must do what is asked of him. Does he want to do it? Is there any emotion or any compassion? What is he feeling?
In this example, you can see that there are a host of different people in this painting. All with different stories, different histories, different ideals families, passions and futures. Some experience pain. Some experience emotions – such as elation, adoration, fear, terror, and agony.
But there is one person in that painting that doesn’t seem to be showing any emotion, or any care. It is the Emperor. He sits there in numb isolation. Those people are nothing to him. Kill them. Not kill them. It doesn’t matter. Not to him now. Not to him in the future. He just doesn’t care.
He cannot feel. He cannot emote. He is typical. He is a psychopath.
Now…
…Consider this. Almost every single person in the American Government today, no matter how they appear to you in public, or though the media are psychopaths. They have no feelings, no cares, and no desires. They do what they need to do to stay within their roles, but that is it.
They put on a show, of course…
Donald Trump hugging the flag.
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Consider Hillary Clinton…
Hillary Clinton showing that she loves and respects farmers.
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Al Gore showing that he is relatable to the folk in the “rust belt” states…
Al Gore, he’s one of us, don’t you know?
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The truth is that they are all just playing a “song and dance”; a “puppet show” for all of us to watch because it’s all just a big “game” to them. To them, well they don’t think like we do. They don’t act like we do. They don’t live like we do.
And all this “stuff” is what they do (naturally) to convince us to do things for them, to give them money, power, respect, and anything else they desire. This is what they are. Their desires, and actions are not that of the humans that you see around you.
Instead they are something else…
They have evolved.
These “politicians” might look like humans, dress like humans, and talk like humans, but they are different. They are a different type of creature entirely. They have a different sentience.
They have a different sentience that the rest of us.
If you were to look at their non-physical body with the kinds of eyes that <redacted> then you would see that their appearance is very superficial. They are something else.
No they are not reptilians, or some other kind of obscene joke, they are a kind of distorted humanoid shape. And yes, you could say that their non-physical form greatly resembles a galactic quantum archetype.
Have you ever wondered why so many people BELIEVE the fantasy that Reptilian extraterrestrials, that can shape form, have taken over control of the United States?
Could it be that these people, who are in control of the levers of power, are not acting and behaving like the "normal" people that surrounds you and I?
There are several paintings that had a particularly strong impact on me and remain memorable. First is John William Waterhouse's painting of Saint Eulalia.
The painting depicts, in a startling manner, the murder of a 12-year-old girl, Eulalia, who was martyred because she refused, as a Christian, to worship the imperial Roman gods.
The 4th century Spanish poet, Prudentius, places her death in 313 AD, and tells of the miracle, signaling her martyrdom, that occurred after her death-it began to snow and doves flew out of her mouth.
He further describes her torture as being brutal, with hooks tearing her flesh and her body being burnt with torches.
Waterhouse has been inspired by this poem as is explained in the exhibit's text.
Waterhouse does something remarkable in this painting. He eliminates the gory signs of her extreme torture, and yet impresses upon the viewer the horror of what has happened.
She is partly undressed, her upper torso bare, but her lower body is covered in her torn brown-red and dirty garment. Waterhouse has taken poetic license in order to give the child dignity and yet convey the suffering and indignities she endured.
He makes a masterful use of perspective by placing Eulalia in the foreground. He uses extreme foreshortening which he accomplishes with masterful skill, a very difficult feat. Eulalia, in this foreshortened pose, is lying headfirst on her back and her image takes up one third of the large canvas.
The viewer is looking up the length of her body to her legs that are turned slightly askew to the viewer's left. Her blood red hair (a red with dark burnt umber and sepia) is reminiscent of spilt blood beginning to age. The hair flows toward the viewer almost to the edge of the canvas.
The thin layer of snow on the ground accentuates the sense of drying blood, as does her garment, which gives, at second viewing, the look of flayed skin. The snow is of course also a symbol of her virginity. The doves that have issued from her mouth are now just ordinary doves and flit about her indifferently.
This adds to the dead child's sense of abandonment.
On her left wrist remains a piece of tied rope, symbol of her torture. As your eyes move up the canvas you are met with the shaft of the makeshift cross she was roped and nailed to on your right, not far from where the she lies. Moving further away from Eulalia, the remainder of the upper canvas depicts Roman guards and a cluster of people on steps that lead to the square where Eulalia lies dead.
The backdrop is of Roman columns.
The crowd seems only to be there out of curiosity.
One figure, a woman in white robes, kneeling, head down, at the top of the steps, grieves. One wonders if it is a sister or maybe the girl's mother, forbidden to go to Eulalia by the foremost guard who holds a spear.
There is absolutely nothing sexually titillating about this painting. It takes an overwhelming stretch in a critic's mind, in order to fit this image into a predetermined aesthetic agenda, to see otherwise. The all-over coloration of the painting is in hues of white, gray, brown, gray-blue and the dark drenched reds.
This powerful image will stay with me.
-Art Renewal center
In this painting we see how a young innocent girl is hurt, tortured and killed by the uncaring machine that government has become. People do their jobs. They follow their orders. They obey their commands.
We all know about how uncaring, methodical and ritualized our governments have become. You enter the “system” and you become “processed” by it.
But you know, there are two mechanisms at play. There is a mechanism of government that favors the wealthy oligarchy in power, and one that is used on everyone else. Needless to say, it is the one used on “Joe and Suzy Average” that is harsh and brutal. But that system used against the oligarchy is trivial. Those in power live a different kind of life than you and I do.
It’s not just that they are surrounded by wealth and opulence. It’s that they, their friends and all their associations are with those of one singular sentience.
America is segregated by sentience. Not class.
Voluntary sentience segregation
Nothing that I have so far mentioned should come as a surprise. We all know how “well heeled” the oligarchy that runs America is. And we all know that they seem “off” or a little different from you and I and the rest of the people around us. But would you accept the notion that this kind of sentience segregation fits an approved galactic archetype?
The powers-that-be censoring books.
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I guess that the big shocker that I have to announce to the MM readership is that things have advanced for the human species. And while the past have always had a wealthy class and a poor class, advances in technology has moved the human species to a point of inflection. It’s a “tip over event”. It’s a point where sentience becomes established within a society, and in our cases, within a species.
Throughout the Metallicman writings I have pushed the idea that our human species has been striving to weed out the confused sentience’s, and establish a unified sentience.
What ever it might be.
And to this end, I have stated that it would take years, if not centuries to do so. In this regards, I have suggest (if not stated out right) that humans must choose between either a [1] Service-to-self sentience, or [2] a Service-to-others sentience.
However, what appears to be happening is something quite different, and my personal biases are hereby notified to stop being so “black and white” about everything.
You see, all that matters to our benefactors is that Humans get their collective acts together and work out a unified sentience. They don’t really care what it would be, just that it is unified, and that it fits (or can fit with some RNA changes) into a galactic archetype.
It has nothing to do whether they like or hate humans as a species. It has to do with the generation of the thoughts that we have, their power and our ability to entangle with other species. If our sentience does not develop into an approved archetype, then our thoughts and actions can be ruinous for the rest of the galaxy (as well as the rest of the universe).
But…
But…
But you know, there is every evidence that the oligarchy that runs the United States and much of the world are already within a galactic archetype. It’s a Service-for-self archetype.
They are no longer evolving.
They ARE evolved.
And for the world to fit within the matching schedule made by our benefactors, that means that the rest of the earth must fit within one of two (remaining) complementary sentience’s.
Service-for-self. (Where 100% of the human species has the same sentience.)
Service-for-another. (Where a caste system forms, and the rest of us serve the oligarchy.)
Or, perhaps a picture would explain it better. Consider the HG Wells science fiction class “The Time Machine“.
On January 5, 1900, a disheveled looking H.G. Wells - George to his friends - arrives late to his own dinner party. He tells his guests of his travels in his time machine, the work about which his friends knew.
They were also unbelieving, and skeptical of any practical use if it did indeed work. George knew that his machine was stationary in geographic position, but he did not account for changes in what happens over time to that location.
He also learns that the machine is not impervious and he is not immune to those who do not understand him or the machine's purpose.
George tells his friends that he did not find the Utopian society he so wished had developed.
He mentions specifically a civilization several thousand years into the future which consists of the subterranean morlocks and the surface dwelling eloi, who on first glance lead a carefree life.
In the movie, the wealthy, the smart, the powerful move underground. They evolve in that environment. They become a new kind of human; The Morlock.
The evolved oligarchy. A sub-species of humans that has fully adopted a service-for-self sentience. Scene is from the 1960 movie “The Time Machine.”
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The rest of the people stay above ground. They live in the abandoned cities, and live a pastoral life. They are the people that serve the Morloks. They are the Eloi.
The evolved human species. This is the other sub-species. This species is full of service-for-another humans. Scene is from the 1960 movie “The Time Machine”.
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Is that the direction that the world is heading towards right now? That the human species is segregating into two separate sentience’s intentionally? Or in other words, two completely different sub-species of humans?
Spelling things out...
If the human species is already at a point where a portion of the human species has decided to branch off into their own species - A service-to-self species.
Then...
That leaves the rest of us to become either [1] Like them. We too become a service-for-self species. Or [2] we take on the role of a sub-servant species of human. The service-for-another species.
And understanding this fact, will help to explain a lot of the strange and freaky (deaky) things that are going on contemporaneously.
What things?
Well…
Let’s look at this. Ok?
You know, Trump tried to suppress China. He conducted a “hybrid war”, declared himself a “War President”, he festooned his office with war-themed objects and flags, posted his “campaign coins” prominently on display and did everything possible short of nuclear war.
And one aspect of this “hybrid” war was the release of six viral bio-weapons to collapse the Chinese agricultural and livestock industries (2017 through 2018), followed up with three strains (2019 and 2020) to take out the Chinese people themselves.
I have to admit that it really bums me out. (Sigh.)
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The first assault was on CNY 2020 with the COVID-19B.
Subsequent assaults (after the six attempts of the destruction of grains and livestock) were the COVID-19. This came in numerous strains. A, B, C... and mutated into many others...
Bu the USA launched other biological weapons against the Chinese people as well.
There is the (yet unofficially named) completely new virus COVID-20. This is not a strain of the COVID-19, but yet another "novel" virus, and yes it is unusually enormous in size. This nasty virus was unleashed about a month after Trump "gave up" the "color revolution in Hong Kong. Super nasty. This was super lethal and caused death by vomiting. It lies in the gut and in the anus. It was discovered by the PLA by monitoring one of the Chinese CIA "assets" (that was involved in drone spraying of the swine flu in 2019.) This was the reason why Trump went into hiding for three days, and America went DEFCON ONE. He feared military retaliation. Not the "Trump caught coronavirus" nonsense that the "news" reported.
Drat! Trump snarled and twisted his evil long mustache. "I'll show them who's boss!"
What followed was the worst virus of all. Yet another (unofficially un-named) novel new, and enormous in size COVID-21 new virus. This nasty, nasty, horrible virus was unleashed about a month after the seven battle carrier Naval fleet left the South China Sea. Also very deadly, and with a very high R0. Also found in hyper vigilant sweeps of all imported food and visitors to China. It lies within the gut and anus and results in death by diarrhea.
Today 28JAN21, the Western media is finally reporting on the Chinese "new" swab testing regime that was implemented right after the new year during the first week in January. The new technique uses swabs of the anus to detect for viral infections. Of course, the media are perplexed. Why do this with a COVID-19 with is a virus that affects the nasal passages and throat? Why test in the gut and anus?
That is because the new test not just tests for COVID-19, but also the two new lethal viruses COVID-20 and COVID-21. Both of which affect the gut and the anus.
And part of this plan was to protect Americans from “blow back”. Meaning that he didn’t want any of the bio-weapon released upon the Chinese to end up hurting America. Which was why trump insisted that COVID-19A be spread to all Americans and that no one is to wear a mask. He wanted everyone to be immunized.
blowback
...unintended adverse results of a political action or situation.
He wanted the light strain COVID-19A to spread to all Americans and the “West” to get this virus. Why? So that they would be immune to “blow back”. This was through giving everyone “herd immunity”.
… the COVID-19A ran unchecked through America and the nations of “The West”. As it did so, it gave everyone “herd immunity” to the nasty virus; the COVID-19B, the Chinese, Russian and Iranian strain.
And don’t give me the Alex Jones / Rush Limbaugh / Sean Hannity / CIA narrative that the Coronavirus was a Chinese bio-weapon gone wrong. Sheech!
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗱-𝟭𝟵 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗮. The Covid virus genome was found in waste water samples in Barcelona in March 2019, almost a year before it was first reported in Wuhan China. A USA mayor said he tested to have COVID antibody as early as November 2019, meaning he was infected much earlier. Scientists at University of Milan confirmed the virus was present in Italy since November 2019.
https://lnkd.in/e4rH_eY
But…
But, suddenly the entire “news” dialog has changed.
Now everyone MUST take this new vaccination. It is very important or you will die! You must do it now! Hurry up take it NOW! Now. Now. Nowwwwww!
It seems like things have changed. The news media leads one to believe that things are different, and that things have changed.
Oh sure, there’s all sorts of warnings and alerts about new strains popping out of nowhere inside of America…
No one wants to be a casualty in a pandemic. It’s heart-rendering.
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Now, pay attention.
China, Russia and their allies are using the viral inoculation for the very nasty COVID-19B. This is a unique vaccination and is quite unlike what has been bantered about in America. This is necessary, and the Chinese version, the COVID-19B has a R0 or 15% to 20%. Much more dangerous than the “lite” American strain COVID-19A with a R0=0.1%.
But suddenly, America has a vaccination and everyone MUST take it!
This viral inoculation is very, very different from the Chinese solution, and involves changing the RNA of the person so inoculated.
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I find it very curious that there is this urgency to inoculate every America, and every citizen of a nation allied with America, with a RNA altering vaccination for COVID-19A with a very low R0. It’s very odd.
And I am not the only one questioning this either…
Now, the “news” is all filled with bullshit. So it’s pretty hard to make heads or tails out of what is going on. I can tell you the following are as clear as day…
President Trump declared war on China. And launched biological warfare attacks to that end.
The COVID-19B is real. People die from it. China locked the entire down over it, and went DEFCON ONE with armed nuclear weapons over it. This is the deadly strain.
The COVID-19A is real, and this strain was exposed to Americans almost six months prior to the release of the lethal strain in China. This is the inoculation strain.
For the Trump / Bolton / Pompeo / Tom Cotton plan to work, it is important that herd immunity be obtained using COVID-19A inside of America.
So what is going on with this sudden frantic “need” to inject everyone with a RNA changing vaccine against a mild strain of COVID-19A?
What indeed?
Right now inside America everything is a big mess. Certainly no one can disagree. The “news” or what constitutes it’s modern replacement is all over the place and fear-mongering is the norm. It’s hard to figure out what is going on.
Don’t allow MM here to be yet another tale of fear and woe.
I really don’t know what is going on in America and the West. To me, it really seems to be in a state of turmoil, where everything is upside down and there are a lot of crazy atmospheric conditions that point to dangerously dark storm clouds a brewing. And in and among all this turmoil is a sudden “change in direction” regarding the COVID-19 coronavirus.
Recall that in January 2020 the narrative was DO NOT WEAR MASKS. It’s not as bad as the flu, and “herd immunity”.
And now, one complete year later…
In January 2021, the narrative is WEAR MASKS. It’s much worse than the flu. Take the vaccination or die!!!!
Now…
Is this just because there is a new President…? Or is it because of a bigger plan? Or is it that the United States is so confused that it is like a thrashing elephant out of control and in a rage?
I. Do. Not. Know.
What I do know is the following…
This change in direction, it’s suddenness and crazed haphazard implementation is not a comforting sign. It points to an out-of-control government and leadership system.
From the point of view of DNA / RNA, any use of a vaccination that alter genetic structure should be of concern. (Look what happened to the tomato). It doesn’t matter if the intentions are good or bad. New technologies require vetting and careful controlled trials and experimentation.
What ever eventually does happen, the benefactors are just fine with it.
And if you get the inoculation…
And the RNA does it’s work. What then? You will look human, but what changes with the RNA alter?
Could it be like the 1956 movie “Invasion of the body snatchers”…
He looks like my uncle. He sounds like my uncle. He dresses like my uncle, he acts and walks and talks like my uncle.
...but he's NOT my uncle.
The 1956 movie “Invasion of the body snatchers”.
America seems to be going the way of the former Soviet Union
Unknown to most Americans, in the 1980s and 1990s, the Soviet Union break-up created a host of changes and discomfort for the people there. Many lost their incomes, their places of employment, food supplies dwindled and everything was very “iffy” for a while. Angered youth took over a ballistic nuclear submarine, for Pete’s sake. It was a trying time.
But now things have settled out and calmed down.
All that remains of the “glory days” of the former Soviet Union are abandoned buildings…
An abandoned medical research hospital.
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And this, an abandoned space complex….
An abandoned space complex inside Russia.
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And this telecommunications station left to rot…
An abandoned Russian Telecommunications station.
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Or all these planes and aircraft in an abandoned Russian “skunk works”…
Abandoned Russian “Skunk works”.
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Um, yeah it’s all sad.
If you liked these photos, you can find a ton lot more at this great site; https://rusue.com/. It's got urban explorers going through the bones of the old former Soviet Union. It's a great site to explore.
Anyways,
It seems like the changes inside of America are starting to manifest, and guess what? It’s not like anyone thought that they would be like. Nope. It’s not an American Civil War II – thought that is still on the table, or a scene from “The Walking Dead” and a Zombie apocalypse. It’s bio-weapons, invisible dangers, government authority, and massive control, with pockets of balkanized folk all over the place that are angry, pissed off, confused and out of their minds in blood-lust anger.
Conclusion
So we enter a state of understanding.
The war for sentience domination has begun in the United States. It is following the Former Soviet Union model, and involves all kinds of new and novel characteristics that places “common citizens” at a great disadvantage, and the ruling oligarchy at a great advantage. The only people who seemingly will survive during the culling process are those that will fit within the niche’s provided for them.
I suggest the MM readership to be aware, cautious and accommodating. But not to be in agreement. Just keep your thoughts to your selves. Do not place a big “bulls eye” on your chest. Do not flaunt disgust or anger. Be as publicly neutral as possible you need to survive thought this stressful time by keeping your wits about your and controlling your emotions.
Clan up with friends and family. Know who your neighbors are and be helpful and a participant within your own closed society. Be good. Be the kind ear to listen and the strong shoulder for other to cry upon. Remember this time WILL PASS. What it important that you pass through it unscathed.
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Here we are going to discuss a technique regarding prayer / affirmation campaigns.
This technique not only helps you conduct a prayer / affirmation campaign, but relaxes the mind, soothes the soul, and generally helps the body and mind interact together.
We live in a world that is perpetually bombarding us with noise and discord. From the neighbor that is mowing his lawn, to the television commercial that is screaming “Call now! It’s only 9.99!” and that “news” report that says that the world is going to be a “better and safer” place now that the US Navy is sending a naval carrier group to Taiwan. Just a few bombs. What could go wrong?
We need to turn off all that noise if we are to be able to focus on our life and our navigation through the MWI.
You need to tune out all that outside noise if you are ever going to be able to arrive at a point of calm control.
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This is a post on something that I have used before. It is very helpful in cleaning out the “junk” that tends to clutter up our minds and which works to distract from our affirmation objectives.
This technique uses the technique of self-hypnosis to allow you to focus your thoughts and “clear the path” so that the affirmations can manifest. And it is a very critical and important technique for people that have brains that just won’t shut off. Or brains that constantly repeat endless negative narratives and thoughts that bombard our senses and render our affirmation prayers moot.
Remember…
This technique is very helpful to those of us that desperately need some peace and quiet and calm to focus. If you find yourself longing to go on long drives for some solitude, walks, a lonely breakfast alone, or that has screaming children about, this technique will really help you out.
It has helped me.
Depending on my personal situation, I tend to use it for a spell and then switch to another system, or just take a vacation from everything. But using this system is easy and also allows you to relax during the affirmation campaign as well as have a much longer campaign as it is often rather easy to incorporate into your lifestyle.
It’s called self-hypnosis.
What is self hypnosis in regards to affirmation / prayer campaigns?
Self-hypnosis involves becoming highly focused and absorbed in a self-generated state of receptivity.
You relax yourself.
Being relaxed it is easy to focus.
You focus on getting more relaxed.
When you reach a state of peace, you listen to your affirmations.
Then you finish and return to normal.
This state is one that consists of a calm relaxed mind, a steady and calm body, and an audio tape that narrates your affirmation / prayer campaign to you.
The entire process lasts from fifteen minute to up to three hours depending on the person, and the campaign that they are engaged in. Mine have been from twenty minutes to forty five minutes in duration.
In general, self-hypnosis is an individual practice. It is quite unlike when you are working with a therapist. And since you alone control the affirmation dialog, you can be quite frank and open with your campaign programming.
The advantages of this technique is that it is very helpful in quieting the mind from extemporaneous thoughts, external noises and the day-to-day worries and fears that all of us have. And in so clearing away this debris, if offer a very stable and robust method for conducting an affirmation / prayer campaign.
Additionally, it can be a most empowering practice. You will learn to have better control of your thoughts and reactions to outside influences, as well as enjoying the physical and emotional benefits of the relaxation that is so very typical of self-hypnosis techniques.
An important aspect – undoing the programming of others
I have a problem: Fatalistic, negative thinking about myself. Almost every morning I wake up & think, “I hate myself.” Automatic, reflexive negative thoughts about myself persist all day long, thoughts such as, “Stupid”, “Dummy”, “Idiot” etc. Sometimes I think about ending my life just so I won’t have to listen to these thoughts.
After a lifetime of disappointment & precarious finances, I have miraculously ended up in a fortunate situation due to a 3rd marriage: No debt; mortgage free “nice” house in safe neighborhood; retired with financial security; physical health; husband who tells me every day he loves me.
Despite my fortunate external circumstances, my inner world is full of depression, fear, constant dissatisfaction and a sense of meaninglessness, purposelessness, disconnectedness & self-depreciation.
And then I beat myself up because I’m not grateful for my good circumstances.
-A Texan
Today, we like in a world where everything is trying to reprogram our mind; our brains. And that is what is. Our brain is a housing or a computer that runs a program.
We all know, if you are a regular reader to MM that the American (and Western) “news” outlets do not inform. They manipulate. They are constantly trying to herd humans and the human citizenry into actions from one extreme to the other.
“The problem is bias. While ideally the media should be objective and hold power to account, in reality we know that most news outlets are partisan and have their own agenda to advance. Whether state-owned or run by some shady tax-avoiding billionaire, getting ‘the masses’ to view the world from a certain perspective has always been a priceless power to wield.”
One could say stagnation has led to people seeing the routine, consistent tricks played by the powers that be wielding the media, for what they are. It’s been like a stagnant, constant period of time unfortunately since the beginning of events in the early 2000’s, when the media has been promoting nonstop “national defense.”
People know more about how the media is today, because it’s been the same, stagnant program for decades and decades now. It can be quantified with studies and statistics, or it can be understood in detail in one person’s own intuition and personal understanding.
-Education Inspire Change
The media “news” is one non-stop manipulation after the other. It never ends.
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But this programming has always been part of us. From our earliest days, our earliest programs were embedded into our brains from childhood. those bully and fake-friends, and even teachers all contributed to fill your mind with nonsense. And it stays with us all these years.
Programming of the brain at a young childhood can affect your entire life unless you are able to erase the programming completely. Erase Completely. Not simply ignore it. Or pray it away. That program is still stuck there in your computer, running. Doing it’s damage, and no changes to your key-strokes, or new software that you install is going to change that fact. You need to root it out and erase it completely.
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These taunts, these screams, these snide remarks haunt us and lie there dormant inside our brains. Our reactions to life then are tainted and manipulated by these hidden programmed actions.
Whether by childhood bullies, or media manipulations, or evil government officials. You need to deprogram yourself. You need to run an anti-virus program.
Like a piece of Malware on your computer, you must set up an anti-virus program to find it, root it out, cleanse the system and reboot. you cannot just simply ignore the program running in the background.
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Using Self-hypnosis you are able not only to run and conduct an affirmation / prayer campaign, but you are able to set that campaign to run as a program in your brain. You can also use this technique to root out the bad programs; whether it is from childhood bullies, or bad experiences. You must run the anti-virus program of self-hypnosis to purge your system of malware.
What can a person accomplish with self hypnosis when running an intention campaign?
What can humans accomplish if they’re in the “right” frame of mind? You can accomplish anything, and if your desire is to maintain your prayer / affirmation goals then you can expect them to manifest earlier than they might otherwise manifest.
When people are focused and motivated to accomplish a goal, and most effectively use their abilities, they are at the peak of their personal power. This is even more so with an intention campaign for the entire purpose of intention prayers is to direct life goals for your consciousness to follow and obey.
Typically, people use self-hypnosis to learn new skills more easily, perform athletic feats, be more creative, tolerate pain, and to face the unknown with greater confidence. These are just a few of the infinite examples of the value of self-hypnosis. And it has a long and successful history of helping people all over the world to better themselves, increase confidence and mental agility, as well as to be able to control or augment, their natural biological body processes.
The primary advantage in using self-hypnosis in a prayer campaign is to directly program your brain to what you want it to do and how you want it to think. While in the same process, purging the brain from negative, and counter-productive routines, beliefs and negative reinforcements that run counter to your desires.
Stop the brain from running negative programs.
Purge the brain of the negative programming.
Reprogram the brain with positive programs.
Run and conduct your prayer affirmations.
Synchronize your body and mind to operate effectively together.
Self-hypnosis is a means of learning to focus yourself, motivate yourself, be more self-aware, and make the best use of your innate skills.
If you think about it, when you see other people do amazing things, they’re usually intensely focused on what they’re doing and what they’re trying to accomplish. Self-hypnosis is all about developing and using your focus in a goal-directed fashion.
And what is more goal-directed than an affirmation / prayer campaign?
Does self-hypnosis work?
Yes. It absolutely does.
This fact is well established from the days of when hypnosis was used by doctors to perform surgery and operations on patients. In those days, there were often opportunities where doctors and patients preferred to forego medicine and instead opted to go under a deep hypnotic trance.
Since the early 1800s, hypnosis has been used for medical and dental purposes, primarily to relieve pain and to replace or supplement anesthesia during surgery. At that time, it was called “mesmerism,” after the German physician Franz Anton Mesmer, who was the first to advocate the use of the process in pain control in the late 1700s.
The medical literature offers a myriad of examples where hypnosis by another person has been successful in reducing or eliminating pain felt by the patient: in children undergoing chemotherapy; in women during labor and childbirth; in habitual smokers who wish to stop smoking; in the treatment of chronic tension headache, bedwetting, and tinnitus (constant ringing in the ears); and even in cases where breasts or limbs have had to be surgically removed, and hypnosis was the only anesthesia used!
-What is self hypnosis?
While it is no longer commonly used in the medical profession to conduct surgery, it is still used to handle a host of other mental and emotional problems and conditions. You can use self-hypnosis to enter into deep states of calmness and receptivity.
...a hypnotic process is underway any time a person’s attention is focused and possibilities are offered for their consideration.
“Let your body relax totally, from head to toe”
“You will awaken feeling alert and fully rested.”
“Picture in your mind the most relaxed, peaceful place you could imagine.”
“Imagine you can hear your beloved grandmother’s voice.”
If your attention is focused on any of these suggestions, the phenomena of hypnosis tend to ensue. You enter a light “trance” state.
If this is done over a longer period of time, say 10 minutes, you will tend to go to a deeper level, especially if gentle music is playing in the background. And if you are listening to a talented storyteller, you can go even deeper, since you don’t have to know what suggestions to use next.
The more experienced the storyteller, the more deeply you can go into the experience.
-What is self-hypnosis.
Is self hypnosis the same as meditation?
No. It is not.
Self-hypnosis is very similar to meditation in that both involve entering a calm and relaxed state. The main difference is that when people practice self-hypnosis, they tend to have a specific goal in mind, something that will improve them and their quality of life in some way.
However, in a typical meditation practice there is no particular goal, just an easy acceptance of wherever the mind goes without judgment or intention. It doesn’t or isn’t intended to be anything more / other than unifying your body and mind towards a best unity of the two.
Both meditation and self-hypnosis have the potential to promote physical and mental health in parallel ways, thus highlighting the merits of learning to develop and use focus meaningfully.
Using the computer analogy…
Meditation is the same as purging your cache memory so the computer runs smoother.
Self-Hypnosis is running programs in your computer. Using programs to remove malware, and installing new novel programs so it can perform new tasks.
Self-Hypnosis by-passes the “normal” sensory input mechanisms
By using self-hypnosis you are able to by-pass the “normal” routes that feed sensory inputs into your brain. You can block some stimuli. And you can add other stimuli at will. For you are in control.
Self-hypnosis programs can be used to help you change from one state of mind, or from one mood, to another. Each mood is a kind of mini-hypnotic (or hypnoidal) state. Thus there is actually no specific state that can be called truly “not hypnotic” – unless it is pure enlightenment!
For instance, imagine there’s a day when you’re feeling great, and then suddenly get really bad news: a call comes in that your stocks crashed and your life savings have just gone up in smoke. That news changes your mood, your thoughts, and what you say and do.
Next, imagine that an hour later you get another phone call informing you that the previous one was in error, that the truth is that you have just won the lottery. Presumably, there is a dramatic change in how you feel – for the better. Actually, nothing has really happened to you physically except that on both occasions, your mental image of yourself and the world changed.
If a person in a receptive trance state is told they have touched poison ivy, they can break out in a rash; if told they are naked outside on a snowy day, they shiver; if told there is an open bottle of ammonia, they can smell it. This is due to the fact that there is a direct line between the images you have in your mind and your body – hypnotic techniques simply help you use this connection to improve your life.
Of course, the kinds of suggestions offered during hypnotherapy, or that you give yourself while listening to a guided imagery audio experience, are designed to enable you to heal more rapidly, manage stress, improve your performance, change your behavior patterns, and become the person you most want to be.
-What is self-hypnosis.
In computer language, the sensory inputs are known as I/O. Or Input / Output. They consists of the monitor, the mouse, the keyboard, the printer, a WiFi hookup or modem (if you are really old). The use of Self-hypnosis permits you to decide which I/O to connect and which to disconnect.
You can change your I/O. Disconnect from the “news”, focus on friends and family.
You can improve your connection speed. You can improve your receptivity to certain things or ideas.
You can root out your memory. You can completely remove old programs, and all the storage space that they occupy.
You can add new devices. You can program yourself to be more aware, improve ESP capability, memory efficiency, or listen for specific “signposts”.
Timing concerns
You want to create a taped or recorded narrative that describes your intention / prayer campaign PLUS the exercise necessary to conduct Self-hypnosis. This means that the time that you will need (or typically need) to read your personal affirmations will now be larger by the addition of perhaps from 20 minutes to an hour of self-hypnosis dialog. So you need to plan how the script will work and read when you are using it.
Plan your script narrative.
How often?
You should conduct this exercise at least once a week. However, when I ran the affirmation / prayer campaigns I did it every day (time and conditions permitting). It depends on your situation.
You need to make a recording.
You need to make an audio recording. There is no way that you will be able to memorize any of this.
You will need to make an audio recording.
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This system and sessions ONLY work if you make an audio recording, and the self-hypnosis occurs when you are lying down and listening to it.
How to hypnotize yourself and run a prayer / intention campaign
Below are commonly employed steps to perform self-hypnosis. Hypnosis is perfectly safe, and you will be in control the whole time. After all, it is your experience. You are in control. At no time are you out of control. You are just calmer and more relaxed than what you could consider to be “normal”.
There are multiple parts to self-hypnosis.
[1] Find a comfortable place
Find a place to perform the self-hypnosis. I used to use my RV Class”A” motor-home, my bedroom, or my den / study. I would also do it in my car during lunchtime.
Close the door.
Make sure that others know not to disturb you.
Make sure you feel physically comfortable as this will help you relax. Many people recommend that you sit in a soft chair with your legs and feet uncrossed. I used to do this. But over time, I have taken an alternative position. You may lie down. And that is my primary and preferred method. Though for newbies, this method may lead you to simply fall sleep.
Find a place where you can be alone. (If necessary, buy a small van or a car with a big back seat and drive to a secluded area. Then put on some headphones or ear buds and tune the rest of the world out.)
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Loosen any tight clothing and avoid eating large meals so you don’t feel bloated and uncomfortable. Ensure you will not be interrupted for 20-30 minutes during the hypnosis. Wear comfortable clothing if possible.
I know that this is not always possible. But if you can, just wear clothing that is not binding. Don’t wear a tie. Make sure that your boots are not gathered at your ankles (such as is the fashion).
Wear comfortable clothing if possible.
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When I would perform this activity, I would tend to do it in the afternoon. Perhaps 2 to 4 pm, in a quiet place where I know that no one would disturb me. (Usually, at these times I was unemployed. Floating on a Per Diem lifestyle.) All cell phones, and distractions are turned off. I usually have a drink of water before the session, and I personally lie down with a light throw-blanket over my chest. (If you go into a deep hypnosis, your body temperature will decrease a few degrees.)
I have a tape recording (I used to use a cassette, but now it is very easy to use your smart phone instead.) with me listening to me reading my prepared script narrative. (See sections [2 and 3] next.)
A lazy-boy chair makes for a great self-hypnosis session.
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I rest and put either my head phones or ear buds in and make sure that I am very comfortable. I used to have a set of noise cancelling headphones that were wonderful, but today I just simply use ear buds, and as long at they don’t slip out of your ears, they work just fine.
If you have a problem with the ear buds falling out, put on a “watch cap” or some other tight fitting hat to hold them in your ears. I never noticed any discomfort in wearing headphones or a watch cap with ear-phones, but everyone is different. Find out what works for you.
I personally prefer to have my shoes off, and just lie there in bed with my socks on. I also typically have my cassette player / smart phone near my head about 25 cm away (one foot). I also make sure that the phone is off (do not disturb setting) so that I will not be rudely awakened by someone calling.
You can use anything that you are comfortable with.
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Children, pets, spouse, friends, and everyone else is left outside the room. This is a time of solitude and privacy. My one exception has always been some of my favorite cats. But they knew the ritual and would never disturb me while I was in the self-hypnosis dive.
Make sure that you will not be disturbed.
[2] Generate a script narrative.
Once you are settled in place, you turn on the script that you prepared. This is a script that you have read into your recording device.
This script consists of four parts. Which are…
Calming introduction and relaxation session. (Induction.)
Walk down to a receptive state & arrival. (Deepening.)
Read the affirmations. (The “Subject”.)
Closure and wake up. Exit. (Awake.)
Other people give these four stages different names. But the process remains the same.
[2a] Calming Introduction
You start off the “tape” or recording with about ten minutes of soothing music. this is known as “Induction”.
You play from 5 to 15 minutes of calming music.
Find some music that you find relaxing and soothing. You can find tons of this type and style of music on the internet or in your favorite music APP. Just look for any of the following keywords…
Ambiance
Trance
Tranquil
Soothing
Mellow
And search until you find something appropriate. For the longest time I would use sounds of nature to begin a session. I used sounds of thunder at night, evening rain, gentle breeze, and horse sleigh ride at night. Just find one that fits your mood and put that at the beginning of your taped session.
Start with a low volume and calm pace.
Screenshot of Kouguo songs on one of the channels.
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Some people used Hemi-Sync. You can do this as well, but I really prefer the sounds of nature myself. Hemi-Sync is perfect for longer periods of contemplation. It is a complete package. But that is not exactly what we are looking for here. We want something that can be used WITH our affirmation / prayer campaigns.
I do however recommend it for calming and contemplative activities.
Hemi-Sync.com® is home to the largest online collection of content to help you relax, focus, meditate, sleep and lead a more vibrant life.
The idea is to start the tape with some relaxing sounds. Figure at least five minutes, and no more than fifteen minutes of music. The purpose of this is to slow down your body and the mind using the music. It serves as a curtain that you close to allow yourself some privacy from the screeching and howling of the rest of the world outside.
[2B] Walk down to a receptive state.
Here you start to enter a meditative / receptive state. This is not automatic. Just being relaxed is not the same as being receptive. You need to “trick” your mind to go into a deep trance. This is done using visualization techniques.
This is the “induction script”.
There are many techniques that you can use. Many use the “progressive muscle relaxation technique”. However, I believe that you should use a two-step process in addition to it. Thus this discussion will consist of two parts.
[2B-1] Muscle relaxation. (Relax the body.)
[2B-2] Walk down the stairs. (Enter a state of receptiveness.)
[2B-1] The progressive muscle relaxation technique
Enter the hypnotic state with a common technique known as progressive muscle relaxation. With this, focus awareness upon any tension stored in parts of the body, and release tension sequentially. Begin with your hands and arms, then move down to your back, shoulders and neck, then stomach and chest and legs and feet. Visualize the tension dissolving or evaporating away, or slowly tense then relax the muscles.
A common technique of Induction is a common technique known as progressive muscle relaxation.
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The feeling of deep, pleasant, comfortable relaxation is an excellent starting point to begin self-hypnosis.
If you wish to use this technique, you need to narrate it in your recording. you need to tell yourself to relax your body, and then go through the various parts in great detail.
Search for areas of tension in your body.
Locate the areas and direct yourself to sooth away the tension from those areas.
Once done you can begin to relax the rest of your body.
Then go to your hands.
To your fingers.
Then your shoulders and neck. Spend time here.
Then your arms.
Then your chest.
Moving downward to your stomach.
To your legs.
To your feet.
To your toes.
Relax your body to your toes.
[2B-2] The Walk Down The Stairs Technique
You need the recording to play the calming music and then go into the walk-down sequence.
You just lie there and listen.
The recording will take you deeper and deeper into a trance.
Then when you are in that trance your affirmations can be read to you. And you will hear them with great clarity.
This is the technique that I use.
This is also the technique that was taught by Doctor Newton. (Journey of Souls).
[Begin the kind of narrative that you want to read to yourself. You can add to it. I do not suggest deleting from it. Alter and change it to fit your personal personality.]
In this technique, you listen to a narrative that you generate. In it you describe a big door standing in front of you. You describe the details of that door. You describe the heavy timbers, the age, the huge size, and the ancient knockers and hinges on it. You also describe that it is locked with a large padlock and you describe this padlock. You describe the size and the weight of this heavy metal ancient padlock.
You then describe a heavy old fashioned key that you are holding in your hand. You discuss how you use that key to open the padlock and how it feels to turn the key in that old rusty lock. You then describe the heavy old chains falling away and that you push open the door and you enter a dimly lit stone room. That no one has been in the room for many years. And that you walk forward into that room.
You then describe walking down into the dark room, and then at the end of the room is a stone alcove. You head towards the alcove. It is a carved alcove with an ornate edge and a small dusty statue of a gargoyle at the top of it, and peering inside you see steps leading down.
So you describe the steps. The steps are dusty and unused. But you can see that there are a few foot prints in the dust, and each time that you put your foot on a step that you will go into a much deeper state of relaxation and receptiveness to the narrative that you are reading. Each step takes you down lower and lower to a much more receptive and relaxed state.
You go down two steps. You feel very relaxed and much more receptive.
You go down two more steps. You are much more relaxed, and much more receptive.
You do gown tow more steps. More relaxed. More receptive.
You go down another two steps. Very relaxed and much more receptive.
You go down another two steps and you find yourself on a flat platform. It is dim, but the platform is lit by an old brass lamp. You have now gone down ten steps. You reach out and move the brass lamp from it’s nook in the side of the stone wall. It moves and displaces some dust in the process. It has a handle at the top, and it is very, very dim. So you see a small knob and you slowly turn the knob and the brass lamp give off a greater amount of light. And you can see the little stone platform that you are standing upon.
You see that there is another flight of steps, so you start walking down the steps into the darkness. Each step, like before takes you deeper into a more restful and receptive state. You put your foot on the first step, and you notice the solid dusty coldness. Then you take another step.
Each step takes you deeper down. Each step is a more relaxed state. Each step makes you more receptive. You also find yourself calmer with each step and more peaceful. For each step is like a smooth movement in the cool darkness.
You go down two steps. You feel very relaxed and much more receptive. You are very calm.
You go down two more steps. You are much more relaxed, and much more receptive.
You do gown tow more steps. More relaxed. More receptive. And extremely calm.
You go down another two steps. Very relaxed and much more receptive.
You take another two steps and you arrive at a singular room with a large hole in the dusty stone floor. You set the lantern down and peer down into the darkness. It goes deep, really deep down. But there is a very strong and sturdy ladder to the side of that hole. You cannot see much as it is very dim, but ten flights below is another platform and there is huge brass gauge there sitting on a pedestal. You cannot see it clearly. So you start to climb down the ladder. You leave the brass lantern on the floor, and you start to climb down the ladder. Each rung is a great relaxation, and great improvement on your peace, your calmness, and your being.
You go down two rungs, and you feel so much more relaxed.
And another two rungs. And you are even more relaxed. You are so very relaxed now, but each run makes you even more relaxed.
You go down two more rungs.
You go down another two rungs, and are so very relaxed now, you feel like you are floating. And you reach the bottom platform. And there you see the big heavy bronze mechanism in front of you.
This mechanism is very old, very heavy, very intricate and very beautiful. It is some kind of gauge, and you can see the arm of the gauge pointing to a number written on the faded white parchment surface behind it. It is pointing to a number. You look closely at the number that it is pointing towards. You peer closely at the number the number is starting to get clear and it looks like the roman number six.
Then you look around the room.
There are alcoves set into the wall. It is like you are at the bottom of a deep, deep well. You look at the wall and there are many alcoves all set into the wall. Each alcove contains a hallway leading towards a darkness. You look up and find the alcove numbers. They are carved into the stone above the alcove entrances, and you look for the proper portal.
You see number one carved above the first alcove. It’s not what you want. It’s empty and covered in thick, ancient cobwebs.
Then, you go to the next alcove. You see a number two carved into the stone above the alcove. It too is not what you are looking for. It is not only covered in cobwebs but is barred a little ways in. There is what appears to be a barred metal gate inside. And it is old, rusty and very dark and dim.
Then you go to the alcove after that. You look at the entrance to the alcove and you see a number three.
That is not where you want to go. either. So you see the next alcove. Above it is carved the number four. It too is like the others. It is dim and dark and full of ancient cobweb.
Not where you want to go, so you go to the next alcove. You stop at it. You look at the fine ancient workmanship and you look at the very top of the alcove. And there at the top is the roman number five. It looks like the letter “V”. It is particularly dusty and damp. You feel a coldness and a dampness inside that opening.
That is not where you want to go.
So you go to the next alcove, and you study it. And this is the alcove you want. Not only is there a number six carved and chiseled into the stone, but the path through the alcove is clear and illuminated with small torches set inside tiny nooks in the stone wall. The torches are on metal frames that are set into the walls. They seems to burn brightly, and you can clearly make out the ancient meal straps and rivets of the torch holder.
And you start to walk down the hallway.
You walk forward.
The sound of your footsteps echo in the lonely corridor.
You walk further inside.
And as you walk things are getting clearer and easier to see and understand. You have clarity. You have perception and you are fully relaxed now.
And a few more steps further and you see that there is a big door in front of you. It is a nice, solid, heavy metal door made out of walnut, and it is just beautiful. And there is a handle, and you have a key in your hand. And you put that key in the keyhole and you grab that handle and you pull on the handle.
And the door opens.
The door opens to a warm and cozy room. This room looks different than anything else. It appears that you are inside a golden submarine. The walls are curved and nice shiny gold. There are nice braces and supports that are ribbed and that go to floor to ceiling in these large circular curved arches. Inside these braces are holes like cutouts. And the entire inside looks like some kind of Victorian era interior decoration. There are big plush chairs and sofas all made out of rich leather. The inlays on these chairs are beautiful and exquisite.
The walls have these deep red velvet curtains with gold tassels that drape over the walls. They are held in place by metal hooks that are exquisite and wrought with the images of lions, and other animals of the deepest Victorian Africa.
There are windows and you can look out of the windows and see a beautiful ocean with colorful fish, corals and schools of glimmering tiny fish. You can see octopi, and starfish, and nice glowing jellyfish. There are big heavy fringed curtains that hang by the windows. They are lush with deep red patterns and gold inlays. They have gold tassels and weaved designs and hang on gold rods.
There is a painting of a pastoral scene on one of the walls. You can see the sheep and cows in the painting, and a nice woman in peasant attire from a century ago talking to a young man wearing working clothes and chewing on a stalk of wheat. He is leaning against a stone wall, and she is holding a basket with some wild flowers that she had picked. She seems to be in her teens, and he is only slightly older with a mischievous, but shy, grin.
There is also a big ornate clock on the wall. And on the clock is a hand that can go forward and backward in time, and a series of old fashioned knobs underneath it. These are porcelain knobs that resemble the kinds of knobs that you might find on an old bathtub. The knobs are labeled, and by turning the knobs you can change the time. You can go forward or backwards.
To the right of the clock is a big detailed calendar. It is thick and if you wanted to you could go back in time, many years, by turning the sheaf of pages.
And there is a big heavy chart table in the middle of the room. It has big, enormous sturdy legs. And a solid and steady table top. Above it is an old-fashioned Tiffany lamp with colored designs in the glass, and it all gives off a greenish glow. And on that chart table are papers, maps, books, leather bound journals, metal rulers, compasses and positioning equipment to include a sextant, and an old fashioned watch on a gold chain, and an empty coffee cup.
But on that table is a heavy leather book. It is huge. It’s covers are thick, and it has a title carved into the leather. The title of the book reads “Operation Manual and Orders” but it is locked with a book lock. The lock is golden and securely clamps the book shut with a leather strap.
But you have a small gold key in your hand.
You use that lock to open up the book.
The lock opens easily and your look into the pages of the book. Many of the written orders are old and very simple. You peer at them, and read some of them. They are very elementary. They say such things as “listen to your body”. “Be a good person.” And “take care of your self”. So you flip though some of the other pages.
Each page is thick and heavy, and is made out of parchment. You can feel the parchment when you turn the pages.
You see a page that contains a long description of a long poisonous memory from childhood. You carefully tear that page out. You can feel it tear out, and rip out of the book, but it is finally out. You crumple the paper. You crumple it in a ball.
Then you take a pack of old-fashioned wooden matches that are sitting on the table. You remove one wooden match. You see the red tip of the match and you strike it against the side of the box of matches and it lights into a small tiny flame. You put that flame to the crumpled ball of paper and you toss the lit paper into a big empty brass trash can that is at the foot of the large table. You watch it burn and flicker into grey dust in the golden can.
You go back to the book. And you continue to leaf through the pages.
And now you reach the latest entry in the book and it is a blank page.
You pick up a pen that is lying on the desk and you start writing in the book on the fine paper. You write…
[This part of the narrative ends and you can start reading your affirmation campaign.]
[3] Verbalize your Affirmation Campaign
In the focused and relaxed state of hypnosis, you can pay deeper and fuller attention to the suggestions you want to give yourself for self-improvement. These can be simple but clear statements you offer yourself about what you might do differently, or how you might react differently in some challenging situation, or how you might come to think differently about yourself or some circumstance.
These ‘post-hypnotic suggestions’ (meaning suggestions that can take effect after your self-hypnosis session is finished) can help you achieve your goals.
It is at this point that you read into your recorder the prayer / affirmation campaign narrative.
[4] Return to your usual level of alertness
Keep in mind that you will easily exit the trance state because your recorded dialog will instruct you to wake up easily and feel great and refreshed afterwards.
After providing the suggestions, You close the affirmation / prayer segment of the self-hypnosis exercise by adding this script…
You have finished writing into your command book. You put the pen down, and you slowly and carefully close the book. When the book is closed you pat the cover nicely, and then closed the hasp and book-lock that secures the book safely.
It is now time to leave and you move away from the table and turn around in the yellow room. You see an exit door at the back of the room. You walk towards it.
You go to the door at the back of the room.
There is a placard on the door. You can’t make it out, but there are five sentences on the card. They are numbered. The first sentence begins with a number one. You read it.
One you are becoming more alert & aware.
Two, you are exiting the room, and existing the affirmation sequence.
As you count to three, you are much more aware and awake.
At four, you are calm, and clear and ready to fully awake normally.
At the count of five, you can open your eyes and stretch out your arms and legs and go on with your day.
Tips for hypnotic suggestions
When making suggestions during self-hypnosis in step 3, follow these tips:
Say it with conviction: Imagine the words being said gently but with conviction and ensure the tone is reassuring, confident and positive.
Phrase suggestions in the present tense: The suggestion, ‘I am confident’ will be more effective than, ‘I will be confident’ as the word ‘am’ is in the present tense and is more certain.
Make suggestions positive: For example, ‘I am at peace’ is better than ‘I am not stressed’ ; talk to yourself about what you do want, not what you don’t want.
Make suggestions realistic: Avoid over-ambitious suggestions such as, ‘I will lose a lot of weight quickly’. Instead focus on smaller and more specific goals such as, ‘I will eat more vegetables, and exercise more’.
Repeat the suggestions: State the suggestions many times during the hypnosis. Repetition of an idea can help drive home the point.
Tips for improving self hypnosis:
Have a goal in mind: Before starting self-hypnosis ensure to have a goal in mind, such as lowering stress. This will ensure each session is focused and productive.
Schedule time for self-hypnosis: The hardest part of self-hypnosis can be getting started. It may work best to set aside a time each day for self-hypnosis and write it in your schedule. Self-hypnosis can be performed during the day, or at night before you sleep.
Keep up the practice: Like riding a bike, it takes time to learn self-hypnosis. With practice and instruction, you will learn to more quickly enter a state of trance. You will also learn a broader range of hypnotic suggestions to improve the outcome.
Use a mobile app: Mobile apps such as Mindset (for sleep & mental health) and Nerva (for IBS) can be a great way to get the best of both self-hypnosis and hypnosis with a hypnotherapist.
Do you want more?
I have more posts in my Affirmation / Prayer Campaign Index here…
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This post talks about the world going to shit fast, and our frustrations and fears that it is beyond our control. That is not true at all. In fact, we are in control of it, it just looks like we are powerless.
Back in 2016, grassroots white Americans voted anti-establishment Trump into the Oval Office. For the first time, long-held ideals of American democracy have been challenged. Pledging to “Make America Great Again”, Trump's solution was straightforward – waging trade wars on friends and foes alike; withdrawing the country from global pacts, and avoiding responsibilities for international affairs.
The consequences have been catastrophic. Populist policies originally introduced to woo American voters were ironically implemented at the sacrifice of blue-collar workers – the same group of people who supported Trump in 2016. Establishment forces are also fed up with Trump's "madness."
The 2020 election was more a fight between Biden-represented American institutions and anti-establishment forces with Trump being the spokesperson than a partisan battle. Biden, although a Democrat, has high hopes pinned on him by establishment politicians of both parties to bring the United States back to the right track. This requires the new president to restore multilateralism, intensify cooperation with allies, and mend ties with China.
-When will U.S. anti-China hysteria come to an end?
It all began with a comment;
“…our consciousness.”
It appears that my consciousness is being overwhelmed (or over-ruled) by the 99.99% who believe that shit on “TV” or “News”.
Again:
Other than your prayers to nowhere, is there simply a method to say “I’ve had enough of this charade”? Like “Help Mr. Wizard… I don’t wanna be a peon human anymore.” Suicide, is that it? Seriously, what the fuck am I learning these days (in the “sentience nursery”) that I had not known years and years ago?
And I responded with…
In reply to DSKlausler.
I want to take more time to answering your question. Unfortunately I was busy with personal things and all I could do was throw off a quick response. But I have been thinking about you and your last few emails. I can sense a great deal of frustration and angst. And I do understand it.
Do not be under the impression that the reality that you see is ruled and controlled by the masses…the manipulated masses. That point was made very clearly by the base commander when I joined MAJestic. Most of the world is populated by sheeple. Or just folk that haven’t a clue, and who graze upon the lands in a reactive way. Only a handful of people are actually really in control. these are the cowboys, the unappreciated and the under-deserved. You never hear about them, because they are not attracted to fame and fortune.
Look at 2020. Was a fucking year, right?
During the entire year, just about every other article in the United States, mainstream Alt-Right and Alt-left was all HATE CHINA! and it was non-stop. By the end of the year, the 330 million American either totally despised China, (and wanted to go to war) or were guardedly neutral. No one put up any kind of a fight when Trump started kicking the Chinese out of America, banning things, and launched a huge flotilla to attack China.
330 million people HATING China. COVID-19B launched as part of a 8-strain biological attack, a military flotilla…
…but no war happened. Donald Trump and Mike Pompeo were kicked out of office.
The American economy is in shambles. And China is bigger and stronger than ever. Not only that, but it has grown and the world is now turning it’s back on the broken promises of Trump and look at the ruins of the United States… with incredulity and disgust.
Do you actually believe that this is the result of the combined HATRED of 330 million people? Or, maybe that a MAJestic operator that happened to live inside China had a Prayer Affirmation Campaign that said…
[1] Donald Trump will not be able to harm China.
[2] All American military ventures to China will fail.
[3] The harder that Donald Trump tries to break or destroy China, the same and equal effect will hit him and his family personally.
[4] Any WMD’s implemented by America to hurt China will boomerang to the USA a hundred-fold and more.
And yeah. It doesn’t make sense. Except it does if you read everything that I am saying.
COVID-19B deaths China = 4634
COVID-19A deaths USA = 397,600
As far as you and other MM readers. I will not allow any harm to come to you all. Not if I can help it. You all are true believers. So relish in that.
[5] Followers of MM are protected with the same kind of protections that I utilize for my family provided that it is their desire.
If the shadow people thoughts have an equal power as a single person, and there at 330,000,000 of them then it is logical to say (just what you stated) that the tyranny of the majority will define the reality that we all inhabit. After all, that is the primary theory behind propaganda. But I argue quite differently. It is the strength of the thoughts of an individual consciousness that controls the reality that maintains the power to shape and shift the reality that surrounds us.
If you do not understand, I will provide more information.
After the response above, I have received some positive responses.
First from ULTan
I get it, Mr Man. Couldnt be clearer. If folks read your Maj and MWI sections thoroughly, all these concerns are addressed.
I should add again, though, if I may and IMHO: Stop watching MMMedia whatever ya’ll do. And don’t fight the masses head on. Lie low and observe their madness. Learn from it. Is it something that’s happened to them? Or does it just reveal what they really were all along. (Quantum shadows? Existing only to teach u personally? Or is that too far out for ya?) Do not get dragged into arguments with zombified and terrified normies over masks, rules, etc. Work out a method of avoidance. They’ve been driven crazy by Wizards at the top of the pile. Their pile, that is. Avoid this at all costs. Surf that wave, look after your loved ones and especially pets, other critters nearby, too. They need you at this time of year.
Trust in the Plan. And I don’t mean the Qtard one.
How is that working out for ya’ll by the way? Sealed indictments opened yet? Mass paedophilia arrests? America great again, yet?
Trump the saviour avatar?
Ehhh, not really.
Be more careful what you read and follow next time.
And if you were a Qfan and are still sane: please read about how cults work. Start with Jim Jones or the Moonies. Pentacostals, too.
Scary stuff. I assure you.
And thanks again, Mr Man. My cats– each and every one of ’em– say a bigggg hi!
Stay safe,
U.
And again from the original poster, Mr. DSKlausler…
In reply to congjing yu.Thanks for that… and I DO read everything you publish.
It just doesn’t seem right… can’t the simple folks just be left alone to live and grow at their own pace without a bunch of twits ruining the world?
I will give the affirmation deal another go.
Just switch me to the world line where people aren’t so stupid.
Let’s look at the situation
The world seems to be going to Hell. The “news”, the media, the people in Charge and everyone around you are seemingly idiots. “What is their malfunction”, you ask. And you are in fear for your life, your livelihood, and your family. Not to mention your community and your nation.
It doesn’t matter what side of the American Political Spectrum you reside on, everything is seemingly going to Hell straight away. You yearn for stability, a return to quieter and more peaceful times, and management by reason and reasonable people. And when you read the “news” it only amplifies your concerns…
That last link reflects the concerns of many, many Americans (and perhaps many people around the world). “Give me something. Give me hope. Give me Xanax.” Seemingly the population is ready for change…
…and this is a dangerous time. Eh?
Because Change is always uncomfortable, and can usher is a wonderful life, or an indescribably worse on. As we used to say in the United States “jump from the frying pan into the fire”.
Can’t quite put my finger on why. Oh yes, I just flipped on ‘MSDNC’ and opened my Failing New York Times, and now I remember: because I’ve been watching my country set ablaze, and Donald Trump and his faithful Trumpsters are holding the flamethrower.
By now, we’ve all sat rapt and horrified, watching the highlights: the MAGA-bots following the Dear Leader’s call to riot, invading the Capitol building, smashing windows, battering down doors, stealing the Speaker’s lectern and literally covering the floors in shit, for fans of too-on-the-nose metaphors. They accosted police, threatened to hang the traitor Mike Pence and trotted through the legislative chamber in full tactical gear holding flex cuffs in the hope of taking hostages. (Possibly before executing them: someone did erect a gallows on the grounds.) Five people died. Four of them Trump supporters, one of them a Capitol Police officer, hit in the head with a fire extinguisher.
I doubt Mr Trump wanted anybody to die. He just wanted to put a good scare into Congress, while trying to overturn a free and fair election, the very bedrock without which the whole system collapses. So nothing to see here, folks. Let’s talk about what really matters, Trump getting banned from Twitter!
If you haven’t gathered by now, I’ve had it. Plenty of us have always been Trump skeptical; my skepticism dates all the way back to 1999. But it’s time for his acolytes to reckon with the cancer that they’ve let metastasize. I haven’t been terribly subtle, so let’s just go ahead and lay it out: Donald Trump is a sociopathic cult leader, a moral black hole with a weird tan and a combover. Yes, I know it’s old hat to make fun of his hair, but his confidantes have told me it wounds him. And I just want him to hurt like he’s hurt America.
So now that we’re coming to the conclusion of DJT’s first and only term — which has ended in impeachment and could include imprisonment — it’s time to legacy-assess the effects of Trumpism. As several have already noted, after everything from Trump’s social-media meltdowns to him falling asleep at the wheel during the deadliest pandemic in a century, Americans are now poorer, angrier, dumber, meaner, more divided, sicker (both physically and mentally) and deader than they were four years ago. But how ’bout that wall?! (The one that’s one-fourth of the way built, that Mexico didn’t pay for.)
I wasn’t a big fan of The Establishment, either. But we threw them over for this?
I don’t detest Trumpsters: that would leave me hating roughly 60 percent of my friends and 80 percent of my family. But I would like to know how so many good people of my acquaintance could be so blind to the glaringly obvious. You edit American Greatness, one of the house organs of the movement. But by my lights, America isn’t looking so great right now. Feels more like American Mediocrity. Or America Needs Improvement. Lots of it. Give me something. Give me hope. Give me Xanax. Give me shelter from the storm. Or I might do something truly unthinkable, like quote Dylan lyrics in print. Nobody wants to see that.
Ah…
Pointing a nice big finger on a figurehead. Ah. It’s all Trump’s fault, and it’s his followers fault…
No it’s not.
It’s the way that governments crumble. They start young and youthful, they go through a “middle age”, they get old, and senile, and then they die. We are watching America die, and no singular person is at fault. So stop blaming the person at the helm. A doomed ship is going to hit that iceberg, and while the captain might be able to steer the ship somewhat, if he doesn’t hit THAT particular iceberg, he will hit the next one instead, or the one after that. A doomed ship is a doomed ship.
The one thing I’ve noticed over the past five years is that the only people more consumed by the person of Donald Trump — from his psychology to his physiognomy — than the most diehard, plan-trusting, steal-stopping, Trump super-fans are his obsessive detractors. However large the number of actual Trump cultists is, the anti-Trump cult is orders of magnitude larger, more intense and more powerful. That’s not surprising, because Trump’s rise to power is less a direct threat to the established order and the ruling class it serves than it is an indictment of their failure. Of course they react with visceral hatred. Perhaps we can stipulate that a country with a healthy culture and competent, trusted (and trustworthy) institutions would not have elected Donald Trump as president. Yet, Donald Trump has received more votes than any other Republican ever. Twice.
That suggests two possibilities. Either half the country is comprised of Deplorables, reprobates, morons or sociopaths (I’d love to see the Venn Diagram). Or something has gone quite wrong and America isn’t working very well for a lot of Americans.
Option one is the default answer of the ruling class and its aspirants and retainers. But in fact something has gone wrong. Late-stage liberalism isn’t able to keep its promises. That’s why both Trump and Bernie Sanders were so popular. That’s why there is so much social and political conflict. And Trump-obsession of any kind is a distraction and a coping mechanism.
Over the past 50 years median real wages have barely budged. Worse, the growth that has occurred has all happened at the top. The top 10 percent did OK, the top 1 percent did very well and the top 0.1 percent blasted way ahead of everyone else. Everyone except the very top fell a little behind the group ahead of them, but the group below the top 10 percent fell further and faster. This made it harder to get married, buy a house and raise a family. The cost of being middle class kept rising faster than middle class wages. That created — and continues to create — a lot of people who are socially and economically precarious.
You say ‘I wasn’t a big fan of The Establishment, either. But we threw them over for this?’ Yes. Why? Because there wasn’t a better option. Look at the group of Republicans running in 2016 and Democrats in 2020. All of them are standard-bearers for a shattered consensus. And there are a lot of mediocrities and has-beens. Biden himself is a retread of a retread. The ‘uniparty’ that runs the country either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that for a lot of people the American Dream is dead. In the cohort of people born in 1940, about 95 percent did better economically than their parents. For the cohort born in 1980 (border line millennials), only about 40 percent of those raised in middle-class families are better off than their parents at the same stage of life. These are people who were raised mostly by boomer parents to follow the program that worked so well for them: go to college, maybe grad school, trust the plan and you’ll have a life filled with grilling and long weekends. But it hasn’t worked out that way. It’s been tough. And for those that didn’t go to college, it’s even worse.
What do we do about it? That’s a big subject. But Trump offered answers in 2016 that made some intuitive sense and resonated with a lot of people. We sent our factories and their high-paying jobs to China? Let’s bring them back. Mass immigration undercuts wages? Let’s slow it down. The ruling class is corrupt, self-serving and doesn’t give a damn about anyone else? Let’s take the country back from them.
Trump accomplished some of the good things he was talking about back then, though not as many as I would have liked. But he was often stymied by a combination of internal incoherence and external opposition. In 2017, Trump had both unified government and the most political capital to spend. The fact that the Republican party’s primary goal and signature achievement was a reduction in corporate tax rates says something about the depth of institutional decay that Trump had taken advantage of when he sought the nomination.
Yes. There’s all sorts of things wrong with America right now. It’s a fucking mess. It really is. And the people want out of this mess. And the people in control aren’t really up to taking on that job. They really aren’t.
The uniparty is in control and they are not what the nation needs. It needs leadership, understanding, and merit-based managers who know how systems work and how to clean out the entire clogged up and gutted system.
I'm going to use a Chinese reference, that most Americans are unaware of...
America needs a Mr. Deng-style revolution.
In the 1980's Mr. Deng single-handedly implemented American-style Reaganomics to China. He got rid of hard-core Marxism. He tossed much of the state-mandated industries and implemented private controls. He built cities, disposed political corruptions and changed China from a hard-core Marxist Communist nation to something else.
He changed it to a single-party, traditional values, merit-based system that serves the people, and that is policed by harsh systems to makes sure that the ruling class does not move away from these values.
Ok. Let’s not get too bogged down here.
China changed, and it was hard-core Marxist. America too can change. In fact, if America is what everyone says it is, whether a “democracy” or a “republic”, it should be rather easy to change. But it’s not. You know it. I know it. And it has corrupted well past the point of band-aides and minor surgery. One half of the nation wants to burn it down, and the other half wants to restructure it into something really different.
And thus the fear.
Elements on both the LEFT and the RIGHT are scaring the living daylights out of everyone. And those in charge of the United States government today are not reassuring anyone.
Thus the feeling of helplessness.
Proactive actions
But, if you read the MM writings you realize that your reality is not what it appears to be.
We “share” an apparent reality, but we are not part of what we observe.
We are consciousness. And we are moving world-line to world-line based on our thoughts. And it is important that we NOT get too hung up on what we observe around us. For that too will alter our thoughts. What we are observing is the world-line template. Not our individual world-line.
Do not get too caught up about that looming iceberg ahead of you. Navigate round it. And then when you see another iceberg behind it, navigate around it as well. In fact, maybe you all need to start sailing South as fast as you can to get out of the looming ice pack that is up ahead. You see the warning signs, start the navigation.
Make sure that you have lookouts posted everywhere and that they are rested and alert. Make sure that the engineers and the folk loading coal into the furnaces are up to the job and in control. Make sure that you go to the map room and navigate a path out of the ice floes. Make sure that you radio your concerns and telegraph your direction changes.
Take proactive steps.
You have control
In my real world example that I gave at the top of the post, I referenced my personal affirmation campaign that I implemented back at the start of the year when the COVID-19 outbreak hit.
Up until that time, I kept on believing that Trump wanted to work with China on trade for the mutual benefit of all. I intentionally ignored the hard facts, the neocons in his administrations and his other actions. I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. I wanted what I hoped to happen to actually happen and I ignored the facts.
But when people all around me started having seizures, my family became locked inside the house, and the Chinese military went DEFCON ONE, I no longer could live the lie. Donald Trump declared full-spectrum war against China and I was sitting smack dab on the bullseye at ground zero.
Ground zero.
And all the neocon publications were talking about how the USA was going to win a “hot war” against China and invade the South China Sea…
…my home.
I had to do something.
Affirmation Prayer Campaigns
Normally my prayer affirmations are associated with myself. I rarely refer to others and certainly not to Geo-political, or national politics. Those things are like oil and water in regards to my affirmations. I just don’t put affirmations where a preferential presidential candidate wins over another. Instead, my affirmations are about me.
But this WAS about me.
It Was about my FAMILY, and my FRIENDS.
And unlike most Americans, this was not some faraway place that lies at the other end of the world. It is up front and close sitting smack dab in my front yard. i had to so something.
And it seemed like an up-hill battle.
The Fire Hose of Disinformation
Donald Trump and Mike Pompeo turned on the “fire hose of disinformation” against China and it was ridiculous. China could have saved a baby from a burning building and the “news” would report that the Chinese were burning babies.
Anyways, after a full year of this, most Americans consider China evil and are willing and ready to go to war for all the same old reasons and excuses.
330 million people.
And I am but one lone singular person.
What can I do?
You run a Affirmation / Prayer Campaign and you address your fears. You do it to the exclusion of everything else. That’s what you do.
And that is what I did.
My Prayer Affirmation Campaign
Well, I did indeed include personal things, and it was a long slug-fest, I’ll tell you what. But it did work. When I started the campaign, Trump was at the top of his game. He successfully launched numerous events, wars and attacks upon China. six biological weapons designed to destroy crops and livestock. Some with drones carrying vials of toxic bio-weapons to far distant farms. A “color revolution” in Hong Kong, and insurgents flowing into Xinjiang to create another Syria war there. Not to mention the COVID-19B which targeted MYSELF AND MY FAMILY.
Fuck him!
So I launched my own prayer campaign. So if he wanted to be “top dog”, let’s see who’s boss, eh?
At the time I began, everything was pro-Trump and his plans were working out more or less. He was on the verge of creating strife, conflict, starvation, a bio-weapon war, and a future of decades of warfare on the other end of the globe.
So, here’s my relevant affirmations.
[1] Donald Trump will not be able to harm China.
[2] All American military ventures to China will fail.
[3] The harder that Donald Trump tries to break or destroy China, the same and equal effect will hit him and his family personally.
[4] Any WMD’s implemented by America to hurt China will boomerang to the USA a hundred-fold and more.
While he tried to implement policies that would harm me and my family personally, my affirmation campaign was not personal. It was defensive and proactive. He and his minions will be unable to harm me, my family, my friends or China. If he tried, it would all come back to hit him.
Some quick terms on how the MWI operates.
And what?
With 330 million people seething at rage at China, and all those thoughts, anger and emotion, it was my affirmation campaign that turned things around. At least in my neck of the woods, things have become quite the opposite of what was intended.
The point here is that I was able to stop a war in China. And, by extension, world war III … nuclear war on American soil.
One person has the power to change their life. That is you. Do your prayer affirmation campaign religiously. You, it’s up to you, to make the world surrounding you a better place to live. Do not let the “world-line template” alter the fears you generate while in a world-line that lies upon that template.
If you are filled with dread or fear, that can act as a “signpost” to push you to action. You need to hop onto your affirmation campaigns STAT! and perform corrective measures. Concentrate on your personal life, our family and friends. Do not… DO NOT… put anything that you read about in the “news” in your affirmations. That’s alike a dog chasing it’s tail. You’ll go around and around in circles . You will go no where. Focus on you and your family.
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What ever you do, run your campaign on a PERSONAL note.
Do not implement things that you read about in the “news”, or your favorite political leanings or anything like that. Those are distractions and they WILL take away from your core desires as specified within your affirmation campaign.
Trust me on this.
The ONLY reason why I included Mr. Trump in my affirmations was because he had targeted me with his war machine. Other than that, he was no where to be seen anywhere in my campaigns.
But how does it work?
The world that you observe is not real. What you are observing is the highest likely probability at any given moment on a world-line.
You are viewing the “world-line template surface”.
You are not viewing your particular, individual, world-line.
That shrub over there looks that way because that is the highest probability of it’s appearance at that moment of time…
…as VIEWED by your consciousness within that particular world-line.
That person over there is stopping to tie their shoe because that is that highest probability of occurrence at that moment in time…
…as VIEWED by your consciousness within that particular world-line.
The President on television is making a speech raising taxes because that is the highest probability of occurrence at that moment of time…
…as VIEWED by your consciousness within that particular world-line.
You CANNOT change them.
All you can change is your navigation to other world-lines.
So do not worry about what the world-line template looks like, or appears to be. That is, unless there is a guy lunging at you with a knife or some other dangerous event. And that is a special event, just like I am describing herein.
What I did…
I conducted a slide.
I slid the world-line, and carried a lot of people with me, to a new world-line template where I am, and my family, are safe. It is a world-line that avoids a Trump / Pompeo created nuclear war, and one where the human species can continue to develop their individual sentience’s while avoiding some truly horrific consequences.
No. I’m not perfect.
Trump did launch the COVID-19 bio-weapons genie and it is out of the bottle. The Chinese stopped the two successive subsequent follow-up bio-weapons attacks (more on them later), but we all still will need to deal with this mess that he got us all involved in.
I’m good. But, I’m not God.
Conclusions
At a time when an entire nation of 330 million people were ready to go to war with China, and attack my front yard, I adjusted my affirmation campaign for a different result.
I was successful.
And all the thoughts of 330 million people had zero effect on my life.
Frankly obnoxious headlines like “Trump wasn’t wrong about China. But here’s how Biden can do a better job” and “Biden must not fall into China’s smooth relations trap” suggest that Washington’s political class is single-minded: maintain an aggressive, hostile stance toward China.
Trump was wrong about China. In 2016, as a presidential contender and he launched a rhetorical tirade against China accusing that country of “raping” the U.S. economy. In 2018, he added that in addition to rape, it had caused the opioid crisis. These accusations depended on racist stereotypes about China and worked to hide the ineptness of the profit-driven U.S. health system and poor innovation record of the economy.
Trump launched his racist hysteria against China in 2018 with deceitful claims about opioids, trade, technology, and continued in 2020 with demonstrably false allegations about COVID-19’s origins. (Notably, recent media accounts, including the U.K.-based Independent and the Hong Kong-based South China Morning Post, have reported that COVID-19 cases appeared in Europe far earlier than initially believed.) Trump’s racially-driven rhetoric exposed the U.S. ruling class’s deepening leadership incapacity in a crisis and its frightening inability to offer and implement rational solutions to complex problems.
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[1] Donald trump will not be able to hurt or harm China.
Happened. Donald Trump’s anti-China policies were a complete failure. Oh, it’s much worse than that. It was a “train wreck”. The USA ended up getting harmed in so many ways. From domestically, to internationally, to scientifically, to socially. The United States has paid the price for these actions.
It’s not that I wanted to hurt the USA, but I just didn’t want myself or my family to die. And that meant that I had to take on the President and his well-paid army of war-mongering neocons with a lust for war, and desire to kill. I was successful. The complete and utter failure of the Trump policies against China were astounding and will be recorded in the history books as something that you want to avoid at all costs.
[2] All American military ventures against China will fail.
This anti-China line of thought provides no real insight into Trump’s demented psychology or the validity of the establishment’s China views. Instead, it only further exposes the persistent void in policy ideas on economic development and the ruling class’s helplessness in leading innovation. Blaming China replaces reasonable interrogation of this failure of economic and social innovation.
One egregious example of the general incapacity for efficient leadership can be seen in the bloated military sector. According to a Government Accounting Office report published this month, of “46 types of aircraft [examined by inspectors] … only three met their annual mission capable goals in a majority of the years for fiscal years 2011 through 2019.” Less than 3% of military aircraft types are consistently service-ready, in other words. Meanwhile, the military budget approaches $800 billion annually.
Massive waste that ties government contracts to political donations (to both major parties), reflects the failure across all sectors to produce sustainability, innovative technology, and necessary infrastructure for a high-level quality of life. If comparisons to the 1970s are permissible, the U.S. is approaching levels of stagnation that required the ruling class to craft neoliberalism as a class strategy for renewing its power and restoring capital accumulation. This time, neoliberalism is in crisis.
And fail they did. From HK, to Xinjigng, to Taiwan, to the South China Sea. They all failed, and failed spectacularly. You can go one by one, but there are no successes in any of them; not one.
It was hardly a secret throughout the Trump administration. Now, dying embers within sight, and with minimum fanfare, comes the declassification – virtually the whole document, minus a few redactions – of the US Strategic Framework for the Indo-Pacific.
Why now, no less than 30 years before the usual, standard US declassification/public record protocols apply? Don’t expect an answer from Trump or from his National Security Adviser Robert O’Brien.
-UNZ
[3] The harder Donald Trump tries to take on China and hurt it, the effects will boomerang back to hurt Trump and his family personally.
And isn’t that what is happening? Isn’t his family and him personally getting “hits” by the American public and legal system?
[4] Any WMD’s implemented by America to hurt China will boomerang to the USA a hundred-fold and more
Evidence for this botched leadership can be seen in the incapacity to adequately meet the COVID-19 danger. The U.S. government proved unable to deliver necessary medical equipment or to define a scientifically-sound national public health policy. It wasted time and resources and still seems incapable of controlling a contagion that has cost more than 263,000 lives.
And look at how America is handling the COVID-19 coronavirus issue, eh? This singular issue is toppling the entire nation, and government alone. It’s more than just mismanagement, it’s a fiasco of historic proportions.
In fact, this mishandling (whether it is a bio-weapon or a pandemic) will go down in the history books as a massive blunder and mistakes and Trump and his administration will be labeled as clowns and buffoons for all of eternity as a result.
The bottom line is this.
You can control the events that affect your personal life and the lives of your family. You just need to control your personal affirmations. You cannot control the entire nations, you are not MM. But you have the ability to control that realm that you inhabit. So do NOT get all hung up and hot and bothered with what you read in the “news”. It’s nonsense. Concentrate on you and your family.
And keep in mind, that here, yes I Mr. MM himself, have you all in my affirmation prayers. I’m watching your backs. So don’t get too fearful.
It’s all good.
Keep in mind that what you think might be bad, if you read the “news” might end up being the best thing that could ever happen to you and your family. So do not let the “news” affect you. Again… for the third time… concentrate on you and your family. Concentrate on happiness and safety. You will be fine.
I love this story:
"One evening, my mother made dinner after she had completed a hard day's work.
She put a plate of eggs, salad and burnt toast in front of my father and me.
I immediately noticed.
The burnt toast and I were waiting to see if my father was going to complain about it.
But he started to eat everything.
Then smiling, he asked me how was my day at school.
My mum apologized to my father for the burnt toast.
I will never forget his response to her:
'Honey, I love burnt toast!'
Later, when I went to bed and my father came over to kiss me goodnight, I asked him if he really liked the burnt toast.
He hugged me and said,
'Your mother has had a difficult and hard day and she is really tired. She went out of her way to prepare the meal for us. Why blame her and hurt her!
Burnt toast never hurt anyone; but words can be very painful!'
We have to know how to appreciate what others do for us, even if it's not perfect, because it's the intention to do well that counts, and no one is perfect."
Do you want more?
I have more posts in my Affirmation Campaign Index here…
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After a solid year of [1] hate-China spewing from all my feeds, [2] comments that I have made mysteriously being erased, and [3] the most contentious articles being flooded with “likes”… you have to wonder if you are in some kind of fake-mirror world.
It really seems that way.
We, as humans, have feelings and thoughts, ideas, and relationships. We have emotions, both good and bad, and we have desires, goals and yearnings. Yet, if we try to participate in any of the American forums… our opinions are often scrubbed and erased.
I’m not talking about swearing. Nor am I talking about being racist or making threats. I am talking about saying something innocuous like “I like hamburgers”, and then finding that you offended a vegan, who immediately pressed the “alert” button.
Yes, “safe” areas have sprung up all over the internet where people of “like minds” can communicate and put forth their opinions. Such as “Gab”. But even there, you risk banishment if your comments do not fit the appropriate target audience in the associated “news” venue.
Venue Example
Association
Non-compliance result
salon.com
Alt-Left
Ban
Yahoo.com
Mainstream
Ban
freerepublic.com
Alt-Right
Ban
Table of the three major venues for American discussion.
It’s pretty much evidence that people are being put into nice tidy boxes based upon their thoughts.
And this, boys and girls, are how governments isolate, control and manipulate people. Which should give everyone reason to pause and think.
Historically, this has resulted in people's names going onto lists. And then later on, the police and military rounding up people on those lists, and doing very, very bad things to them.
Now, I know it’s hard to absorb if you are right now sitting in the middle of all this. So, instead of looking at the American media reality, maybe take a gander at another nation.
Like India…
If you read (for example) the Indian news media, you would be convinced that India is ready to invade China, and walk straight into Shanghai and no one can stop them. If you read Alex Jones or Hall Turner, you will be convinced that Donald Trump will win next weeks election in a landslide, and if you read CNN you will be convinced of the absolute opposite. Nothing is moderate or neutral. It’s all just nonsense.
Or is it really?
Are we really reading “news articles” and listening to the “comments” by others like ourselves? Or, as I believe, we are reading “fake news” which are really articles designed to manipulate, with comments and opinions and “likes” generated by ‘bots and software algorithms.
No longer “news”; a reporting of events.
Let’s look at the morning Drudge Headliners.
Drudge Report 29OCT20
Instead, of “news”, we now see the generation of “articles of manipulation”. These articles are fully intended to change how the reader thinks. They are not designed to inform. You know, like these…
Oh, every six months of so, someone writes a book, draws a cartoon, makes a statement, writes a poem, and fundamentalist islamic's are enraged and demand death! Is this news?
Oh yeah. This debit clock thingy has been in the read for decades now. Why keep track? No one really cares, at least those who have the power to do anything about it.
The police shoot and kill a black man, and the black folk in ghettos riot. Black folk riot. It's what they do.
It's sort of a cause and effect kind of thing. But is this news? You all ever been to a black ghetto in Philly? Do you know him? Is Pennsylvania on your radar screen?
Seriously?
I think that the real interest in an article like this is how any one can train monkeys to do anything. Than how to create a for-profit model around it.
Of course Drudge must have the obligatory anti-China article. It's a thing in America, don't you know.
So any-day-now Beijing is gonna invade Taiwan! Taiwan is a state of China. Just like Texas is a state within America. The Taiwanese all have Chinese passports, speak the Chinese language, learn Chinese history, and so forth.
It's sort of like "any day now, Washington DC will invade Texas." Silly, I know. But the American audience has been so enormously dumbed-down that they just are not able to discern how ignorant they are.
To me, it looks a lot like a science fiction horror flick where the people haven’t a clue as to how badly they are being manipulated.
America today.
Let’s look at this.
Let’s look at (what I like to call) Internet Forum Manipulation…
Internet Forum Manipulation
Wouldn’t it be great if we could all innocently comment on articles that we read on the Internet, and then our thoughts can be read by others. Others could read our thoughts and there would be a free exchange of ideas and thoughts. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice…
Not so. It turns out that the control of thoughts and ideas is one of the most important tools in the arsenal of power and control. (Not to mention world-line alteration and redirection.)
As such, those in power, whether rich, wealthy, powerful or in government are totally desirous of harnessing this avenue to serve their own purposes.
It’s a horrible reality.
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of an internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a ‘uncontrolled forum.’
Professor identifies “moderate” websites. The only thing is that the websites that he lists are all “Alt-Left” websites. Which is, of course, propaganda. Is this what is being taught in schools today? White is black. Happy is sad. Good is bad. Right is wrong?
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Let’s look at some of the techniques that those in power use to control us.
PTB - The Powers that Be.
The Oligarchy - The top 1% of the richest in a society.
The deep state - The long-employed unelected government employees.
The elected - The visible face of the government farce.
The caretakers - Actually, they are not involved at this level.
Forum Sliding
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum – it can be quickly removed from public view by ‘forum sliding.’
A very popular technique on Freerepublic.com.
In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to ‘age.’ Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a ‘forum slide.’ The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public.
To trigger a ‘forum slide’ and ‘flush’ the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then ‘replying’ to prepositined postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list (“bump to the top” or BTTT), and the critical posting ‘slides’ down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings.
By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Altering Opinion & Reviews
Your opinion does not matter. If it did, then you would be able to speak freely and without fear.
There would be no such thing as “freedom of speech zones”, and “no hate” campuses.
The days of the first amendment protections are over. The first amendment only applies to those who regurgitate the narrative as defined by the government, or their owners; the oligarchy.
Here, in this section we discuss just some of the techniques that those in power use to suppress your thoughts, opinions and activities. The reader should be well advised that it is terribly out of date and obsolete. Such is the situation in the United States today.
Who is really in control? Are you?
“The real menace of our Republic is the invisible government, which like a giant octopus sprawls its slimy legs over our cities, states and nation … The little coterie of powerful international bankers virtually run the United States government for their own selfish purposes.
They practically control both parties … [and] control the majority of the newspapers and magazines in this country.
They use the columns of these papers to club into submission or drive out of office public officials who refuse to do the bidding of the powerful corrupt cliques which compose the invisible government.
It operates under cover of a self-created screen [and] seizes our executive officers, legislative bodies, schools, courts, newspapers and every agency created for the public protection.”
– John F. Hylan, Mayor of New York City from 1918-1925
It is common knowledge that businesses and even individuals can alter the behavior of those on the Internet. But what is not so well known is that the Government takes this kind of manipulation very seriously and is doing their best to replicate it.
Consider these examples that have somehow become public knowledge.
Facebook Manipulation
“The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those that speak it.”
-George Orwell
Facebook Quietly Admits to Censoring information regarding the WikiLeaks DNC Links, but doesn’t say why.
Well, we know why.
Facebook and the DNC are partners in the collection of raw data of American citizens. I am sure that their efforts are quite extensive, and because of this, I shall only offer one or two examples of their efforts. If the reader chooses to disbelieve my conclusions in this matter, it will make no difference to me. So believe what you want.
Previously, Facebook was discovered to have removed a Live video of Philando Castille dying, and posts of the Bastille Day aftermath were scrubbed from the newswire.
Its news bar has also come under fire for being biased.
Facebook can call the issues disparate, but they’re not — not to users. At some point, the ignorance and blind claims of ‘damn that algorithm’ have to end. If Facebook wants us to turn to it for news and treat it seriously, then it has to be much more open.
Afterall, no one want’s to be spoon fed censored material.
The WikiLeaks link issue has reportedly been fixed, which is great — but also not really the point.
The fact links to the archive was blocked at all suggests there’s a very tight reign on what’s allowed on Facebook across the board, and that’s a problem.
Americans are both figuratively and physically tethered to a unified way of thinking. As time progresses, this system becomes stronger, more invasive and all encompassing.
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Not to mention, that this manipulation can be directed from outside the organization as well, such as from government agencies.
“More than 1,800 requests were so-called “emergency disclosures,” which are granted to law enforcement on a case-by-case basis, and are a subject of some controversy. They include, for instance, requests to suspend someone’s account, as was the case with Korryn Gaines, a 23-year-old mother who was shot and killed by police in 2016, after she reportedly threatened officers with a weapon. She was broadcasting her confrontation on Facebook, and police asked the company to shut down her account, saying that other users were egging her on.”
-Hanna Kozlowska in the article titled “Facebook is giving the US government more and more data” (I guess that the First Amendment no longer has any validity.)
Google Manipulation
Google could influence who voters pick to be America’s next president. This is the conclusion that research psychologist Robert Epstein came to after studying the demographics and algorisms used by the software firm. Writing for Politico Magazine, Epstein, contends the Google search engine behemoth (as well as others) has;
"…amassed far more power to control elections … to control a wide variety of opinions and beliefs … than any company in history has ever had."
He continues;
"America’s next president could be eased into office not just by TV ads or speeches, but by Google’s secret decisions, and no one — except for me and perhaps a few other obscure researchers — would know how this was accomplished,"
According to Epstein, Google’s search algorithm can easily shift the voting preferences of undecided voters by 20 percent or more and even up to 80 percent in some demographic groups.
Even if we ignore that voting is the imposition of a majority’s will on a minority, facilitated by wielding the violence of the state. Even if we disregard that voting only allows its participants the choice between two entrenched, corrupt, archaic political parties (while third party and independent voices are intentionally blocked, ridiculed and plowed under.)
We must then begin to confront the fact that electronic voting is such an openly obvious fraud to any “democracy” that would insanely choose to use it.
To have an unverifiable invisible counting mechanism, a proprietary, secret software and hardware platform, a meaningless archiving and recount system, a closed-source software system that cannot be audited and inspected is essentially and deliberately the worst possible implementation.
Not only does our country have the obvious electronic voting problems to deal with, but we have also implemented electronic voting in the most counter-intuitive, corrupt and problematically designed manner that it can possibly be implemented.
Epstein points to one telling experiment in which participants were randomly assigned to one of three groups in which search rankings favored either Candidate A, Candidate B or neither candidate.
In the experiment, the participants were given brief descriptions of each candidate and then asked how much they liked and trusted each candidate and whom they would vote for.
Then they were allowed up to 15 minutes to conduct online research on the candidates using a Google-like search engine. Each group had access to the same 30 search results, but the ordering of the results differed among the three groups.
When our participants were done searching, “opinions shifted in the direction of the candidate who was favored in the rankings,” he writes. “Trust, liking and voting preferences all shifted predictably.”
"Perhaps the most effective way to wield political influence in today’s high-tech world is to donate money to a candidate and then to use technology to make sure he or she wins…"
- Robert Epstein
It is interesting to note that while Google had been extremely active in attempting to manipulate the 2016 election in favor of their preferred candidate Hillary Clinton, they ultimately failed.
It was not because of their techniques however, but rather due to their expectation that the race would be close with Hillary leading by five points. Their manipulations did not take into account other scenarios.
Google is facing new scrutiny in the wake of revelations that it stores users’ location data even when “Location History” is turned off.
In the past, Google quietly edited its description of the practice on its own website—while continuing said practice—to clarify that “some location data may be saved as part of your activity on other services, like Search and Maps.”
As a result of the previously unknown practice, which was first exposed by the Associated Press, Google was sued by a man in San Diego. Simultaneously, activists in Washington, DC urged the Federal Trade Commission to examine whether the company is in breach of its 2011 consent decree with the agency.
In the lawsuit, which was filed in federal court in San Francisco, attorneys representing a man named Napoleon Patacsil argued that Google is violating the California Invasion of Privacy Act and the state’s constitutional right to privacy.
The lawsuit seeked class-action status, and it would include both an “Android Class” and “iPhone Class” for the potential millions of people in the United States with such phones who turned off their Location History and nonetheless had it recorded by Google.
Further Reading
Google’s new scheme to connect online to offline shopping scrutinized
Also on August 17, attorneys from the Electronic Privacy Information Center wrote in a sternly worded three-page letter to the FTC that Google’s practices are in clear violation of the 2011 settlement with the agency.
In that settlement, Google agreed that it would not misrepresent anything related to "(1) the purposes for which it collects and uses covered information, and (2) the extent to which consumers may exercise control over the collection, use, or disclosure of covered information.
"Until the Associated Press story on August 13, Google's policy simply stated: "You can turn off Location History at any time. With Location History off, the places you go are no longer stored."
This turns out to not be true.
Amazon Manipulation
Sorry, but I am going to use an example from politics. Hopefully this one (being so dated) will not be offensive to my readership. Just remember people, politics in America is just a big game of "bread and circuses for the masses". All the participants work together.
Amazon can and will change and manipulate reviews for political reasons. With the proper amount of money, they will do so for ANY reason. (And, we all know, that the United States government has a bottomless supply of money…)
Let’s go back to later 2016, early 2017…
Hillary 2016 Book – Stronger Together
Here’s a funny story that wasn’t reported in the mainstream media. It took place during the 2016 election between Hillary Clinton and Donald trump. Both had written books to promote their causes and beliefs. However, Hillary Clinton’s book tanked and was poorly received. Here’s a screen shot;
Hillary Clinton’s book was just not selling.
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As The New York Times reported at the time, the book was a disaster. Both Mrs. Clinton and her running mate, Senator Tim Kaine, have promoted the book on the campaign trail, but the sales figure, which tallies about 80 percent of booksellers nationwide and does not include e-books, firmly makes the book what the publishing industry would consider a flop.
“Stronger Together,” whose cover shows Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Kaine waving, arrived closer to Election Day than most of these types of books. Named after the campaign’s slogan, “Stronger Together” offers readers, according to the book jacket,
“specific and practical solutions, while also articulating a bold and expansive vision of change and renewal.”
Its roughly 250 pages intersperse bullet-point policy ideas, like “launch a national initiative for suicide prevention” and “humanely address the Central American migrant crisis,” with photographs of Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Kaine on the campaign trail, charts in the campaign’s signature chunky font and highlights from Mrs. Clinton’s speeches.
Unfortunately the book was a flop.
No one wanted it, and the one’s whom actually bought the book gave it negative reviews. So, as with everything else in this ‘new normal rigged’ world, something had to be done and (Washington Post) WaPo-owner Jeff Bezos’ Amazon reviews appear to have been ‘tweaked’.
They apparently changed the reviews and the stats to reflect a much more favorable view of the book.
Indeed, more than doubling Hillary’s top reviews.
But, as WND.com explains, Amazon’s steps to ‘fix’ Hillary’s book reviews has resulted in 5-star ratings with scathingly negative comments. (I guess that is what happens with the literate masses object to such blatant manipulation.)
If you can’t even win when the rules are changed in your favor, things must be REALLY bad.
That’s how it looks for Hillary Clinton’s new 2016 campaign book, “Stronger Together,” co-authored with running mate Tim Kaine. WND reported this strange turn of events when the book was being savaged on Amazon.com with negative reviews, with 81 percent one-star ratings and an average of only 1.7.
Of course denials were everywhere, and the Clinton organized shrills quickly lashed out at “trolls” they said were criticizing the book only because they oppose the Democrat’s presidential candidacy.
It’s really quite funny.
Once it became news what Amazon was doing, other purchasers of the book had to chime in. WND previously reported there were more than 1,200 reviews, and the number grew to than 2,000.
Zero Public interest did not fit the Public Narrative.
.
However, that just couldn’t possibly stand, and by Thursday afternoon, the amount was yet again culled (again!) until there were only 255 reviews, with many of the most critical reviews removed by Amazon, whose CEO, Jeff Bezos, owns the Washington Post, which created an army of 20 reporters and researchers to investigate the life of Donald Trump.
Victory for the Clinton book, however, remains out of grasp, with the negative, one-star responses, outnumbering positive, five-star responses nearly 2-1. The one-star ratings Thursday were 62 percent, to 35 percent for five-star ratings.
And, of course, knowing the DNC manipulation of all their reviews, the book reviewers simply punched the five-star button then made harshly critical condemnations of the book and Hillary Clinton.
That way their opinions were still posted…
"I didn’t buy this book or read this book, but I have read the reviews, and enjoyed hours of entertaining, fun filled reading, expressing the TRUTH, about a crooked, lying, corrupt, terminally ill Presidential candidate, who stole the nomination from Bernie Sanders, and who is about the steal the Presidency with the use of election fraud. 10 Stars to the authors of these reviews. Proof that not only are Amazon.com shoppers of superior intelligence, but thye call it like they see it…. Amazon shows this as a verified purchase, when I didn’t buy the book … how fun!”
- From suz702, who posted a five-star ranking
On and on, there’s pages of this stuff…
“the book confirms the hrc is a racist. every matter in her mind is about racies (sic). but reality is she does not care about the black people. just look at the ever increasing trend of black population that are relying on welfare since the obama rule. the fundermental (sic) cause of this result is the fact that lefties of the country favor the riches by allowing outsourcing jobs to other countries. black people should wake up, stop supporting dnc and hrc, who is effectively a puppet of the elite class. the book is simply a propaganda.”
- Ian alexander, another five-star reviewer said.
Just two days earlier, out of 1,244 reviews, 81 percent were one-star and 16 percent five-star. The book plunged from No. 840 earlier this week to No. 1,538 on Thursday. It was No. 5 in the subcategory “Books-Politics & Social Sciences-Politics & Government-Elections & Political Process-Leadership.”
The reviews dripped sarcasm, both before the Amazon edits to the reviews and after.
“I bought this thinking it would be a how-to book. I wanted ‘How to set up your own Foundation for fun and profit.’ Also, would like to have seen a chapter on ‘Ten easy steps to setting up your own secure server in a bathroom,'”
-Elaine.
And, here’s another…
“Not only no but hell no. I’d rather read Mein Kampf,”
- Anthony Messina.
Chjhores said:
“Pre-ordered an autographed copy but had to return it after this week’s announcement as I was worried it was contaminated with pneumonia bacteria. I didn’t want to end up exposed to the illness like her grandkids in Chelsea’s apartment she was playing with on 9/11 after she collapsed, or the little girl she was hugging in the street afterwards. Thought about ordering the Kindle version but I thought it might open my device up to being hacked by communist countries. I wasn’t too surprised to see Tim Kaine on the front cover giving the traditional National Socialist salute (“Heil Hitler!”), I felt it fitting.
Strongly recommended for those who believe the USA isn’t anything special and should be more like the peaceful utopias of North Korea, Iran, or Cuba.”
And kpm said,
“Imagine my dismay when key parts of her life were omitted, would have made for far better reading if she had included all of the below starting with flunking the D.C. Bar Exam to:
Was removed from her House Judiciary Committee staffer job because of incompetence and lying.
The Whitewater scandal.
Married a serial liar and cheater, who occasionally had sexual encounters with nonconsenting partners.
Lied about “sniper fire” in an attempt to simulate exposure to danger in a war zone.
The subject of a “vast right-wing conspiracy” that led to the impeachment and disbarment of her husband
Took crockery, furniture, artwork and other items from the White House — had to return and/or pay for them.
Said “what difference, at this point, does it make” about four brave people killed in Libya as a direct result of her failure to protect them on the anniversary of 9/11.
Totally ignored the structure and rules for the handling of sensitive national security information.
Amassed a personal fortune with “speaking fees” and payments from private sector political donors and foreign governments into transparent “foundations” in obvious exchange for future political favor.”
Nearly 1,500 people found that review “helpful.”
But more than 3,400 found helpful the comments from Daniel B.:
“I was going to read this book … I really was. But just as I got started, I found myself under sniper fire, passed out, and fell and hit my head. After that I got double vision and had to wear glasses that were so damn thick I couldn’t even see to read. As if that wasn’t enough, I then had an allergic reaction to something and started coughing so hard I spit out what looked like a couple of lizard’s eyeballs, my limbs locked up, and I passed out and fell down again, waking up only to find out I had been diagnosed with pneumonia 2 days earlier. Somehow I managed to power through it all, but it’s a good thing I was able to make a small fortune on this random small trade in the commodities market (cattle futures or some such thing) and then, miracle of all miracles, a few banks offered me a few million to just talk to their employees for a few minutes – and all that really helped out because I swear I was dead broke and couldn’t figure out how I was gonna come up with the 6 bucks to pay for this book, let alone pay the $1,500 for my health insurance this month. I still want to read it, but, honestly, what difference at this point does it make? I hear it sucks anyway.”
Clinton’s 2015 book, “Hard Choices,” received an average of only three stars despite garnering 2,460 customer reviews.
Here’s some screen captures of the “Stronger Together” reviews, because by the time this manuscript is released all of these reviews will be erased to fit the new narrative.
Of course Bezo would manipulate the data his company controls. It is in his own best interests. WND also has documented Bezos’ interest in the election outcome, with the Post’s army of investigators looking into Trump’s life.
As WND reported this summer, Washington Post associate editor Bob Woodward told the National Association of Realtors Convention in Washington Wednesday:
“There’s a lot we don’t know. We have 20 people working on Trump. We’re going to do a book. We’re doing articles about every phase of his life.”
Woodward said he has been investigating Trump’s real-estate deals in New York. Why a book on Trump and not Hillary and her 22 biggest scandals?
“[W]e have years and years of reporting on Hillary Clinton to draw from, including her last presidential campaign, her time as secretary of state, and her position as U.S. senator, Because Trump’s involvement in political life is far more limited, the Post newsroom decided to embark on a book as a special project. In order to complete the book in a timely fashion, reporters from throughout the newsroom have been assigned to work for a brief period on particular aspects of his life and career.”
Coratti explained.
The one-star reviews for the Clinton book also continued. All were dripping with sarcasm. Just Thursday afternoon, Jimsdun wrote:
“Well I’m disappointed. This doesn’t tell me how to create a faux charitable foundation and then use it for money laundering.”
Hillary 2017 Book – What Happened
You would think that Amazon would know better than to repeat their manipulative techniques, but obviously they do not read alternative media. They are still drinking off the teat of mainstream media and are completely unaware of the public knowledge of their actions.
In what many have dubbed a flagrant intervention by Amazon itself to seemingly boost the rating of Hillary Clinton’s new book “What Happened“, the Telegraph first reported, and subsequently many others observed first hand, that Amazon has been monitoring and deleting 1-star reviews of Hillary Clinton’s new book “which was greeted with a torrent of criticism on the day it was released.”
Reviews of What Happened have been mixed, with some accusing Clinton of using it as an opportunity to blame others, such as former FBI head James Comey, Bernie Sanders, Vladimir Putin, social media and pretty much everything else, for her failure, rather than herself.
Even The New York Times, which supported Clinton’s campaign, wrote that the book is “a score-settling jubilee”.
What is fascinating, is how few one-star reviews have remained on the website amid reports and screen-grabs showing that reviewers used the space to criticize the former First Lady. One 1-star review, which remained on the website earlier, read:
"Read all the promotional excerpts, which combined come close to book length – pretty good novel. It is fiction, isn't it? Surely, someone is playing a joke."
"Picked this book up at Wal-Mart out of sheer morbid curiosity. Returned it, claiming I bought the wrong book"
While this is not the first time Amazon has intervened to “adjust” the ratings of its products, in November negative comments under a book by anti-Trump broadcaster Megyn Kelly appeared to be removed by the retailer, it has rarely “adjusted” reviews of such a prominent product so publicly.
"In the case of a memoir, the subject of the book is the author and their views. It’s not our role to decide what a customer would view as helpful or unhelpful in making their decision. We do however have mechanisms in place to ensure that the voices of many do not drown out the voices of a few and we remove customer reviews that violate our community guidelines."
So how does this change reality….
Well just look though the lens of a clock.
And then seven hours later…
What Amazon.com shows as of today 29OCT20;
A best seller!
Yes, it’s a best seller!
Man! If only my writings could become a best seller. What’s her secret? Are her ghost writers all that great. Truthfully, I am terribly jealous.
Hillary Clinton is obviously a well-beloved and liked person, who is an excellent writer and who has made the world a better place for everyone.
Twitter Manipulation
Perhaps one of the most manipulated social media platforms is Twitter. I don’t use it. I signed up for it when it first came out, and then lost interest after two days. That is the sum total of my twitter experience. However, I am an outlier. Others, such as Donald Trump, use it quite frequently.
Let’s look at some of the ways it is manipulated to serve the needs of those in power.
Twitter Manipulation – Shadowbanned
Following the permanent banning of [1] conservative commentator Milo Yiannopoulos from using its service; the [2] suspension of the account of Glenn Reynolds, aka @instapundit and creator of the Instapundit blog, a University of Tennessee law professor and a conservative columnist for USA TODAY; and [3] blocking veteran reporter Mahir Zeynalov after bowing to pressure from Turkish president Erdogan; October 2016 saw the [4] ‘shadowbanning’ of thoughtful – non-violent – twitter-er Scott Adams – the creator of the Dilbert cartoon character.
Scott Adams asked his followers for examples of Clinton supporters being violent against peaceful Trump supports in public… which seems to have ‘triggered’ some people and got Adams “Shadowbanned” from Twitter…
“This weekend I got “shadowbanned” on Twitter. It lasted until my followers noticed and protested. Shadowbanning prevents my followers from seeing my tweets and replies, but in a way that is not obvious until you do some digging.
Why did I get shadowbanned?
Beats me.
But it was probably because I asked people to tweet me examples of Clinton supporters being violent against peaceful Trump supporters in public. I got a lot of them. It was chilling.
Late last week my Twitter feed was invaded by an army of Clinton trolls (it’s a real thing) leaving sarcastic insults and not much else on my feed. There was an obvious similarity to them, meaning it was organized.
At around the same time, a bottom-feeder at Slate wrote a hit piece on me that had nothing to do with anything.
Except obviously it was politically motivated.
It was so lame that I retweeted it myself. The timing of the hit piece might be a coincidence, but I stopped believing in coincidences this year.
All things considered, I had a great week. I didn’t realize I was having enough impact to get on the Clinton enemies list. I don’t think I’m supposed to be happy about any of this, but that’s not how I’m wired.”
Twitter Manipulation – Bots
“Or take the right to vote. In principle, it is a great privilege.
In practice, as recent history has repeatedly shown, the right to vote, by itself, is no guarantee of liberty.
Therefore, if you wish to avoid dictatorship by referendum, break up modern society’s merely functional collectives into self-governing, voluntarily co-operating groups, capable of functioning outside the bureaucratic systems of Big Business and Big Government.”
-Aldous Huxley, in Brave New World Revisited (1958)
In a 2014 report filed with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission, the social networking site Twitter estimated that more than 23 million of its active user accounts were being run by “bots” — software agents or bits of code that act on their own to respond to news and world events. They interact with real users, never revealing their true nature.
Bots of this kind have been used in efforts to sway public opinion in Central America already for a decade. The hacker and political operative Andrés Sepúlveda claims to have employed armies of bots to influence at least a half-dozen major election results in Mexico, Colombia, Nicaragua and elsewhere.
Could the same happen in the U.S. and Europe?
Probably so, given findings on bot activity ahead of Britain’s vote to leave the European Union. As part of the Computational Propaganda Research Project at Oxford University researchers looked at some 300,000 Twitter accounts and found that a mere 1 percent of them generated about one third of all tweets relevant to the Brexit debate.
1/3 of all Brexit debate were generated by 1% of accounts.
They believe that many of those accounts were run by bots, because human users could not have sustained such a level of activity without the help of automation. It’s not clear whether the activity swayed the result, though the Leave campaign did generate more automated tweets.
This issue is far bigger than Brexit: The disturbing reality is that computational propaganda is already with us.
In the 2016 U.S. presidential race, Twitter bots support both Trump and Clinton. Bots of various kinds live on cloud servers and operate 24 hours a day, and account for about 50 percent of all activity on the web.
According to the Central American hacker, Sepúlveda, peoples’ opinions tend to be swayed more by views they see as coming spontaneously from real people than by views expressed on television or in newspapers.
Twitter Exposed by the NY Times
Most of the reports regarding the manipulation by the media are buried deep down in the lower nooks and crannies of the mainstream media. Obviously they do not want people to know how they manipulate and conspire to alter viewpoints and opinions. Yet, occasionally an excellent article comes out that just “kicks the door down” regarding just this type of activity.
The New York Times wrote just this kind of article regarding Twitter. It’s worthy of a read. Here is what political commentator Rush Limbaugh (The New York Times Exposes the Fakery of Twitter, on 29JAN18.) has to say about this article;
Folks, I have to tell you something. The New York Times put on their website late Saturday and published in their newspaper on Sunday one of the most phenomenal stories. Now, I know. I am on record as having lost respect for the New York Times, and I am on record as having said many times that my instinctive reaction to anything in the New York Times is not to believe it. However, this story I happen to know is true — and it is phenomenal.
It is a very, very long story. I would recommend that you read this story on your computer so that you can benefit and experience the amazing graphics that they use to illustrate the point. The point of the story is that you, anybody, can buy followers on Twitter and Facebook. You can buy retweets. In other words, you can buy fake human beings and have them reported as following you. The names of people who have done this are listed in the story. They run from actors, to athletes, to pundits, to journalists.
These are bots. You know, I’ve found a lot of people — when I say a Twitter bot or a Facebook bot — say, “What is that?” Well, the easiest way to explain it is it’s just an automatic script. It’s just a little piece of code that is triggered by anything the creator wants it to be triggered by. It’s called a robot or a bot because there’s no real person behind it. It’s a fake. It’s made to look like an actual human being with a Twitter account but no human being exists.
It’s totally fake, made up. Some of these bots are actually based on real people whose identities are stolen and modified ever so slightly so that you wouldn’t notice it to the naked eye. And others are just manufactured out of whole cloth. There’s an actor mentioned here in this story that has 975,000 followers with the vast majority of them unreal. They have been purchased. The number one company selling these bots is right here in West Palm Beach, above Rocco’s Tacos on Clematis Street!
Not to be confused with the Rocco’s Tacos on PGA Boulevard. The Rocco’s Tacos on Clematis Street is where this little guy’s office is. He’s 27 years old. He makes people think that his office is in Manhattan. It’s exceedingly cheap. You can buy 100,000 followers for 10 bucks. The guy has earned six to $7 million selling fake followers. My friends, what this means is that very little is real on Twitter, ditto Facebook when you can buy followers.
Ray Lewis, future Hall of Fame linebacker for the Baltimore Ravens is listed as one who has purchased followers. Now, some of these people are gonna say, “I — I didn’t know! My agent must have done that.” But the bottom line is, you can create bots to do anything. The reason I know this is true is because — as I have shared with you on countless occasions — we have run up against this procedure, this technique trying to damage our business here. And we have found out in our investigational research, it is exactly what happened.
In our case it was 10 people who were flooding our advertisers with massive amounts of emails made to look like it was coming from tens of thousands of people, and it was 10 people creating fake Twitter users, fake customers, fake everything. So it’s one thing to create bots to bombard your enemies. It’s another thing for you to knowingly go out and purchase followers. So what it means is that when you’re on Twitter and you’re looking at somebody that is somewhat known, not the well-known at all, a YouTube star that has millions of followers, the likelihood it is it is nowhere near true.
But look at the influence that it has had. This is why followers are purchased. Look at how often the Drive-By Media quotes Twitter in every story they do. How many times have you heard in reaction to a story “Twitter is melting down”? And you are being led to believe that a story happens, whatever it is, and on Twitter there is this massive reaction to it, either positive or negative — and then you are further led to believe that that story is huge and that millions of Americans have an opinion on it.
And the likelihood is that very little of that is even true. Now, you might be asking, “Why would the New York Times be doing this?” It’s very clear to me. The New York Times had to weigh a couple of things here. On the one hand, these bots can be used to really damage your enemies — business enemies, business opponents, political opponents, political enemies, personal enemies — because you can create fake bots, and you can make it look like a person is literally despised and hated when that person isn’t.
And you can turn it around. You can make it look like a person is universally loved and adored and renowned by gazillions, and that isn’t true. It’s a way to earn fake popularity. Everything is fake on this social media. Not everything. So much of what social media is is fake. So much of it is unearned. So much of it is the result of shortcuts. I’m certain the New York Times did this because they’re fed up with Twitter having more influence than they do. “The New York Times is the paper of record!
“The New York Times is the media of record. Who the hell, what the hell is this Twitter business?” they have probably been saying themselves. I mean, it is a long story. It has many different writers and reporters on it. The evidence is pretty clear. As I say, if I didn’t have firsthand knowledge of this, then I would be highly suspicious of the reporting, of the agenda, the whole narrative. But since I know that this stuff happens. Now, by the way, I have to tell you, I did not know — and I’m happy admitting this.
It makes me sound like I’m a bit naive. I did not know you could buy followers. I didn’t know that. But a lot of people have found out you can buy followers. Do you realize the power of that, folks? Let’s say you’re a B actor or a B pundit, you’re a YouTube star. In reality, you don’t have millions of people watching. Ridiculous! Streaming hasn’t grown that much yet. But yet there’s all these “YouTube stars.” Can I give you some evidence of this? There was some YouTube guy. I forget his name.
I don’t mean this to be critical of the YouTube guy. Please do not misunderstand. But some YouTube guy was creating very clever videos. I don’t even know what the genre was. His first name was Casey. So CNN thought this guy had this massive Millennial audience. And they signed this guy up to start producing videos for them. And they got zilch. The guy finally had to admit that he didn’t know how to do what CNN wanted. He didn’t know how to… So… Well, what the real problem was, the guy didn’t have anywhere near the number of followers and audience that it was made to appear that he did.
See, when did you live by the fake sword, you die by it. When you want fame but it isn’t real, it’s gonna come back and bite you. When you want wealth but that isn’t real — you’ve stolen it, you’ve cheated it, you haven’t earned it — that’s gonna come back and bite you. You want popularity. And everybody on social media does. And this is just one side of social media that’s bad. The other side is just the absolute sewer that it is with the cultural-destroying language and behavior that is used on these social networks, the discourse and all of that.
And then the third element of this is all the lying about what great lives people have and how exciting their lives are. And people read this and think their lives are miserable and they get depressed. I mean, this is… It’s bad all the way around, and now adding this buying followers to it. So how many people have now comfortably gotten a false, totally incorrect opinion of the popularity of certain issues, of the popularity of certain people, when you can go buy it all? And I’m telling you, it’s cheap.
You can buy 100,000 followers for 20 bucks, folks. All you have to do is know where to go do it. Some of these bots are actual real people who do not realize they’re being used. Their e-mail address is changed with one letter. A capital I might become a small I so that nobody would notice it. The user photo might be compressed a little bit so that it looks slight different color but not enough so you wouldn’t notice it without a side-by-side comparison. They make up people and they take actual people and steal their identities, ’cause you have to have some legitimate feel of the follower scam to work.
BREAK TRANSCRIPT
RUSH: This Twitter debauchery is even worse. You can kill a stock. You can drive a company’s stock down or the other way with some of these fake bots, the followers and so forth. I’ll tell you what. James O’Keefe, folks, his latest book involving his expose on the political nature Twitter and how they literally ban conservative thought is called American Pravda. It’s been outs a couple of weeks. If you read books, and if you want to learn — at least get a primer on what Twitter really is and how it operates — James O’Keefe, American Pravda.”
Altering Product Reviews
Talk about a glowing review: one five-star review given to a light-up USB cable for sale on Amazon had a headline claiming that this product “has lit up my life.” That review was not only glowing, it was steaming, Amazon says.
In today’s world, anything can be bought for the right price.
This includes written opinions about products and services. One particularly worrisome example is with the book reviews on the website Amazon.com. It turns out that there is a high percentage of them (relatively) that are fake; fabricated and simply made up to deceive either one way or the other.
In the case of the glowing review of the light-up USB cable; The review was fake, purchased by a third-party Amazon seller, the online retailer claims, and probably cost the manufacturer between $19 and $22 (£13 and £15) to write it and have it listed on the Internet for (assumingly) forever. Those are the accusations Amazon has made in its first-ever lawsuit against sites that sell reviews.
The suit, filed Wednesday in Seattle’s King County Superior Court, accuses Jay Gentile, a California resident, and the websites [1] buyamazonreviews.com, [2] buyazonreviews.com, [3] bayreviews.net and [4] buyreviewsnow.com, of trademark infringement, false advertising and violations of the Anticybersquatting Consumer Protection Act and the Washington Consumer Protection Act.
The sites sell packages of reviews, from as few as 3 to as many as 100. Promises include “drip-feed delivery” that won’t raise Amazon’s suspicions and a “100 percent stick guarantee” for reviews, promising to replace any that Amazon deletes or filters out.
One of the sites Gentile is accused of running, buyazonreviews.com, sounds like it’s on the up-and-up:
“We use real people that are sourced from all around the world to deliver high quality unbiased reviews on your products.”
The fine print sounds just as legit:
“We are not receiving any money for your reviews nor are we paying reviewers. Your payment goes towards review sourcing, database management, and operation costs. “
But Amazon says that the reality “is far different.”
In this, its first ever crackdown on fake reviews since it debuted the review platform 20 years ago (with its first review of Dr. Seuss’s “The Butter Battle Book”), Amazon accuses Gentile of promising to “provide as many five-star reviews as the purchaser wanted” and to “slow drip” them onto Amazon’s product pages so that the company would have a “more difficult time detecting them”.
In the complaint, Amazon also accuses Gentile of advising his customers to “do a few verified purchase reviews … so as not to raise any eyebrows with Amazon.
"The reviewers don't actually have to receive the products, Gentile allegedly told customers. Rather, his clients could just send empty boxes to try to fool Amazon into thinking that the reviewer was a "verified purchaser."
The complaint quotes the advice Gentile allegedly gave:
Note: You do not have to actually ship the item unless you want to. We suggest that for tracking purposes is that you just ship out an empty box or envelope, this will show [A]mazon that the item was actually shipped.
When one clueless reviewer working for buyazonreviews.com complained about not having actually received a product, Gentile allegedly reassured his client that she’d be brought in line:
“All our reviewers know of the process and I am not sure as to why she sent this to you but I will ensure it does not happen in the future.”
Amazon gave a number of examples of what it says are phony reviews, such as the USB cable five-star review:
This has lit up my life
By j9 on March 31, 2015
Verified Purchase“Review: I was kinda doubtful about the "electroluminescent technology" of this USB cable. That it actually would work. But it actually did. Not only did the blue light function as they should, they were clear and bright, plus they turned off when the charge was finished. It's rad. They should make them in other colors too. Let's just say we're really impressed and are going to order a few more...”
Amazon is bringing claims of [1] trademark infringement, saying the websites are using the company’s name and logo without authorization. It’s also accusing the websites of [2] cybersquatting by hosting sites with names “identical to or confusingly similar to” Amazon’s own site. Amazon has asked the court to force the various websites to stop using its name and trademarks and to stop selling Amazon reviews. It’s also seeking triple damages and attorney’s fees.
Imagine a world where if individuals can set up a cheap website and system to do this, what powerful and well-funded governments can do.
It should not be believed that they would do nothing, for the maintenance of those in power (regardless of where they reside) are all heavily dependent upon securing the mass opinions of the populace. The reader should view everything on the Internet with suspicion, from news reports, to product reviews. The Internet is a wonderful tool, and it’s use in shaping your opinion on various matters is a well-honed and well-sharpened skill.
Flooding the Forum with “Likes”
In most forums, those posts with the greatest number of “likes” are presented first (or at the top of the forum). By controlling and altering the number of “likes” by various computer bots, one can effectively control the postings on a given internet forum.
This is a very common practice, and is common at Facebook, and Google where the actual software companies takes control of the forums in this manner. However, outside entities can also manipulate the forum using this technique.
Bangladesh “Click Farm”
The idea behind a click-farm is simple, but it takes a little explanation to understand how they came to be.
In the old days, when social media likes and website views were incredibly valuable, many webmasters turned to the dark side of the Internet to find ways to inflate them. Earning 1,000 likes or 1,000 website hits was a tough process, but it could be made a lot easier by setting up a program to refresh the page over and over. For Facebook, those bots would register accounts and use them to like the page.
Robots are easy to detect.
Facebook fan page likes could easily find these fraudulent accounts and remove them. Something needed to be done to make those number-inflating accounts less visible. Something to make them look more legitimate.
The answer, as it turned out, was just to make them legitimate – or as legitimate as it was possible to make them, anyways.
Bangladesh “Click Farm”
.
Webmasters pay people in developing nations like Bangladesh, where an annual income of $120 is acceptable, to create Facebook accounts. Or, more likely, webmasters pay a company that in turn pays these people.
These people register accounts, sometimes dozens, and sit idle until the money comes in. They receive a payment and a target Facebook account, and they relentlessly like the page with their accounts.
Even this was fairly easy to detect.
After all, if 10,000 accounts all mobilize in the span of a week and they all like the same selection of 10 pages, those ten pages very obviously purchased likes from a click farm.
At one point, Facebook purged so many fraudulent accounts it totaled nearly 10% of their entire user base. Unlike YouTube wiping views, however, Facebook’s deletions didn’t remove fake likes.
The modern version of a clickfarm still works the same way, only the people running the accounts take steps to obfuscate their traffic.
In addition to liking the pages they’re paid to like, they also click through ads and related pages on Facebook and like pages they aren’t paid to follow. This is how your page, running legitimate Facebook ads, can run afoul of a click-farm. The flurry of “organic” likes makes it much harder to pick out the mobilization of a click-farm for purchased likes.
The Chinese “Click Farm”
In 14MAY17, an unnamed person disclosed the operational details of a Chinese “click farm” used to manipulate the number of “likes” on a given Internet forum[i]. Photos were provided and some details were presented. From the article;
Chinese “Click Farm”
The bizarre ‘click farm’ of 10,000 phones that give FAKE ‘likes’ to our most-loved apps
Pages on social media websites are given fake ‘likes’ to make them look more popular by thousands of phones
“Footage has emerged of a giant "click farm" that uses more than 10,000 mobile phones to give product ratings and pages on social media websites phoney "likes".
Companies reportedly pay thousands to get their apps more likes by using services like this massive plant offers.
This covert clip in China shows rows and rows of like-making machines all wired to other devices in a factory. And there are said to be thousands more phones in the same building all made for the same purpose.”
The reader should note some details regarding all of the cell phones. They are all smart phones, typically generic or “off make” brands (probably due to cost considerations).
Note that the camera is covered by tape so that if any agency wanted to turn on the camera, it would not be able to record any video. Notice the screens, all of them are slightly different, but the forum that they are posing on is identical. The computer software provides a kind of software personality that automates the clicking algorithm.
A Russian man took video footage of the like-making machines and shared it online. But social media users reacted angrily to this clip. One viewer wrote: “Is everything in the modern world ‘fake’?” While, a third furious user shared: “Is anything actually real anymore?”
To which I must educate the reader.
Yes. Everything on the Internet is fake.
The Thailand “Click Farm”
Three Chinese men arrested in Thailand have acknowledged that they were operating a “click farm,” using hundreds of cellphones and several hundred thousand SIM cards to run up “likes” and views on WeChat, a Chinese social media mobile application, Thai police reported on 13JUN17.
Immigration Police Capt. Itthikorn Atthanark said the men explained they were paid according to how many likes and views they generated, each earning 100,000-150,000 baht ($2,950-$4,400) per month. Click farms are hired to inflate an online site’s viewership for prestige and profit.
Thailand click farm.
Some politicians boast of how many followers they have on social media, while clicks can generate ad revenue.
WeChat is China’s most prominent online social media platform, incorporating a text-messaging service as well as marketing for online stores.
Police seized 476 cellphones and around 347,200 SIM cards during the arrests Sunday at a house in Sa Kaeo province, about 200 kilometers (120 miles) east of Bangkok. The men, identified as Wang Dong, Niu Bang and Ni Wenjin, were charged with working without a permit and importing the phones without paying taxes.
Itthikorn said the arrests followed a police stakeout at the Sa Kaeo house after receiving reports of suspicious activity. He said a police search Monday at another residence believed to be engaged in the same activity came up empty-handed, though police believe others connected with the business are still at large.
Russian “troll farm”
Not only can you find “click farms” in Russia, but they are also used with ‘bots to flood the social media with trolls and other denizens of internet discussion. These farms park themselves and place ‘bots fully intended to disrupt the discussion on social media sites.
And what’s more, they are open for hire, and will do so for any social media. Apparently some of their biggest clients reside in the United States where they make princely amounts disrupting discussion as tolls on social media. So in Russia, not only do you have click-farms, but they also double as ’bout farms, and bit-mining operations.
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com) is ‘consensus cracking.’
Pig Farts are destroying the Ozone Layer
Posted by Trustworthy Joe Average
Everyone knows that XXXXXX. It has been proven that XXXXXXX. And since XXXXX is a Y-chromosome, and Brando is good for plants, that DNA is great with JAVA, and the study clearly indicates that bovine farts are safe, while pig farts are dangerous.
To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made – but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting.
Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favor is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger ‘evidence’ or disinformation in your favour is slowly ‘seeded in.’ Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped.
This works on most websites, such as Facebook.
However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then ‘abort’ the consensus cracking by initiating a ‘forum slide.’
In April 2020, my LinkedIN feed was filled with articles stating that the Italian government was being overwhelmed with lawsuits against China for "mishandling" of the Coronavirus.
The only thing was, all of Italy was in lock-down at that time, and mail, servers and the Judicial apparatus were not functioning. They didn't even begin to resume operation until July.
Obviously it was a big lie.
No legal actions were taken inside of Italy against China at all, but you would never realize that if you were not aware of the situation within both Italy and China, and how the legal systems works. Things that most Americans are unaware of, which is why this technique is so prevalent in America today.
Topic Dilution
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues.
This is a critical and useful technique to cause a ‘RESOURCE BURN.’ By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a ‘gossip mode.’ Which is the ideal outcome.
In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion.
The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in.
Caution is often warranted. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to ‘drive in the wedge.’ By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Information Collection
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them.
In this technique in a light and positive environment a ‘show you mine so me yours’ posting is initiated.
From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your ‘favorite weapon’ and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favorite ‘technique of operation.’ From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
This method has become famous by various anti-gun groups who intentionally collected information on gun owners in selected cities in anticipation of a anti-gun government.
Anger Trolling
This technique is known as anger trolling.
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction.
From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking.
To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes – without the requirement to ‘stage’ a fake abuse video.
This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to ‘lead’ the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you ‘do not care what the authorities think!!’ inflammation.
By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
JTRIG
One of the many pressing stories that remains to be told from the Snowden archive is how western intelligence agencies are attempting to manipulate and control online discourse with extreme tactics of deception and reputation-destruction. It’s time to tell a chunk of that story, complete with the relevant documents.
Over a period of several weeks, NBC News published a series of articles about “dirty trick” tactics used by GCHQ’s previously secret unit, JTRIG (Joint Threat Research Intelligence Group). These were based on four classified GCHQ documents presented to the NSA and the other three partners in the English-speaking “Five Eyes” alliance.
As of 2015, another new JTRIG document, in full, entitled “The Art of Deception: Training for Online Covert Operations.” Was published with goes into great detail how the United States government intentionally smears and destroys the reputation and credibility of anyone whom it wants to. It does this through pure application of honed Nazi and KGB techniques.
By publishing these stories one by one, NBC reports highlighted some of the key, discrete revelations: [1] the monitoring of YouTube and Blogger, [2] the targeting of Anonymous with the very same DDoS attacks they accuse “hacktivists” of using, [3] the use of “honey traps” (luring people into compromising situations using sex) and [4] destructive viruses. But, here, specifically, lets focus and elaborate on the overarching point revealed by all of these documents: namely, that these agencies are attempting to control, infiltrate, manipulate, and warp online discourse, and in doing so, are compromising the integrity of the internet itself.
Among the core self-identified purposes of JTRIG are two primary tactics: (1) to inject all sorts of false material onto the internet in order to destroy the reputation of its targets; and (2) to use social sciences and other techniques to manipulate online discourse and activism to generate outcomes it considers desirable. To see how extremist these programs are, just consider the tactics they boast of using to achieve those ends: [1] “false flag operations” (posting material to the internet and falsely attributing it to someone else), [2] fake victim blog posts (pretending to be a victim of the individual whose reputation they want to destroy), and [3] posting “negative information” on various forums.
Gaining Full Control
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavorable postings – and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public.
The goal is to only have forum postings favorable to your desired point of view present.
This is the ‘ultimate victory’ as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed.
However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a ‘honey pot’ gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes. The object is to gain full control.
Prohibit Non Approved Opinion
The powers-that-be understand that if the government can control speech, it controls thought and, in turn, it can control the minds of the citizenry. In fact, some of this past century’s greatest dystopian authors warned of this very danger.
In Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, reading is banned and books are burned in order to suppress dissenting ideas, while televised entertainment is used to anesthetize the populace and render them easily pacified, distracted and controlled.
In Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, serious literature, scientific thinking and experimentation are banned as subversive, while critical thinking is discouraged through the use of conditioning, social taboos and inferior education. Likewise, expressions of individuality, independence and morality are viewed as vulgar and abnormal.
In George Orwell’s 1984, Big Brother does away with all undesirable and unnecessary words and meanings, even going so far as to routinely rewrite history and punish “thoughtcrimes.”
And in almost every episode of Twilight Zone, Rod Serling urged viewers to unlock their minds and free themselves of prejudice, hate, violence and fear. “We’re developing a new citizenry,” Serling declared. “One that will be very selective about cereals and automobiles, but won’t be able to think.”
Conclusion
Yes, the manipulation of speech is an important tool for the control of people.
And we see a lot of this in regards to politics. Specifically in politics related to “democracies”, which pretty much rely upon “mob rule” to select the leadership. Thus we see that data in democracies are subject to popular opinion and thus must also be manipulated.
So, we see that in a “democracy”…
Leadership and politics are heavily involved in censorship and manipulation.
And in data sets and metrics of success, leadership also manipulates heavily.
But this is not the case in other forms of governance.
In totalitarian, and Republic forms of governance, there is no need to appease the population, thus there really isn’t a need to manipulate or censor. You can use China as a good example.
China
There was an outbreak of COVID-XXX in ZhangXin on March XXXX. 2,338 were infected, 388 died, and 78 were arrested for non-compliance with the mask law.
The Chinese don’t need to lie about these figures, or the presentation of them. They are facts. And whether you like them or not, agree with them or not, or anything else has no bearing on the issue. They do not CARE about your opinion.
Compare that to America, where mob opinion is very important and can result in positive or negative opinions of the leadership. Eventually resulting in their termination if things go bad.
USA
COVID-XXXX hits Boston. 456 infected, 34 deaths. But these figures are not verified by a secondary source and there are indications that they might be artificially enlarged by confusing it with the influenza. A government spokesperson admitted that there were a "few" deaths, but that everything was under control and a vaccine is under production right now to prevent further infections. Further, the vast majority of those that died had prior conditions, were old and feeble, or had other complication.
Sound familiar?
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM.
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM.
.
Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precedence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them.
Do you want more?
I have more posts along these lines in my Functional and practical notes section of my SHTF Index…
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I have been writing a bunch of articles (posts) on how to conduct prayer and affirmation campaigns that work. But I haven’t spent too much time on other things that you can do to increase the likelihood of accelerating or amplifying the campaign.
So, in this post we will look at de-cluttering as a way of clearing away the “trash” that often stands in the way between you and your desires.
Your past, and every one you met, every thing you touched, every thought you have are all being swept up and makes an impression upon you, your life, and your lifestyle. In order for you to free yourself from the influences of your past, you need to take proactive steps to clear away the bad (or stubborn) from influencing your future plans.
Declutter to remove inertial obstacles that prevent your intentions from manifesting.
Summary
Thoughts and quanta form attachments with physical things. Thus good and bad thoughts, and their associated quanta can be absorbed by physical things, and thus affect the users and owners of those objects.
When you conduct a prayer / affirmation campaign, the thoughts and quanta of the physical surrounds can have an influence in the success of your campaign.
I suggest that you take the time to de-clutter your affirmation “runway”, so that when the time comes for your affirmations “to take off”, there will not be any hindrances, or obstacles in your way.
Step one
The very first thing that you need to do is get rid of any “hexed”, “bad luck”, “cursed” or problematic items in you possession. Maybe you don’t have any, that’s fine. But if there is something that you don’t feel comfortable with, maybe it’s something stuck in the attic or stored away in the garage, toss it out.
Christine is considered one of the great classic 80’s horror movies, based on Stephen King’s novel and directed by John Carpenter. It is the story about a cursed automobile.
Forget about who gave it to you. Forget about it’s potential monetary value. Forget about any sentimentality associated or attached with it. Just clear it out of your life.
It does not matter if it is “good”, “bad”, “cursed intentionally”, or just unlucky. Get rid of that fucker.
You see, there are no “good” or “bad” attachments. Aside from those relative to our comfort and our structured desires. Think of it as inertia.
If you want to run a race, you try to be all muscle. You cut away your body fat, you get lighter and you exercise. So you can well imagine this effort as a slimming down and streamlining of your affirmation campaign.
Cut off the fat.
Step two. Declutter clothing.
All those things that you don’t use, that occupy space in your closets and in your drawers, form an inertial mass. It is a big rock that makes it difficult for you to make any changes. This inertial mass is a continuity of the present, and if the articles include memories of the past, then the inertial effect is to tie you to that mass.
If you don’t need the items, don’t use the items, or have no attachments to the items aside from “one day I’ll”, or “it cost so much when I bought it”, then discard.
Here’s some general rules of thumb for clothing…
If you haven’t worn it for two years – discard.
If you like the clothing, but you no longer can wear that size – discard.
If you moved to the tropics, but you retain your winter clothing – discard.
Old socks, underwear (and bras) should be replaced yearly. (Do you hear me girls?)
From now on, starting now, come up with a strategy to wear fitting, and stylish clothes and discard your old wardrobe. Now, I am not talking about being a “Jim Dandy” of Town, but rather something quite different.
Replace your clothes and your wardrobe. Invest the thousand or so dollars to do so. Make sure that [1] everything fits, and fits well. [2] That the style is “you” and NOT the latest fashion. And that [3] you feel great, look great, wearing the clothes. Then discard everything else.
Do this by going through your current clothing and setting aside everything that you 1) have not worn for two years, 2) is noticeably stained, and 3) fits so poorly not even a master tailor could adjust it to fit. Package it all up and mark it for the Salvation Army or eBay.
-Building a Men's Wardrobe | The Art of Manliness
If you are a man, you should NEVER buy clothing yourself. You need a female that you trust to help you work on your look, and a good trustworthy tailor to work with. Tell them what you are trying to do. You will NOT regret this move.
There is a significant difference in the spiritual, emotional and quantum “baggage” associated and attached to clothing between the two sexes. Men have a tendency to wear things over and over, and they tend to carry with them a lot of quantum debris and inertia. Women not so much. But women, also have a tendency to have large closets of items that just sit there waiting for the “right” moment to wear.
Both accumulate inertia and resistance to change. Both need to be purged to only what you you need and associate with the GOALS and DREAMS of your affirmation campaign.
Unless you use it, it is just wasted space. Further it is polluting your new efforts to change you life.
Think of it as a big block of frozen shit sitting inside a big tub of water. Slowly it is affected all the water in the tub. If you remove it, the water no longer needs to contend with the pollution. And you will notice that the water level in the tub is lower. You can fill it up with nice fresh, sparking clear water.
Discard what you haven’t used in two years. Don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Just do it.
And do not forget to gain the support of your spouse or the person who will be helping you to pay for all this. I find my clients’ wives are ecstatic and fully supportive of their husband’s efforts to dress better. If you keep your partner out of the decision, however, you could be met with unexpected resistance.
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Step Three – Declutter things
Not everything is “haunted” or cursed. Often good memories are associated with things and objects. It’s just that we need to be sure that the object provides us a positive to neutral affect in our day to day lives.
All in all, I would hazard to pronounce that about 20% of the items might have some negative effects that would detract from your life. And another 60% might have a neutral effect. and another 20% might have a positive effect. It all depends on who you are, and what YOUR quantum associations are.
You need to remove all the items that you don’t use or need from your life.
So, I would advise that you make an inventory of the things in your house. And just like the clothing above, discard what is not needed. For they do hold and retain quantum connections. And while they might be neutral, the large mass of them will still work to keep you EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW.
So get rid of the bad, and do not argue with your family about that. Discard the bad.
Weed out the neutral. Just keep what you like, want or need. (No one needs 6 mop buckets, 15 flashlights, and your great grandparents Christmas tree lights.) If you have a broken toaster, that you haven’t used, but will fix one of these days, toss it. If you have a throw rug from your old house, but have nowhere to put is, discard it. If you are still keeping the old bird cage from the bird that died five years ago, guess what, discard it.
It’s nice to know that that big serving bowl reminds you of your long lost grandmother. If it fills you with happy emotions and thoughts, well then keep it. If you have a nearly new broom, but years of storage has messed up the hairs in the bottom of the broom, and you just can’t get the nerve to discard it, then set that sucker on fire. Unless you are using it, a tool is junk.
I am NOT advising you all to take on a minimalist lifestyle. I am just simply saying that THINGS collect more than just dust. They collect quanta. And quanta, both good, bad or neutral can act like an anchor holding your and tying you to the current life that you are living.
Step Four – Bless your property
Just like evil, bad, or contrary ideas, thoughts and quanta can become attached to things, so can good will.
All, or most religions, will bless things and objects. I know that this is certainly true for the Catholic and the Buddhist religions.
I personally wear three items on me that are blessed. One [1] is a Catholic cross that I wear around my neck. It was blessed by Monseigneur Pete in Erie, PA when I lived at a monastery / retreat for men years ago. (Yeah. Bet you all didn’t know that, did ya?) And I also wear two bracelets. Both were blessed by Buddhists in the temples. One [2] (with large wooden beads) was blessed in TangXia, China, and the other [3] is a red rope bracelet blessed in Wenzhou, China.
That’s the extent of my blessed items for now.
Perhaps if Trump continues on his rampage of destruction and scorched earth, I might need to take a more proactive approach. In which case, I would certainly pay to have a priest bless my household. heck! I might even put in one of those Chinese mini-shrines near my front door.
Many older Chinese, as well as successful businessmen maintain these mini shrines in their homes and in their companies. They make sure that it is continually stocked with fresh fruit and flowers.
It’s interesting, really.
In the United States, I have uncles and aunties that would have their own religious shrines in their upstairs hallways. These small shrines are for their private purposes and for prayer and other blessings. As they are devout Catholics, they use the shrines to run through their “Hail Marys” and “Stations of the Cross” in their daily prayers.
Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death Amen.
-Hail Mary - Prayers - Catholic Online
Now, I am not saying that I intend to put a small shrine in my home (I think my wife would kill me), but that having a priest come over and bless your home and apartment might be a good thing to do. Most especially if you have any questions why there seems to be a “big potato” or “dark cloud” or invisible wall that lies between you and your goals and objectives.
It won’t cost too much. Provide a meal and offer a monetary “red envelope” to make it worth their while.
Home alter in a non-Catholic household. Alters are personal affairs and you place upon them what you feel is right, and just in according to your own personal beliefs and feelings.
So…
Try to have items that you always wear blessed. This can be your stinking wrist-watch it you want, or a wedding ring. Or a pinky ring. Or a belt. Or a John Deere baseball cap.
If you feel the need, purify your residence in the ways and manner that your feel appropriate for you.
Part Six – Tattoos
A tattoo is like an anchor. It binds you to a stat of mind and a set of conditions. If you have the ability, I would suggest that you purge yourself of all tattoos.
Tattoos anchor you to a specific set of world-line conditions. Thus are undesirable for practical world-line navigation using affirmation campaigns.
Part Seven -Nature
Nature is neutral.
The best way to shed the inertial quanta that collects upon us or around us is to spend time in nature.
This can be a small flower garden, vegetable patch, or a small pond. This can be walks in the woods, or canoeing on a lake.
If, for whatever reason, you are unable to perform any of the suggestions herein to declutter your life and reduce the quantum inertia, then please spend more time in nature. It need not be something all that dramatic, but it does need to occur.
It could be something as simple as leaving the natural air to flow through your house more often.
Or, it could mean that you start putting potted plants all over your house.
It could be something as drastic as turning off all power to your house for a week, opening up all your windows and door, and just giving your old house a good ‘airing out”.
What ever you do…
…Just remember that affirmation campaigns alone often need little “nudges”, and pushes in certain areas to have your desires manifest. Do what you can to “freshen things up”, and provide “baggage free” opportunity.
Oh, and a nice slice of pie in a good old-fashioned diner wouldn’t hurt.
A fine delicious pie. Go out to a diner, and do so especially if it is something that you do not normally do. To enact change, you must change things, and that includes habits.
Conclusion
Thoughts and quanta form attachments with physical things. Thus good and bad thoughts, and their associated quanta can be absorbed by physical things, and thus affect the users and owners of those objects.
When you conduct a prayer / affirmation campaign, the thoughts and quanta of the physical surrounds can have an influence in the success of your campaign. It can be good, bad, or neutral, but it will have an effect.
I suggest that you take the time to de-clutter your affirmation “runway”, so that when the time comes for your affirmations “to take off”, there will not be any hindrances, or obstacles in your way.
Do you want more?
I have more articles along these lines in my Affirmation Campaign Index here…
You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.
Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.
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This post consists are some additional information related the conducting a “prayer campaign” for intention manifestation within the MWI.
While I have discussed this subject at length on other posts, here we will “underline” some very important aspects previously mentioned, and discuss some advanced methodology in generating the prayer / manifestation list. I hope that it is useful to you all.
Introduction
Before you all dive in this post, I want to remind everyone that the world that we have assumed is real is really quite unlike anything that mainstream science and culture thinks. It’s a universe where everything is possible, and that our reality” is a custom sphere that is controlled by our consciousness as it moves about and through other environs that it creates known as “world-lines”.
Within these spheres are all sorts of things.
Some of them are hard and fixed. Like planets, rocks, dust, and water. Some come and go as other kinds of life. Like trees, grass, birds and ants. While others have intelligence that we (as humans) can understand. Like other humans, dogs, cats and horses.
There are also other “stranger” things that are only occasionally observed. Like ghosts, spirits, oddball occurrences and coincidences.
In this “soup” of all sorts of things, our soul creates an artifice; a construct that we know as “our consciousness”. We use it to travel through this big thick “soup” and experience things. We call it “experiencing” life, and we do so over a period of “time” which is really just a long train of momentary visits in and out of different world-lines.
This movement is usually pre-determined.
That is to say, that our soul determines what we will pretty much experience in our life, and set up barriers to “fence us in” and keep on a certain “learning track”, and to prevent us from “getting into trouble”. But, you know, we don’t have to obey those “barriers”. We can go around them, climb over them or go through them. It’s all on how we utilize our thoughts and our desired intentions.
In other posts, I have emphasized that you can control the navigation of your life though these world-lines via concentrated prayer. Also known as intention. And I have clearly listed numerous techniques to do so with.
Here, in this post, we will build upon the earlier posts and go into further detail on some aspects that other people have requested clarification on.
The issues mentioned herein are derived from questions that other influencers and followers have queried via email and privately.
The Importance of “the pause”
I have mentioned that for Intentions and Prayers to work that you must engage a system of intensive prayer, followed by an equally intensive pause.
This pause is not just a mere end of praying, it is a complete shut-down of the mind in regards to that prayer campaign. You need to turn everything off and forget about it all. You just cannot go back “looking over your shoulder” ever few days to see if things are ‘working”. You must give it up and you must forget about it all.
The best campaigns are the ones where you absolutely forget your affirmation text.
Life moves on.
You go have a pizza. You hang out with friends, and then you go to work and you do your business. You mow the lawn, fix and repair the house. You do the dishes, you vacuum the car and take it to a car wash. You buy new clothes and you go to church.
Life goes on and you completely forget about your prayer campaign.
I am sure that other people who have conducted prayer campaigns would agree with me. For it to work, you must separate yourself from your intention prayer campaign and move on with your life.
This is absolutely critical.
You MUST do it.
If you do not do it, the intention prayer campaign will not engage and you will not see any results.
How long?
A minimum of three months. That is minimum. Often, I would advise between four and nine months. This is where you live your life. This is where you forget about intention and allow your brain to engage the programming that you set in place. This is where you get to relax and let things happen.
Think of yourself and you life as a wind-up toy.
Mechanical wind-up toy.
The intention prayer campaign is the period where you are winding and winding up the mechanical toy.
The period of the “pause” is when you put the mechanical contrivance on the floor and press the “unwind” button. Then you just watch the toy do it’s thing…
Now…
Using that analogy.
What happens when all you do is wind up the toy? You wind and wind and wind, over and over, but never press the button?
Nothing happens!
You need to “pause” and press that “pause” button to allow those intention prayers to manifest and happen.
The length of time for the "pause" varies from person to person, as well as a function of the complexity of the prayer affirmation content. You should NEVER have a "pause" that is under a three month duration. Because what you are doing is just extending an old intention prayer campaign.
Feed-back Loop
Every six months or so, you need to review old “prayer campaigns”. This will tell you what manifested, and what has yet to manifest. It is a “feed back” loop that will tell you what you are doing right and where you need to alter or change your techniques or behaviors…
This is a very important step that you need to conduct, but you need not think about it. Just write in your calendar on a certain date to review your affirmations. Then forget about them. It is critical to forget about the affirmations in order for them to work. The brain must be allowed or permitted to “work it’s magic” and navigate the world-lines on it’s own.
So, this step is known as a “feed back loop”. It allows you to gauge the effectiveness of your prayer campaign over a certain period of time.
This is a typical electrical feedback loop used in electronics design.
For the most part, you probably will not see much in the way of change in the first six months. However, after two to three years, you will absolutely be able to start “checking off” the items within your prayer campaign list.
Every six months review the status of your various prayer campaigns. Give each one a name. Like January 2019, or Get Rich II, or Campaign 12, etc. Then when you check and review the campaigns you can compare them in effectiveness over time.
It will enable you to improve your campaigns, and have a better grasp of where you are now.
Cascading Intention Campaigns
There are numerous people who do not want to stop their prayer campaigns. They do not want to get out of a long-standing habit. A habit that many of them have created over the years. It is a habit where they pray every day.
There are many people who have a habit of praying every day. For them, it is very difficult to break out of this habit. The solution to this is to change the way that they pray and the content in the intention prayer campaign.
The way to handle this situation is to have “cascading intention campaigns”.
How this works is simple.
Instead of a “pause” after a campaign, you start a completely (COMPLETELY) different intention prayer campaign.
This second campaign must be absolutely different in every way from the first campaign. Nothing in this campaign must match what is in the first campaign.
You need a small or short “pause” between the campaigns. This is a “null” prayer technique. You just pray for good will and allowances for the proper implementation of the previous campaign. In other words, your prayers during the “pause” is for your prior campaign to work perfectly.
Your “null” prayers concentrate on the implementation of the campaign and nothing else.
It will end up looking something like this…
Cascading prayer campaigns with “null” prayer sessions instead of pauses. It is critically important that each campaign be absolutely different from the previous campaigns involved
In general, I advise NOT to follow a cascading series of intention prayer campaigns. The point is that for those that cannot break from long standing habits, this technique is available as an alternative.
Intention ladder chains
A “ladder chain” is an engineering term that represents a sequence of events that must occur in process engineering.
For instance, if you want to fill up a tank with water, the ladder chain might look some thing like this…
Open valve A.
Monitor flow of water.
When water reaches 200 gallons.
Close valve A.
Turn on the heater.
When heat reaches 80 degrees C, turn off the heater.
Open valve B.
When tank volume reaches 0 gallons; close valve B
This is pretty much what a “ladder chain” is.
It can get pretty complex and detailed, but I think that you get the general idea. It’s a precise list of instructions on how to do a specific task.
And thus…
Why not use that same technique to define an intention prayer?
Well, you can.
You really can.
Now, in electronics there is something called “digital electronics”. It’s a world of short electrical pulses that are either “on” or “off”. What Digital Electronics does is create a sort of ladder chains by binary interpretation of the electrical pulses.
Sort of like this…
If there is a pulse...
Do A, and B, and C.
Do not do D, unless C happens at the same time as D.
If D lasts too long, then stop A.
That is “digital electronics”.
Various symbols used in the logic for digital electronics. It involves, often two events, A and B, and how to decide what to do with them.
Well, we can do this in intention as well.
So during a prayer campaign, you can structure your verbal affirmations in such a way as to create a ladder chain. It’s a very precise way of generating your intentions. It can be very useful if you desire very specific outcomes.
For instance, you can say…
I will meet the girl of my dreams and she will fall in love with me.
And it will work.
It’s open ended enough that if you found “the girl of your dreams” that it would be more than enough for you. Who cares what she is like, or looks like, or how rich she is, because she is “the girl of your dreams.”
Right?
Movie scene from “Fantastic beasts and where to find them” (2016).
But, you know, maybe your dream is a nightmare. Eh?
What?
(You might ask.)
Well, you see…
Maybe that image of the “girl of your dreams” was formed by Hollywood, and you get a blonde-haired bimbo with the IQ of a snail and who has expensive tastes as well as a nasty case of STD’s.
You have to be very careful on what you pray for.
Joy from the television show “My name is Earl”.
So you might want to be more specific.
And thus a ladder chain will help.
In an intention ladder chain, you end up being especially precise about what you want and what you are trying to avoid. To specify exactly what you want, and you specify exactly what you are trying to avoid.
Intention prayers are all so very personal. So rather than provide a serious example, let me provide something on the “lighter side”. Maybe something like this…
I will meet and fall in love with the girl of my dreams...
But...
She will not have any habits that I find repulsive.
She will not have expensive tastes.
She will not have stinky feet.
She will have...
Long, well trimmed fingernails.
Long flowing brown hair, with a purple highlight.
Long, long, long legs, and tiny feet.
If she lives near me...
She will own her own house.
She will have two cars, one will be a Prius.
She will love both dogs and cats.
She will water her garden every day at 6:24pm.
But, if she lives far from me...
She will like pizza.
She will enjoy tacos and nachos.
She will love to give me back massages.
She will be unattached, with no boyfriends, or lovers.
There are pluses and minuses in using a ladder chain within your intention.
On the plus side, because it is so specific, you will be well able to see exactly when some intention manifests.
For instance, if you intention was that your automobile possess a 5 liter engine, and suddenly you had a car accident and the only available replacement engine is 5 liter, then you know that your intention prayer works.
On the negative side, because it is so specific, it will absolutely take longer to manifest. The more complex your intention chain, the more world-lines that you must pass through and thus the longer that it will take to manifest.
Ugh!
So there are tradeoffs.
In general, I advise selective use of precise “intention ladder chains” in an “intention prayer campaign”. If you are too precise, you might miss out on many things that are “good enough”.
You see, it is really unrealistic to expect 100% perfection. There will always be imperfections in life. That is why it is called “life”. You need the imperfections to obtain experiences.
Depending on the situation, you can relax your requirements somewhat as long as your objectives are obtained.
In this chart / table we can see that very important events need to be pretty precise. But things that are not that critical can allow for deviance’s. For instance, it doesn’t matter so much what kind of a pizza you might eat, as long as it does not have pineapple on it. Or having a nice new car would please you whether it was a Ford or a Dodge.
Use of sprites and other “non-physical” entities.
A sprite is a non-physical intelligent entity. They travel world-lines just like humans do. They come in different sizes and shapes and pretty much are associated with the physical, but do not inhabit the physical world.
Some people can sense them. Many cannot.
Queen Tara (Beyonce Knowles) reigns over Moonhaven, an unseen Eden-like world. From the obscure non-Disney movie “Epic”. If you have an affinity for elves and faeries and other such things, you will find this movie happy, refreshing and delicious.
When Newtonian physics hit the universities, all the legends and tales traditionally handed down through the ages, in just about every society, were automatically discounted as nonsense. The argument was “if I cannot see it, and measure it, it does not exist”. Now we know otherwise, and have tracked the behaviors of non-physical events to some minor effect.
These intelligent entities actually do exist.
They also can be called upon though your prayer affirmations, provided that you, yourself, have a special affinity for them.
In general, sprites live their own lives and have very little to do with humans or human souls.
However, there are times when complex relationships occur between a human soul and a specific type of sprite.
Sprite - a small being, human in form, playful and having magical powers
faerie, faery, fairy, fayspiritual being, supernatural being - an incorporeal being believed to have powers to affect the course of human events
elf, gremlin, imp, pixie, pixy, hob, - (folklore) fairies that are somewhat mischievous
brownie - a legendary good-natured elf that performs helpful services at night.
gnome, dwarf - a legendary creature resembling a tiny old man; lives in the depths of the earth and guards buried treasure
Puck, Robin Goodfellow - a mischievous sprite of English folklore
Oberson - (Middle Ages) the king of the fairies and husband of Titania in medieval folklore
Titania - (Middle Ages) the queen of the fairies in medieval folklore
water spirit, water sprite, water nymph - a fairy that inhabits water
While I know very little about all of this, I do realize that it exists, and if you (for what ever reason) have some affinity to these “imaginary” entities, then you can call upon your relationship in your prayer affirmations.
In the past, I have advised those that had a very strong affinity for faeries to create a nice mediation area in their back yard. I have advised to make it something that they and any faeries that happen to be around to feel attracted to.
Yup it sounds strange, but most people live in a really strange reality that has nothing to do with the way things actually are.
Scene from the movie “Epic”. The animation and design are gorgeous. I love the cute fairy-like flower and leaf people; I even love the design of the goblin-like bad guys (the Boggan). I want to see more stories set in this incredible little world. I also appreciate how much care went into animating that forest.
The idea of cross-species familiarity with non-physical entities should not be discounted, or ridiculed.
Like physical animals (dogs, cats, horses, and birds) companions can provide mutual benefits in our day to day lives. If you are comfortable with the idea of a non-physical entity and want them / they to have a greater role in your life, crate the necessary environment and add your desires to your intention prayers.
You might be surprised that some of the “hardships” and “difficulties” of day to day life, seem to “magically ” disappear after you do this. Just like the calming effect of a beloved cat purring on your lap, or the comfort of a dog greeting you after a hard day of work, the effects of such a relationship will bring about some remarkable changes in your over all mood and emotions.
An affirmation that might improve your relationship with non-physical beings might go something like this…
I attract friendly non-physical elves, sprites and/or related beings into my life for mutually beneficial interactions and a general improvement in all of our standard of living.
Prayer to help others / society
It is true, you can use prayer and intention to improve the world around us.
While I have focused on using intention to better one’s life, and to control your world-line travels, you can also use it to make the world a better place.
Now, one should not misunderstand. My point is that you must take care of yourself first. You must make sure that you are happy, healthy, and doing well first. Then, and only then can you worry about your close family, your loved ones and those around you. Then, when you and your family are well taken cared for, you can concentrate on others.
It is identical to what they say when you are being instructed on how to put on the air mask on a plane: put yours on first, then attend to your child.
Take care of yourself before you worry about others.
Now, that being said, let it be well understood that you absolutely can use the power of directed intention prayer to better the world around you . In so doing you can improve the lives of yourself and others in the process. We know this as it has been shown time and time again that prayer and meditation improves the lives of those in the target area of influence…
Just remember, that all your efforts are meaningless unless you take care of yourself and your needs first. So pay strict attention to this…
Always remember to take care of yourself first before you try to take care of others.
Conclusion
This post is simply a collection of advisement’s on how to improve your intention prayers and how to navigate through the various world-lines. It mentions various issues that have been asked of me privately and it is my hope that the information provided herein would be of use and help.
Happy navigating!
Do you all want more?
I have more posts related to this in my MAJestic Index. You can see it here…
You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.
Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.
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