Nazis, UFOs, Unsolved Murders, Gods, Megaliths, King Stephen

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NAZI PRINCE & RUDOLF HESS TWICE

Edward’s abdication, allegedly to marry Wallis Simpson, his American lover, was a cover.  Seems he was forced out due to his Nazi sympathies.

Some claim Edward was reporting his inspections of French defenses not only to the Brits but to Hitler, too.  The utterly perfect attack Hitler orchestrated was the only way Germany could prevail, according to all subsequent historians, even those using computer simulations.  This perfection could be achieved only by inside information, the only source of which was Edward, who had Nazi sympathies and no love for France.

In 1940, Churchill became PM and at once changed Edward’s post to Governor of the Bahamas, essentially exiling him out of being able to do further harm.  Once a King, the traitor Prince never regained a position of status again, although he was also never prosecuted for outright treason.

Wallis Simpson so hated being relegated to, and kept at the Bahamas that she referred to it as Elba, Napoleon’s isle of exile.

Edward’s brother Prince George, Duke of Kent, was also a blatant Nazi sympathizer, so much so that MI-5 put surveillance on him.  He died in a notorious plane crash on a flight aimed on paper at Iceland for war propaganda meets-and-greets, but actually to Sweden, where he would have tried to negotiate the notorious Separate Peace with Nazi Germany and the British Royals.  He few with a valise stuffed with Krøner.

In his MI-5 counter-intelligence dossier were frequent, regular contacts with Rudolf Hess.

In 1941, Hess parachuted into Scotland onto the Duke of Hamilton’s estate to negotiate the Separate Peace, probably with Prince George.  Arrested at once, Hess was then doubled, to be used in a daring deception.  According to no less than Fraser Smith, ’S’, head of MI-6 — original of the James Bond 007’s ‘M’ when Ian Fleming used Menzies in place of Smith — he was personally told to make an exact, perfect copy of Hess’s uniform, recovered in Scotland when Hess was arrested.  Although Smith was never told why, he surmised the obvious; a double was to be employed in an espionage gambit, something not uncommon in those days, and perhaps even today.

Three miles from the crash site where Prince George was to die sat a safe house at Loch Moor, where Hess was kept.  Many saw him.  He lived there openly and was known and recognized by the staff and various locals.  One foggy night Prince George showed up and took Hess to a nearby field.  They boarded a heavily-burdened British Sunderland, which lumbered into the air form Loch Moor, only to crash almost at once.  Only a tail-gunner survived.

Official flight records show a manifest of 15 aboard but 16 were found. Hess was the sixteenth passenger.

To this day, seven decades later, the official records remain sealed.  Was it the body double who stood trial at Nuremberg, or did the double die in the crash?  Certainly the other high-ranking Nazis at Nuremberg who knew Hess did not evoke surprise or deny it was Hess among them.  Could a double pull that off?  Were they such narcissists that they simply didn’t notice?

Years later, after Albert Speer had been released and Rudolf Hess was the sole prisoner in Spandau Prison, a Scottish doctor was brought in to examine him.  He found a healthy old man.  What he did not find were large scars the real Hess had received when wounded in the war.  Other small details were off, too.  The doctor went away convinced the man in Spandau was not Hess, and wrote a book about it, which was scoffed into oblivion.

Meanwhile, as had been the practiced instituted all along, Hess was permitted to write but at the end of each week his cell and person were searched, all existing writing was collected, and the writing was then burned unread.  Nothing would ever survive or get out, was the imposed sentence.

Prisoner Number Seven was murdered by an American ‘guard’ by being strangled, and soon after Spandau was demolished.

On Prisoner Number Seven’s tombstone, who ever he was, is a simple epigram:  IT WAS WORTH IT.

But what was worth such a vicious sacrifice?

The House of Windsor is a dark set of vile criminals hiding layers of egregious crimes, it seems.  Of such dark suspicions it must be said that we can’t prove them in a court of law, but whose courts are they anyway?  Certainly not the people’s.  We must think for ourselves.

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UFO ATTACK & SUPPRESSION OF FACTS

Dechmont Woods, near Livingstone in Scotland, 1979:  Robert Taylor, a woodsman, was hurt by two spiked spheres that emerged, he said, from a hovering UFO.  They rolled at him at high speed, struck him in the legs, and knocked him down and out.  He came to later, bleeding, pants torn.

Police photographs of the site show indicative ground marks supporting his story.  His torn trousers still exist.  This is the only known case in the UK of police investigating a case of a UFO injuring someone.

When the UK dumped its UFO files into public domain, Robert Taylor’s case was not among them.  A lost file?  Quite a coincidence if they lost such a unique case, rather than any of a blizzard of more average cases.  Did someone pluck it from the flood, preserve or destroy it?  It is obvious the public is being lied to but not obvious why.

From redacted files released reluctantly under FOIA requests to ‘missing’ files to outrageous prices demanded to search for specific files to  intimidation by threats of prosecution or violence to visits by robotic, scary MIB, the surly attitude about showing the public what is in military and government files regarding UFOs is puzzling.  If there’s nothing to it, as we are constantly assured by know-everything scoffers and debunkers willing to lie and cheat, then why the hinky responses?

Intimidating witnesses out of talking about what they saw, when they don’t know what they saw, and have no context for it, makes little sense.  It could be that this bullying is part of a disinformation campaign, but if so the program has lasted longer than most known military or government projects.

Calvine, north of Pitlochry, Scotland, was the sight of an astounding dual witness event that included a spectacular photograph of a large UFO.  Several pictures, in fact, but oh that one, so clear and so precise, a lucky shot by a skilled photographer used to shooting pictures of nature in motion, in flux.

Excited, they took the negative to the Daily Record.  The hikers described a diamond-shaped craft looking huge, that hovered at first, then moved slowly, then took off at jet speeds, vanishing behind nearby hills.

Nervous about possibly being hoaxed, the newspaper sent the material on to be checked.

MoD’s DIS, akin to America’s NRO, checked the photographic negative, declaring the large diamond shape in the foreground with a military-style jet, smaller due to distance, in the background, to be legitimate, not faked or doctored.  “It’s not American or Russian and that leaves only…” And the officer reporting pointed up.

The photograph was at first celebrated in the MoD’s UFO group.  Nick Pope even had up a poster of it in his small office until one day an officer came in, tore down the poster, took all copies of the picture, and walked out.  All negatives were seized, all reports and analysis recovered.  All of it was deep sixed.

Even the Daily Record newspaper, where the hikers had taken their pictures initially — it was the newspaper who’d had DIS check them for authenticity before publishing — now denied having seen such images.  They were cooperating with a cover-up initiated from above.

What might have been the best image of a UFO ever was expunged.

The inclusion of the military jet in the UFO’s background hinted to some that perhaps what those hikers had seen and photographed had been an early stealth surveillance platform, perhaps a semi-rigid or inflatable.  It had been rumored for years that such craft exist, able to move at jet speeds, then to hover when necessary to gather surveillance data by extending and inflating segments full of lighter-than-air gas, likely helium.

If that is what they saw and documented, then those hikers were in danger of spilling highly-classified beans and were lucky not to have vanished along with their photographs.

Then again, maybe what they saw was actually confirmation of the ETH.  We may never know.

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JONBENéT & OTHER IMPONDERABLES

It begins to seem the JonBenét Ramsey case remains unsolved to cover either full-on incompetence on the investigators’ parts or perhaps a high-end VIP pedophile ring operating in Boulder, CO at that time.

Remember that John Gosch, kidnaped from Iowa, was reportedly sold to a rich pedophile, a retired Colonel, who lived in Colorado.  Was this Colonel in Boulder?  Was it one of his confederates?  The Gosch case led reporters to the Boys Town link in Omaha Nebraska, where a criminal named only Emilio was, it was said, trafficking in kidnapped children, mostly boys, in a high-end VIP pedophile ring that was nationwide and reached high up into the nation’s rich and influential citizenry.

As with the Jeff Gannon case, another kidnap leading to human trafficking, sex slavery, and eventually into both Bush White Houses.  For a single day only the Washington Post featured a shocking front page detailing a pedophile ring that was linked directly into the White House, but next day it was as if the story had never happened, and all attempts to report it since have been repressed.    Jeff Gannon not only visited George H. W. Bush’s White House as a kid, repeatedly, but later showed up pretending to be a reporter at George W. Bush’s White House.

Gannon was noticed when other reporters saw in the White House guest log that he’d sign in but not sign out.  He was spending nights inside the People’s Mansion.  Digging into his credentials, they found links to a porn site Gannon maintained, featuring himself as a gay porn model.  Digging deeper indicated he was actually a child who’d vanished back in Daddy Bush’s time frame.  All this was briefly reported, then repressed.

Remember W’s penchant for patting and rubbing and kissing bald men’s heads?  Gannon’s head was shaven.  His specialty was USMC male-on-male porn.

These crimes, along with the Black Dahlia, the Cleveland Torso Murders, Jack the Ripper, and so many others remain unsolved because no one in power wants them solved.

Consider Jack the Ripper, who killed at least five women with increasingly horrific violence in 1888 in the Whitechapel area of East London, England.  Many claim the Royals quashed it, or other VIPs.  They cite the possibility that the then newly-created police department knew the Ripper was one of their own.  To admit that would sink them.  The weakness of this argument is that no patsy was lynched to close the case quickly.  This hints that they could not control the killer.

On the other hand, the investigation, conducted by tremendous pressure to solve by both the top brass and royals as well as the terrified populace, which threatened to riot, and did so in small scale at various places, was cut short without announcing a culprit being caught.  Puzzling action, that.

A plethora of suspects keeps a cottage industry going to this day.  Speculating on the ‘correct’ solution to this or that unsolved crime is one of the oldest ploys of publishers to keep their pots boiling.  Penny dreadfuls pay more than pennies.

Look at the OJ Simpson case.  Technically, no one was ever convicted of the murders of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson, so seething families sued in civil court to recoup trial costs and to prevent Simpson from benefitting in any way from the crimes.  In civil court, with lower standards to meet, they won handily, although Simpson successfully hid his money and has never paid the family of Ron Goldman.

Even though OJ is in prison today for attempted armed robbery and theft, assault with a deadly weapon, and so on, in the Las Vegas hotel when he and thug friends tried to steal back property he’d lost via the courts, it’s not the same as a murder conviction.  Morally, the surviving family members were cheated of justice by prosecutorial incompetence, a judge, Lance Ito, who let things become a circus and played up to it, and by a jury steeply biased against the LAPD, with whom citizens have had a hate-hate relationship since DRAGNET’s slap-happy propaganda.

Currently a leading DNA scientist, referring to the JonBenét Ramsey case, stated that DNA evidence does not itself suffice to rule out anyone, particularly since the advent of Touch DNA Analysis, which can identify infinitesimal traces on objects.  Trouble is, without comparison samples, one cannot identify a given DNA sample, either, although apparently sex can be determined, and other metabolic details.

A junkyard owner and mechanic, Michael Helgoth, along with his partner, are thought by some to be JonBenét Ramsey’s killers.  Helgoth in particular had stated before the murder that he and his partner would receive about $120,000 soon.  Remember that the amount on the rambling three-page ransom note, mostly taken from movies and TV shows, mentions $118,000, the amount the victim’s father, John Ramsey, had received as a Yule bonus that year.  Further, Helgoth was a known sadistic psychopath who twisted the heads off kittens and puppies for fun.  He was heard often saying he wanted to crack a human skull to see what it felt like.  JonBenét’s skull was cracked by a vicious blow, rendering her instantly unconscious, but only after she’d struggled, and marked herself in doing so with her fingernails, to loosen the ligature from her neck, which strangled her.  This was textbook sexual sadist torture.

Helgoth fits the bill.

Trouble is, the Boulder Police insist it was John & Patsy Ramsey, her parents, and the DA, who won’t charge prominent citizens, ignored a Grand Jury finding saying to charge them.  Mess of a case, with the intruder theory excluded by the Boulder Police, and the physical evidence shouting it had to have been an intruder.

Stalemate, stasis, and the fruits of stubborn political posturing are the results.

Due to salacious photographs and videos from so-called child beauty pageants, a sick demimonde sure to draw the rapt attention of pedophiles, a stench of exploitation drenches the Ramsey case.  One side insists JonBenét’s six-year-old vagina shows definite signs of routine sexual abuse, while her own pediatrician and a host of other doctors scoff, pointing out how common diaper rash is, especially in anxious children like her who wet their bed well past an age when they should have ceased.  Remember, with a stage mother living out surrogate success through her six-year-old daughter, JonBenét had been pressured to seem adult, to behave in ways that disgust most who see them.  The lead detective, the first time he saw pictures of the victim in pageant mode, thought a mistake had been made.  He thought the girl in the pictures had to be at least 14 going on 21.

A cold-case re-examination of the case from the ground up has been conducted by at least two groups of retired experts.  Dr. Laura Richards, New Scotland Yard forensic scientist, led an illustrious team that included Dr. Henry Lee, (no Light Horse jokes), which eliminated the intruder theory by reinterpreting the DNA analysis.  This is because they got DNA from new, untouched underwear straight out of the packaging; perhaps a factory worker in Hong Kong coughed or someone’s hand brushed against it, or they were hand-folded or packaged.  That suffices.

They concluded that the two samples, one found on JonBenét’s underwear, the other on her jumper, did not necessarily indicate an intruder.

Directly contradicting that, the other group, from another ground-up re-examination, asserted that, due to both samples matching, it was astronomical odds against them being from random sources.  Had to be an intruder, and almost certainly the killer, they stated.

Can Helgoth’s DNA be tested to see if it matches these two matching samples?  So far, nothing.  Boulder Police won’t do it, and he won’t cooperate whatsoever with outside investigators.

The female Boulder Police detective who’d been left in charge of the crime scene alone, after the Ramseys had filled the house with random ‘friends’ who milled around and even cleaned things up — destroyed possible evidence — stated flatly that the DA, Alex Hunter, had no interest in solving a case against a rich Boulder citizen and would lie or fake a case to avoid it.

How’s that for blunt?

By the way, Dr. Laura Richardson of New Scotland Yard intends to re-examine the Amanda Knox case for a TV documentary, too.  That should become acrimonious fast.  They even got Knox on an ad saying, “Either I’m a psychopath and I killed, or I’m you.”  Good promo.  That crazy Italian judge obsessed with Amanda Knox will go nuts again.

Back to the Ramsey case:  The lead male detective quit, leaving a condemnatory letter of resignation blaming the DA’s obstinance, saying the DA fought the PD every inch of the way.  Was DA Alex Hunter a social climber?  Protecting someone?  Himself?  Did he know at least a little where the can of worms would go once opened?

Was he part of the Rich People Dirty Fun Club that might still exist?  Was there an upper crust Hellfire Club going on involving the Ramseys?

Many point at the children’s beauty pageant scene as evidence the Ramseys might have been into kink of some darker kind.

Alex Hunter was the questionable DA throughout who kept talking politics.  He kept bringing up the need to fog things despite a grand jury voting to indict the parents.  It’s the equivalent of Big Tobacco bribing Congress to keep saying, “It needs more study,” rather than admit smoking’s dangers.  Hunter alone declined to prosecute once the grand jury handed him its verdict, and in Colorado, members of a grand jury are sworn to secrecy in perpetuity unless a judge specifically demands they speak about their deliberations.  So he knew he was covered on that angle, and his statement to the media made it seem as if no one could come to a decision.  Hunter hid behind the law to thwart its processes.  Downright Nixonian in some ways.

Recently, when a British investigative journalist cold-called Hunter to ask for an interview, the initial response was that Hunter hung up on him.  An immediate call-back brought dissembling, with a mumbled refusal to speak of it ‘unless ordered to by a judge’.  As if he were being a stickler for the letter of the law, rather than hiding behind it from reluctance to explain his actions.

It gets worse.  When Lou Smit, a Homicide Detective from Colorado Springs, was brought in to assist the investigation, he immediately went to the intruder theory and, worse for the Boulder viewpoint, proved it was quite feasible by lifting the grate and slipping through the basement window, something the Boulder cops had said could not be done by a grown man.  Smit was slender but well over six feet tall.

Eventually, Smit, saying the case was ‘poisoned from above’, left the investigation but, for the rest of his life, continuing to work it unofficially.  Without investigative powers, he was still able to come up with 50 suspects, many of whom had never been interviewed, let alone cleared.

Among these was Helgoth.

When he left, Michael Kane, Special Prosecutor assigned to take the case to the grand jury, filed an injunction — under DA Alex Hunter’s name, interestingly — to seize and destroy all of Smit’s files and evidence.

This was so unprecedented Smit went to his own DA, Bob Russell, in Colorado Springs, who was appalled.  Grand juries are supposed to be presented with all the evidence gathered so it can come up with a fair and well-informed finding.  Smit’s evidence strongly contradicted DA Hunter’s favored theory that the Ramseys had killed their daughter, but to seek to suppress evidence at the very least bordered on malfeasance or a crime.  It was prosecutorial misconduct, Russell declared.

An alliance of Colorado Springs judges and lawyers legally forced Smit’s evidence to be included but it was severely limited and downplayed, with 90% or more of the case presented favoring the Ramsey theory.

Boulder Police officials and the DA’s office, Alex Hunter’s office, insisted it was the Ramseys and refused to consider anything else.  This means evidence was at least of secondary importance to their thinking.  They saw dissent as treachery.

This is common, academic criminologists tell us.  Pressure from above channels investigations.  Confirmation bias and other logical fallacies kick in and are quickly made the only acceptable views.

For the most part, the media adopted DA Hunter’s narrative and the public loved it.  It froze that way by dint of repetition.

More evidence everything about America is broken now.  Murka rules. Nothing but murk.

The unknown male DNA sample is now registered in CODIS and could one day in theory kick up a name if that same person turns up in the system in another case of rape or murder.

State-of-the-art DNA analysis of this code indicates a Hispanic donor.  In Colorado that’s not rare, of course, but it could be used to eliminate suspects.  Some very few of us continue to refine what facts to be extracted from minute samples of evidence, so hope remains.  How it taunts.

If the Boulder Police could be arsed to clear Smit’s list, they might actually solve the case.  Instead, they continue to insist it was the parents, and that’s a hollow claim.

That narrative won’t go away, though.

So, in the CBS documentary, Richards’s team concluded that Burke, the son — who apparently had something of a history of violent temper and of resenting the attention his sister got, including once hitting her in the head with a golf club — had struck JonBenét in fury when she snatched a piece of pineapple from his bowl.  He cracked her skull.

Patsy, a witness, panicked and called John downstairs to the kitchen, where he took charge, sending Burke to bed with instructions that he’d seen nothing, knew nothing, due to being asleep.  He then carried his little girl down into the basement and staged the scene to make it look as if she’d been brutally attacked, making a garrote and using it on her bleeding, struggling body.

No doubt you’re balking now.  So did the other set of investigators.  With a family that exhibited no signs whatsoever of such brutality, this is starkly out-of-character and unlikely.

Back to the intruder theory.
It should also be said that autopsy photographs were shown in one TV documentary.  Clearly visible were the half-moon marks her fingernails made as she tried to loosen the garrote.  This preceded the skull-cracking blow to the head; she was tortured.  The kind of person who does this is known, and neither the father nor the brother was this kind, and certainly not her flighty, somewhat helpless mother.

Lou Smit had been chosen from 20 candidates as the best homicide detective to put on the case, given his 90% rate of success in 200 cases, and his experience in investigation.  He was careful and thorough, empirical and logical.  Emotion did not sway him.

Smit’s analysis was persuasive.  Trouble was, it contradicted both the DA’s preferred interpretation and the grand jury’s findings.  That got him hated by the DA and segments of the Boulder Police.  Others concurred with his analysis but could do nothing.  A few have spoken out in the years since saying they supported Smit’s view.

So, dueling interpretations of the same science; how can that be?  Sad truth is, Science is broken too these days, along with politics, food, the environment… all gutted by capitalism, by money, by bribery, by vested interests and greed.  You can now buy not only stuff but justice and even what ever allegedly validated and scientific view or result you want.

By the way, Stuart Hamilton, leading British Police Forensic Examiner, says those marks found on JonBenét’s skin are certainly from a stun gun, not from the pins of a toy train track, which seem to fit the spacing but do not account for the burn marks from ‘wandering sparks’ when a stun gun’s diode does not make firm contact with the skin.  There goes the Burke interpretation.

JonBenét’s pediatrician, who treated her for vaginitis, said there was no sign whatsoever of prior sexual activity or abuse.  Such an inflammation as he saw is common, and she was known to have wet the bed at regular intervals, prompting a low-grade irritation.

Her body contradicts the pedophilia theories.

I found it strange that the investigators in several of the documentaries I watched for this admittedly-amateurish and random article were British.  Do Yanks not bother with investigative journalism or documentaries anymore?  Given the repression stateside, it wouldn’t surprise me if they simply can’t anymore.

JonBenét Ramsay died in 1996 a day after Christmas.  She was six years old.  What ever else this was, it was tragic.

John Ramsey lost his high tech company and fortune.  He works at a small air cargo company now, having once been a USAF pilot.

Patsy Ramsey beat cancer once but succumbed to it in 2006.

Notes on Sources*

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*cited, sifted, and synthesized:  THE KILLING OF JONBENéT:  THE TRUTH UNCOVERED, ID Channel documentary; Dr. Laura Richards’s Re-Investigation of the JonBenét Ramsey Murder Case; THE CASE OF JONBENéT, a CBS documentary, which has sparked a lawsuit from lawyers representing their own interests in the name of Burke Ramsey, whom the documentary blamed for the death; various other documentaries, online and on TV, cable and network both, and many articles and books.

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Anxiety is fuel, a great motivator.

The advantages of disadvantage are many but death is always a pressure.

Tax Players and Sax Payers

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SHIVA LINGAMS & OTHER NAUGHTY THINGS

Dated to about 2000 BCE, Hinduism is the oldest surviving religion scam.  Or:  The oldest surviving account of EBEs.  Depends how you see it.  The Hindus consider their holy writings ‘history’,not myth.  Their ‘gods’ are ‘sky people’.  No divinity is needed.

The stories sure read like accounts of witnessed ET visitation.  Shiva, for example, was the boss.  He ruled them, deciding what to nurture, or destroy.

For destroying mode, Shiva’s third eye opened to emit a laser-like beam that blasted anything it lit upon.  Risky stuff.

One day, in a Trump moment, Brahma argued with Shiva over which was greater.  Shiva won in the unblinking of an eye, as it were.

Also in the old accounts are great descriptions not only of laser or particle beams but of nuclear blasts.  When exactly any of this took place, if any really did, is not known because although Hindu texts date to 2000 BCE, they are said to be much older, rooted in oral tradition.

Shiva may have preceded current man.  He may have used the Great Flood to destroy the inferior creatures to make way for us.  ‘Experimental’ may be our label.  Maybe Shiva is the answer to Charles Fort’s assertion:  “We’re property.”

All across India, Tibet, and parts of China one finds what are called Lingam Stones or Shiva Lingam.  They represent Shiva’s generative powers.  Water is poured over the central phallic pillar, which runs down into a bulbous U-shaped trough to be channeled out at one end.

The upright stone is the lingam, which means pillar, a euphemism for an erect penis, while the bowl is a yoni, or vulva, vagina, and womb.  Lingam is cock, yoni is cunt.  This symbolism crosses cultural lines all around the world, from the Irish Gaelic spirals and mounds, into which sunlight pierces but once a year, to the symbols of America’s First Nation tribes, one of which is actually called the Yuni.

Another interpretation of the lingam stones is that they symbolize a nuclear power plant, complete with a reactor core and cooling tower.  No one said the Ancient Alien theories could not be wild.

However, many archaeological sites around the world remain inexplicable.

There is a Kailasa Temple in India, 1000+ years old, and it’s carved elaborately out of solid rock.  It’s not the only one, there is Petra and the Temple of the Rock in Ethiopia and so on, but it’s the one we shall look at briefly.  Over 400,000 tons of rock had to be removed.  Accounts claim that it was build in 18 years, not necessarily unbelievable considering the Great Pyramid of Cheops at Giza only took 20 years.

Trouble is, that would require 5000 tons of rock being removed every 24 hours.  It’s impossible even today.  Estimates of how long it would take us to carve it using ancient tools are about a century, if we could do it at all.

Then there is supposedly a vast underground city beneath this Kailasa Temple. Yikes.  We’d love to see that city but politics and idiocy keep the few gates locked and guarded.

In 1876 Emma Hardinge Britten published Ghost Land, or, Researches Into the Mysteries of Occultism, An Illustrated Series of Autobiographical Sketches in Two Parts.  Great title, eh?  She wrote of tunnels and a city beneath the Augaura Caves, where the Kailasa Temple stands. She asserted that a cabal of mystics lived there when she visited.

Juicy stuff; perhaps a Western witness, or maybe the confabulations of a Blavatsky wanna-be.

Except it seems it was all true, to scholars today.  The witness Britten cites she named Ellora, who saw illuminated, elaborately-carved cavern rooms.  He witnessed a flickering image of a man projected large on a flat stone.  He saw a majestic man who spoke from a hovering stone throne held aloft by light.  Yikes again.

Underground cities are common around the world, leading some archaeologists to postulate there was a compelling reason to duck & cover — certainly not a flood, which would have flooded down into them, but perhaps terrible storms, terrible heat, strange atmospheric disturbances such as meteorite showers, or just plain wars.  Physical evidence is as scarce as a written record.

Then there is Sage Agastya, who wrote, in his work Agastya Samhita, how to harness electricity — 4000 years ago.  He is considered in Hinduism the first sidha, which is the equivalent of a saint in western traditions.  An enlightened person who has not become a bodhisattva, which is a person who, freed from the Karmic wheel, chooses to stay on Earth to help all sentient beings achieve enlightenment.  The Sidha are the sages, the mages, the perfected or accomplished ones.  Masters of creation, they are able to change scales, (become huge or tiny), levitate, teleport, and so forth.

Superheroes, in other words.

The Secret Cultural History is what Sage Agastya wrote down.  He claimed he was trained by sky people, (ETI?), or sometimes by Shiva.  In his text he described how to make a dry cell battery.  Why would they need one 4000 years ago?  Perhaps to create special effects to dazzle the rubes, thus gaining priests power.

He described many other devices too but his battery design was built and tested today and found to produce enough power to life 200 pounds, if fed into properly-geared machines.  It could be used to electroplate, as well.  Many ancient objects long considered solid gold have recently been found to be merely electroplated.  Remember the Baghdad battery, which was either destroyed or stolen during the Cheney Junta’s fake war to steal Iraq’s oil.  It was able to electroplate, as tests proved, although its design was much smaller and less powerful than Sage Agastya’s.

Aside from Kailasa Temple, there is Munt Kailash in Western Tibet, a 22,000 foot peak that stands out from surrounding mountains.  From one aspect it is conical, from the opposite side it looks pyramidal, and it is said to be Shiva’s home.  It is sacred to the four major religions centered or focused there:  Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Taoism.  Billions of people revere this place.

A Russian archaeologist, Dr. Ernst Muldashev, spent a month investigating Mt. Coolish in 1999 with a crew of scientists.  He says the peak is actually a man-made pyramid.  He wrote Where Do We Come From? so he may be in with the ETH crowd.  From the one side it certainly looks like a constructed pyramid, and he claims to have climbed up and found out.

China of course forbids climbing it.  Fascism is idiocy, thuggery, and bullying, never open to facts or to finding them.  Fact threatens both to prompt thought among their captive populations of slaves and makes their tower of lies for control wobbly, so fascists hate fact.

Hello GOP, America’s taliban.  Teabaggers, Trumpers, delusionists all.

Pilgrims climb toward the peak annually.  Many claim to age faster while there.  They cite a ‘weird energy’.  Always with the weird energy yap.  Some wonder if it’s radioactive but one Geiger counter would answer that question, so I doubt it.  Further, radiation doesn’t make you age faster, it fucking kills you.  Unless you’re Spider Man or the Fantastic Four, of course.

Mt. Meru, the Stairway to Heaven, sacred mountain mentioned in Buddhism, is thought to be Mt. Coolish, as supposedly confirmed by diagrams found hidden in caverns 600 miles north of the mountain.  The diagram was found amidst stashed Buddhist texts, hidden from what ever Chinese pogrom was going on at the time.

The diagram does resemble Mr. Kailash but also resembles, many say, the stacks of a modern particle accelerator.

With all the loose talk of ancient nuclear power and war, found in the oldest texts in Sanskrit, the Mahabharata and Baghavad-Gita, it may be natural that some wonder if Mt. Kailash might be hollow and, further, house dangerous nuclear machines, weapons, or waste.

A modern study of ways to keep people away from buried nuclear waste sites over long periods, when language, culture, and history inevitably boils off and changes, came up with the single best way to ensure long-term delivery of a warning:  Make it superstitiously taboo using religion.  Perhaps Mt. Kailash is such a place and the aura around it such a ploy, to keep us safe in our ignorance.

In 1927 Nicholas Roerich, famous philosopher, psychologist, and another Russian, saw a UFO in the Himalayas at or near Mt. Kailash.  Shades of the UFO sightings around Mt. Shasta in California, and at other sacred mountain sites, such as on Tenerife, in the Canary Islands.  Such glimpses are common, but uncommon is the witness being a Nobel Prize nominee, as Roerich was.  He was a serious person taken seriously by society, hard to dismiss.

Were UFOs, or craft, or lights seen entering, exiting, and zooming around Mt. Kailash what prompted talk of Shiva, with his Third Eye death ray and abilities to rival Super Duper Man?  Shiva, it is speculated, may on the linguistic and mythological levels, represent pure energy, some scholars assert.  Hence J. Robert Oppenheimer, upon witnessing the Trinity Test, first explosion of an atomic weapon (in modern times?), muttering the Shiva quotation from the Baghavad-Gita, “For lo, I have become death, the shatterer of worlds.”

That is Shiva’s title, you see.  The Shatterer of Worlds.

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MEGALITHS IN MICRONESIA

Gunung Panang in Western Java has thousands of fallen basalt stones that had once been a megalithic structure.  It is the remains of the oldest known step pyramid.  It is 20,000 years old or more.

Java was not an island when it was built.  It was at the southern tip of Sundaland, as we call it, a place that sank as the oceans rose after the last ice age, which ended about 12,000 years ago.  Ice age melt flooded many such places.  It created the Indonesian Islands and much evidence hints that advanced cultures sank, lost to our current history.

Once again we find megaliths from pre Ice Age times hinting at a global trade, if not a global civilization.  Gobekli Tepi in Turkey is perhaps as old as Gunung Panang, despite the distance, and is much better preserved, because it was buried on purpose.  Why anyone built an elaborately-carved, beautiful city, then buried it immediately, is unknown, but it happened.

Was it an attempt to preserve testimony of a global culture that was even then dying?

Gobekli Tepi features columns carved with anatomically-correct animals from all over the world, many long extinct.  This is both inexplicable but undeniable.

In Uriel’s Machine by Christopher Knight and Robert Lomas it is postulated that megalithic stone circles such as Stonehenge, which are found all around the world, served as encoded knowledge to preserve basics of culture so the survivors of a known, coming extinction event could reconstruct the civilization, beginning with agriculture, reading the skies and stars, and predicting, thus controlling, seasons for growing and storing.

Might Gobekli Tepi have been intended as a kind of library of specifics for us, once we discovered it anew?  It is akin to placing the monolith on the Moon, so it would respond to us and signal the ETI only once we reached the Moon to disturb it, (2001:  A SPACE ODYSSEY, released 2 April 1968).  Only a small fraction of Gobekli Tepi, discovered by a farmer digging in his field, has been excavated.  What wonders will it reveal?  What terrors?

To date, 130+ pyramids have been found in Egypt.  It is estimated that’s only about a third of what’s there.  Satellite imaging helps locate good places to look for more.

South of Giza in the Saqqara area, is a pyramid rain revealed to a sat cam.  The water sank into the sand around it, leaving the central pyramid showing lighter to satellite scans.  The team that found this one has found 17 other indicative sites to investigate, but politics and cultural bigotry in Egypt, as in China and so many other places, prevents any digging or other on-site probing.

Hugh Newman wrote Earth Grids to explain his reasoning why so many pyramids crop up worldwide.  It’s a power grid theory, akin to ley lines from the 1970s, postulated lines, or grids, of that ‘weird energy’ again.  It’s all tantalizingly just beyond empiricism’s grasp but sells cottage industry rhetorical question-based books and TV documentaries.

Even this rambling essay, or assay perhaps, of such a diverse set of subjects falls under their Rhetorical Speculative Questions rubric.  It’s as if no one expects answers or wants them because they’re enjoying the questions and wild speculations too much.  It’s a form of science fiction, folks.  Nothing more or less.

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KING STEPHEN AND THE FORTY THIEVES

One day closer to death, as the ever-cheerful Roger Waters wrote.  He’s under-rated.  Many are.  Even the praised.

Stephen King for example:  detested by academics for decades because his work was popular.  They categorically think popular means crass, degraded, and of LCD quality.  Fat part of the Bell curve, nothing special, mediocrity to be passed over in favor of some devious outlier for whose work a prepared audience of very few waits in fidgety impatience.  Ahem.

If it’s popular it can’t be good, is the refrain.  Even a superficial examination of both what’s popular in fiction and what’s considered good fiction by academics and self-styled award givers shows this to be a ridiculous assertion.

Lately King has fared better.  Old guard bitter academics croak and younger snobs take their places.  Some of these actually read King’s work and realize it’s got merit in spades and clubs.  They’re awakened to his excellences even unto granting him a National Book Award for lifetime achievement, much to Prof. Harold Bloom’s dyspepsia.  The New Yorker, of all things, accepted first a baseball piece from King, then some of his short fiction.  Stephen King in the NYer?

Yet still the bulk of what’s good in his work is missed because most academics are not fans who genuinely enjoy reading, they’re martinets who wish to be arbiters of taste, they’re prigs who wish to impose standards, and they’re fakes hoping to gain tenure before anyone notices how empty they are.

Harold Bloom clings to hate.  He’s 86 and unlikely to change for the better in any way.  He refuses to see King’s work as anything but pulp shit.  He’s said as much, and groused openly, even dissented in an open letter, when King got the National Book Award.  Declared the death of literature and so forth.  As THE SIMPSONS once put it, Old Man Yells At Cloud.

Yet John D. MacDonald, writer of mystery thrillers called pulp but of genuine merit, spotted the literary excellence of Stephen King’s work early on.  He wrote of a brief scene in ‘Salem’s Lot that King had a traveling salesman slouch into a diner and place his worn valise at his feat ‘like a faithful old dog’.  He cited that image, praising it as a sign of a real writer.  “I find that neat,” he wrote, meaning it was concise, it was exactly enough, and it was not showy.

Harold Bloom of course dismisses MacDonald as a pulp hack, too, while Dean Koontz, another writer brushed aside by the Bloomers, was a desperate admirer of John D.’s work and would have killed to get such notice from that particular master of contemporary crime and action novels.

Many reading this will have little to no idea who John D. MacDonald was, or what his work remains.  Go find and read his books.  Seriously.

“Death” – the last word in style.

“Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”  It’s a Spanish proverb.  They advocate being a psychopath, in short. The French would opt for a crime of passion, I’m sure.

All the people mentioned will die, sure.  Best revenge for a writer is to have the work live on, to be read and enjoyed, talked about, analyzed, and copied.  Influence and relevance stem from serious thematic content.  Focus on human issues and humans will always find it compelling.

Write down what the people in your head say and do, and a little of what it means if you can figure it out.  That is all it takes.

That and remaining true to yourself.

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Shadowed Life Memoirs

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Some Random Creepy Autobiographical Stuff:

Small taters but true:  I was in the kitchen preparing the post-pills snack I’m supposed to have.  The floor was clear.  I know this because I’d dropped a fork.  Went into the living room to eat, realized I’d forgotten my water.  Went back into the kitchen.  In the middle of the floor lay a guitar pick.  It was a thick, the kind you’d play bass with. No one had been in the kitchen in that moment I’d stepped out, and I did not recognize the brand of pick.  Oddly, I’d found a green one, same brand, a thin, for strumming, on the floor of my office and had thought nothing of it.  It did not match my own picks, but I had given it no thought at the time, being busy.  Now I compared:  Same brand.  Not mine.

Are apports a new advertising gimmick?

///

My maternal grandmother knew I love books and gave me a very old Bible she’d found at an Amish jumble sale. Very early 1800s imprint, heavy, partly falling from its binding. I put it on a shelf at right angles to a window. From the moment I got it onward I’d hear a sustained shrieking sound, screaming, as if in my head. It would wake me at night and the first thing I’d see when I woke in the night was moonlight illuminating that particular book. That and the noise it made, in my head, caused me to give it back a week or so later. Hated it, couldn’t stand it. She smiled and said, “That’s what I felt, too,” and she got rid of it somehow.

///

We were teenagers determined to explore an abandoned farmhouse, sure we’d find ghosts. We went in about an hour before dusk. It was mostly just delapidated. Mold and falling through rotting floor-boards were the main threats. We found evidence of squatters, even a place where the idiots had built a small campfire on the floor of an upstairs bedroom .

Nothing was bad until we went back to the ground floor. We were standing in the kitchen when a wild, rapid knocking came on the cellar door. We all froze, shocked, until my friend Dan strode forward, threw open the door, and charged down the cellar stairs.

Turned out to have been a bird. The puzzle of a bird trapped in a basement was solved when we all went down and found one of the walls had crumbled, showing open sky. It was a large enough gap for us to climb out of, had there been need.

Back in the kitchen, we rallied and were about to dare each other to stay the night when a voice said, “Leave.” We looked around in the fading light, wondering which of us had said it. We all looked freaked out. Then it came again. “Leave. Now.”

We heard it in our midst, clear and low, like an adult male trying to keep his temper.

Naturally, we bravely ran like scattered chickens. As I bounded off the back porch and angled for the woods, I noticed the headlights of a truck bouncing along coming across the fields toward us. It was the owner, and had we lingered even a few more minutes we’d have been caught. Trespassing would have been the charge, or possibly vandalism if they chose to blame us for some of the damage we’d found already there.

Later some figured the voice was imagined, others said it was possibly a squatter we hadn’t noticed, hiding somewhere, wanting us gone. The voice, though, had seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and felt as if it were right next to all of us.

Ghost? Ghost story? Either way, it was a creepy old farmhouse.

/ Art Wester

///

I’ve been dead. Flatlined. Was talking to a med tech at the time. Doctors had slammed too much morphine into me in ICU. They dived over my legs to reach the machine, and I broke a cold sweat. The monitors all flatlined and howled for about a minute, until they got things back. I kept talking to the med tech. Afterwards, they asked me if I’d felt anything. Just the cold sweat. Never blacked out. Unless I did and don’t know it. They claimed not.

///

Oh what a tangled plate we serve
When the Flying Spaghetti Monster
Makes us swerve.

The fault lies not in ourselves, but in our pasta.

/ Frater Puttanesca

///

Genuine writers cannot tolerate bad writing. As Tom Waits said, “The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering.”

/ Art Wester

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Not in specifics, but in the patterns, and rhythms, and clusters, cattle mutilation parallels the Missing 411 cases of mysterious disappearances in National Forests and wilderness areas.

Linked?

Coincidence and three-quarters if they’re not connected in some way, if not directly.

Yes, I’m aware where this line of thinking may lead. Once again, the ETH, which may be Earthly but transdimensional or something.

Yeah, frustrating to be led so consistently away from the empirical, which strikes one as disinformation, until you see how many such events happen, how wide-spread, and how they are rooted in history. Unlikely to be a single human agency or group of mercenaries or troops. Too seamless; never a mistake? Over decades? Thousands of instances?

Anyhow, just struck me that mutes and vanishings may be linked, how or why or in what way is anyone’s guess. Empirical evidence would be greatly welcome.

///

So we are now limited to writing only what we know, not what we can find out. All hail the death of creativity, smothered by the terrorism of political correctness and cultural bigotry.

Burn your copies of Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, and all other works that do not reflect ONLY the writer’s EXACT experience.

No exploring of other or else allowed.

Science fiction, fantasy, and horror are now declared impossible.

OR: Stand against fascism in all its guises, write what you want, and do not ignore, ATTACK the martinets who’d shut down your voice for not conforming to bowdlerized, hidebound, constrained views defined by the politics of exclusion and squinty, narrow paths we are expected, by them, to stick to, on penalty of being ostracized.

///

Sep 13, 2016 4:17pm

Once, same house where my Ouija planchette levitated, upstairs this time, our little dog Taffy, a Chihuahua/terrier mix, erupted in angry barking, almost frenzied. My sisters screamed.

I ran upstairs along with my Dad and Mom to see what was going on. We found them in their shared bedroom cowering as our little dog barked furiously in the doorway.

The dog ignored us as we entered the room, continuing to bark at something. Its gaze was fixed across the hall into the bathroom, which had a light on. Nothing was in there, as we could all plainly see.

Dog disagreed. It kept barking upward, sort of at the light, or as if a tall person were standing there. My father bravely told me to go check it out. told him to do it, then shrugged, not really being afraid. In the back of our minds we were thinking maybe a bat had gotten in, or a mouse or even racoon.

As it turned out, there was nothing there. The dog whimpered and snarled as I entered the room, and kept barking when I had finished my inspection. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, it stopped barking and acted normal.

We asked my sister why they were screaming and what had scared them and started the dog barking. They both claimed to have seen a shadow move in the bathroom, which alerted the dog and scared them. That was it.

Ghost? If it was a moth, say, no one ever saw or found it. No bad, no mouse. Nothing in that small room, and I checked even in the cabinets. Just nothing. Except what the dog saw.

///

Deplorable, adj – disgraceful, shameful, dishonorable, unworthy, inexcusable, unpardonable, unforgivable; Trumpers, the GOP.

///

Want creepy? Happened in the 1980s:

Met a guy once, while waiting to get my tires changed. He was waiting too, slender, half-hispanic fellow. We began talking. He said he was an interrogator. I said, Cool. I knew such were on that base. I busied myself filling and lighting the pipe I smoked then. He said, “Want to see something?” Pulled out a pipe tobacco pouch, the zippered kind. Opened it, and held it open toward me.

Human finger in it. Real.

Said it was a “souvenir” he took from his last session, which he claimed happened “south of the border”.

Pre-GITMO, by the way.

Bullshitting me? No.

I was there. He was not bullshitting. He scared the fuck out of me. I remained outwardly calm, but he was the real deal.

Remember, too, I’ve studied the deniable realm for years, and all he said jibed with what I knew from many other sources.

Also, hate to tell you, it’s fairly common for combat types to keep body parts as souvenirs. Everything from fingers and ears to vaginas and penises.

Oh, and when you see a detached finger, and smell it, you know. He told me he was curing it in tobacco.

Adding to his collection.

/ Art Wester

///

Friend and I, high school age, were using a Ouija board when the planchette slid off one side of the board, which was between us on a small table. The planchette did not fall, though. It stayed in the air, and we snatched back our fingers in surprise. It hung in mid-air for several seconds, no wobble or anything, then flew off under a larger table. My friend refused to continue.

///

I was born in Altoona and raised in Munster and Ebensburg, Pennsylvania, in the Laurel Highlands, and I once, with a friend, found what would later come to be known as a grassman nest, a domed structure big enough for us to stand up in, with fresh timothy bedding and a horrible stench on Cresson mountain.

My friend and I felt watched and saw shadows and it was dusk, so we split, rather fast. We did investigate slightly, the horrible smell was off-putting and definitely not a hunter or what not.

We were little kids at the time and my friend’s father forbade us to go back up that far, and since we’d been spooked, we complied. We’d found evident sleeping spots where ferns were pressed down and so on, closer to his house, (base of the mountain), but had not made the connection. We regularly played in those woods.

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People, Places, or Landscapes?

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We have spoken about haunted houses for as long as we’ve had houses. This causes me to wonder if there were haunted caves, tepees, or Viking long houses. In other words, were all human dwellings haunted? Has it to do with place, structure, or people?

I know for a fact there are stories of haunted woods, haunted wells, and haunted lakes. There are the Superstition Mountains and various other places named after hell or Satan or the devil; Hells Canyon, Devils Tower, and so on. There were the Badlands, and other places, such as the crater Lake area, avoided by the natives despite its beauty and bounty. Most have heard about Skinwalker Ranch and of the strange goings-on in the Bridgewater triangle, and other places.

Abandoned houses have always had spooky reputations. The same aesthetic has extended to abandoned asylums, hospitals, and other institutional buildings. Certainly they are creepy to explore, as they decay in grandiose neglect. Dark occurrences known to explorers tend to darken expectations, too. A history of violence, unexpected and painful death, murder, suicide, desperation of any kind supposedly leaves an imprint. Knowing about it certainly imprints the perceptions of those who prowl such places.

Is it that we find what we seek?
Is being haunted simply human?

Certainly hauntings have attached to structures, to places, dwellings in particular but also connect to landscapes. Hunting grounds are notorious; consider the Wild Hunt, and the many tales of hunters being lost, as in Rip van Winkle, as in various Celtic tales. Many of those taken are lost for days, months, or years, sometimes to return dazed, shocked, and with blurry memories, sometimes never to be seen again.

Such haunted landscapes seem to host more manifestations than other places.  The Ancient Greeks spoke of genius loci, or spirit of place. Would these places be avoided by other animals? Are the hauntings something apart and distinct from humanity? Or is it perhaps that human presence is a catalyst?

These are the kinds of considerations we need to explore both in our thoughts, and in our research, be it in the literature, in structures, or in the wild.

/ Klaus Eller

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Wed 7
Sep ’16
01:00

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Review: Disappearance At Devil’s Rock by Paul Tremblay

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Disappearance At Devil’s Rock
by Paul Tremblay
Wm. Morrow, ©2016
hc, 1st edition, 327pp

A Review by Gene Stewart

Disappearance At Devil’s Rock by Paul Tremblay is a delineation of the details of a missing child from the mother’s and sister’s point of view, with a visit from a concerned, supportive grandmother. Friends directly involved with the disappearance are also included in the scope of this probing, compassionate novel.

Rooted in reality and character-driven, scenes of desperation, despair, and determination combine to depict a haunting from very real ghosts.  Tommy, who is missing, was a talented artist.  HIs sister, Kate, admires him in typical little sister fashion, and in other ways.  His friends Luis and Josh are not quite the three musketeers Tommy’s mother calls them but are good kids, the kind we’d want our children to befriend.

Right?  Perhaps they’re not quite that, or more, with something else included, something shadowy, secretive, or is it just reluctance?

Even Devil’s Rock, called Split Rock by locals, is revealed as something else as we learn more about each person caught in this appalling dilemma, this torture of suspense and of not knowing much for sure.  The rock around which the story swirls is itself unsound, riven, and risky.  We follow events internal and external as we gradually see an unraveling of investigations and inquiries, a decay of hope, a blossoming of love.  Trusts are tested, broken, reforged.  Loyalties are strained.

Despite such a grim situation, Tremblay does not wander into the maudlin, nor resort to cheap theatrics.  It is a compelling story told with patience and sensitivity, an eye toward detail, and engaging interactions among vividly real people.  Despite the care with which all is observed, it is presented concisely, never bogging down, always light on its feet, alert, and a few steps ahead of the reader.  Masterful is the word a writer would use to describe this work.

Haunting becomes a multi-tiered term in this book.  Ghosts, shadow figures, and childhood experiences all factor into the intricate, delicate tracings of this tale.  Legends both urban and illusory meet myth to dance a jig of tabloid rumor with internet trolls.  Media clashes with private thoughts, fears, dreads.  One reads fervently, eager to find out what is going on, afraid to find out what is going on, and wondering if what is going on is really what matters, in the heart of all-nighters and sobbing revelations.

Tremblay’s writing is restrained, balanced, and controlled throughout; masterful, as stated.  There is not a single false step, not a single false note, not a single falsity of tone, narrative, or expression in this eerie, galvanizing story.  Rarely have kids been captured so intact on the page.  Rarely do readers get the chance to enter places full of people just like the ones they know, yet entirely fresh to their experience of reality.

Keep an eye out for a faint echo from The Colorado Kid by Stephen King, too, in a fictional book mentioned in passing.  Nice wink.

“Elizabeth is not dreaming.”  That is the first sentence and acts as the novel’s motto.  It is her touchstone, hope, and, yes, dream, one that sustains life as her precious son continues mysteriously disappeared, as time passes, as a resolution inches toward them all in shapes on night lawns, in thumps and thuds, in torn-out diary pages left by hands unseen.

A note on the production value of this edition:  The facsimile diary pages are presented wonderfully rendered as wrinkled teenager spoor and this touch adds to the depth of involvement in the story.  Bravo to Morrow for going that extra mile; it is genuinely an enhancement.

Paul Tremblay’s prior novel, A Head Full of Ghosts, was so excellent it had me wondering if he, or anyone, could do better.  He’s answered, in Disappearance At Devil’s Rock, with a confident Yes.

Strongly recommended, and a contender for this year’s Stoker Award for Best Horror Novel.

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A Missing Time Incident

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My friend Dan and I were talking one summer evening in my living room at 600 W. Lloyd St. in Ebensburg, PA.  We were sitting in the living room but around 11 my mother came partly down the stairs and asked if we could take it outside, as my father couldn’t sleep.

We moved to the front porch, where we conversed for awhile.  At one point Dan moved off the porch onto the sidewalk in front and I dashed inside to grab my glass of iced tea.  It was about 11:45, as I noted on the kitchen clock.

Back outside, Dan said, “I didn’t think it was time for a full moon yet,” and pointed up and to his left.  I stepped off the porch to look, setting my tea on the porch floorboards.  Sure enough, big bright full moon had risen over the roof of the house across Beech Street alley.

We gazed up, saying nothing for a bit, then I said, “That isn’t East.”

It was North West, in point of fact.  The house faced north.  As we tried to figure it out, I looked Eastward and there was the sliver of moon we expected.  “Then what’s that?” we asked, looking up where the bright, round light had been.

It was gone.

I picked up my tea then and took a sip and spat.  All the ice had melted and the tea was now lukewarm and watery.  “What time you got?”  He had a watch, I did not.

“Three thirty-three.”
We gaped, and I went inside to check; the kitchen clock matched.  It was now 03:33.  Something like 3.5 to 4 hours had passed.

We did not feel any different, but could not account for more than a couple minutes of puzzlement and discussion.  My mother later thanked us for being so quiet once we’d gone outside.

Our missing time included no probes or Greys that we know of, but it has puzzled us both to this day.

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Critics & Especially Horror These Days

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Written in response to a writer angry about critics:

So someone sneered at your latest work of fiction, calling it “mere horror”. You immediately hate all criticism.

That leads to a problem.

You’re no good as a writer without good critics. Sorry but that’s just true. Good critics are rare. Most who call themselves that are just bullies. Louts. Dolts. But that does not invalidate good criticism, which is insightful and in context can elevate the art.

A genuine critic is knowledgeable and keeps things honest. Same with a real pundit. TV has degraded both into basically promoters of ideology or nasty carping dolts. The hypocrisy of Fox’s mincing mocking motto, “fair and balanced” when they are anything but, shows their agenda. To rape fact until truth dies murdered.

Objectivity, as Dr Hunter S Thompson howled, is bullshit smeared on subjectivity to hide agenda. What’s needed is clear positions explained clearly by those who know a given genre or field well enough to analyze it honestly from their view.

This is why word of mouth sells you books better than almost all other things; you understand your friends and their tastes and views. Trust them.

Some of the most useful critics are the ones with whom you consistently disagree. If some prissy prude is offended and hates it I know there is a good chance I’ll like it.

So remember, as C S Lewis wrote, fans make the best critics because they know the field and its major and minor works, which gives them context, and they understand what to expect from a given genre work, and whether it succeeds in its own artistic terms. Outsiders cannot fathom such things.

So if some academic pisses all over “horror”, consider the source and move on. If Harold Bloom throws a hissy fit over Stephen King getting a National Book Award, laugh at his bigoted ignorance and petty closed-minded snobbery. He’s a bigot unable to escape categorical thinking.

On the other hand, if King or Ramsey Campbell or another knowledgeable source points out lax spots or errors, you’d better learn new things fast.

Horror has as much good work as any style or genre or market category of fiction. Learn to discern good from bad criticism and we can always improve.

Turning away from all criticism merely isolated you and we all know we are among the worst at assessing our own work. Without critics we’d all be Shakespeare.

/ Samael Gyre

“The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

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What Suits the Audience

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I watch SUITS.

I see how it is manipulative, simplistic, and shallow, using every cheap soap opera trick to jerk the feelings of sappy open-mouth viewers. Every move is obvious, predictable, and as familiar as your own discomfort.

I realize people eat this shit up. It’s the ice cream and chips of writing. Sugar and salt. It’s really bad for you but so basic it works on a basic level every time.

I get that I’m under-published because I won’t write such stuff. In trying to offer more I’m losing readers with each word I use to offer something better.

In a world demanding whoppers, I’m a vegetarian hoping for haute cuisine. Were I an Ivy League lit journal alumnus I might have the right pedigree and connections to prevail among the snobs as a fashionable flavor. Being other, I’m left to genre for the most reasonable set of outlets.

Genre is not what I write. My work is Ficta Mystica. It’s eerie realism. Comes out that way naturally as my voice, due to my interests over a life many would call misspent, others just wiccanthropic. I own that voice neither resentfully nor swaggeringly. It overlaps many genres while being of none, yet unlike a style is not always a comfortable fit.

In trying to parse all this I write essays like this one. In trying to sort the puzzle pieces of putting my work in front of people who might resonate with it I reveal ambition, frustration, and self sabotage swirling in all I write. It strikes me this is probably true of all of us afflicted by a vocation to any of the arts.

Building on a solid foundation of basics is a good approach. Using basics to bash heads is simple assault.

Still, I watch SUITS.

 

/ Gene Stewart writing as Samael Gyre

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A Tribe Among Us, Unseen

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Finished Vol. 1 of Missing 411, subtitled Western U.S. by David Paulides.  Began Vol. 2. The Eastern U.S. & Canada.  Also reading The Phantom Killer by James Presley.  Also Finders Keepers by Stephen King.  A YA novel, two anthologies, and Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon.  Many other things have my attention, too.  I read a lot of things.

Been immersing myself in the Paulides investigations.  There are many radio and video discussions and interviews with him online.  You Tube has dozens.  He reinforces his points and clarifies his patterns in calm, clear factual reports.  He does not offer guesses, speculations, or conclusions.  Just the facts, ma’am; befits an ex cop.

Most impressive is how organized his work remains.  It’s consistent throughout. It stems from his approach, which is both methodical and detailed.

He spots clusters invisible to anyone who is not seeing the big picture from a span of years, even decades.  Age, sex, location, circumstance, and soon, all are factored.  Given statistics of known events and crimes, these clusters come into focus only once you compare them to what is usual.  They stand out in contrast.

It’s as if they’re hidden this way, by spreading them out over time.  Steeply oblique views show how they pop up only over a comparison to long term observations of the same areas.

My current obsession with mysterious disappearances may bore you but then again it may intrigue you, so either way I’ll likely keep researching.  And talking about it.  It’s not like we don’t rehash unsolved mysteries of other kinds endlessly:  Black Dahlia, Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, Elisa Lam and so forth.

Interestingly, Paulides addresses Elisa Lam’s case.  He draws no conclusions as yet.  None of us do, or can.  Insufficient data.  It seems certain she was put into the water tank.  They had to cut the tank open to get her body out.  As you know, situations surrounding her ending up there remain unexplained, including locked access to doors leading to the roof.  A janitor or employee of the creepy Hotel Cecil, which as since changed its name, must be considered.  Was she playing games with someone we did not see on the elevator tape, someone who then playfully raped and killed her?

Water removes DNA traces.

As DARK WATER, 2005, or its Japanese precursor from 2002 make clear, some choose to factor into the story a hungry ghost or malicious spirit.  Could be.  If any hotel is haunted it would be the Cecil, where Richard Ramierez, the Night Stalker, lived in l984 and where in 1991 Jack Unterweger, an Austrian serial killer, also lived.  Other deaths, including murders, suicides, and skid row overdoses, happened there over the years from 1924, when it was built, through the 1950s, when it hit hard times, to 2007, when part of it was refurbished.  Hauntings are reported consistently though its history but, even if we don’t buy into ghosts, Lam may have, and that could suffice to explain some of her odd behavior.

Google Elisa Lam and watch the video.  I defy anyone to explain that, although of course many do, reaching for comforting prosaic explanations when in fact there is not enough to make such leaps.

Yes, some suggest ghosts in the National Park disappearances, and UFOs, Bigfoot, Unmarked Black Helicopters, Pterosaurs, Thunderbirds, etc.

As mentioned, Paulides began his retirement from police and business by looking to apply police investigative methods and business organization to sorting out Bigfoot.  This means physical evidence, including DNA.

He gathered a lot, convinced separate groups to cooperate for the first time, and found a prominent scientist and her lab to analyze the DNA.  Further, he got many to chip in to pay lab costs.  All this amounts to his certainty that yes, Bigfoot is real and is likely a species not of ape but of human, surviving from the Ice Age.  Is it the Denisovans, recently identified and considered extinct?

One fascinating effort was using a police sketch artist to elicit good descriptions from witnesses.  These came out looking more human than animal.  Better, when facial hair was removed from the face shown in a still frame of the Gimlin-Patterson film, it matched First Nation faces and looked native American.  It’s not a gorilla or a person but something between, more on the human side.

My bet is Denisovans.  Makes sense.  Enclaves survive on high ridges, above the trees, at altitude.  The Denisovan genes found in Tibetans, especially in the Sherpa, allow the Sherpa to work in altitudes that kill others by keeping denser red blood corpuscles from clumping.  Blood with those genes stays thinner.  No embolism, thrombosis, or stroke occurs.

Paulides, wisely, won’t come out and say any of this until the lab has its work nailed down.  Dr. Melba Ketchum is the geneticist doing the DNA analysis.  Her lab work moved her from skeptical to certain and she says her lab co-workers range to include a stone-cold skeptic who keeps them honest in adhering to protocol.  She’s aware how solid her work must be if she is to announce confirmation of a large unknown primate.

My analysis of Paulides’s books is that he suspects Bigfoot is snatching people for various reasons.  They’re taken from wilderness areas near large bodies of water.  If they are, as First Nation tribes state, another tribe — they never call Bigfoot or Sasquatch an animal — they may also need fresh breeding stock.  They could also go rogue, in individual cases, as with any species.  We may for those rogues be tasty cousins.

Paulides refuses to state conclusions and sticks to facts but preponderance of evidence points to the disappeared having been taken by an overwhelming force capable of whisking them long disances, almost always steeply upslope to gasping altitudes, at speeds even expert outdoor types have no chance of emulating.

Another tribe among us, on our fringes, of a distinct line of development, huge and hairy, evolved to survive in high mountains and deep wilderness, makes sense to explain Bigfoot, and provide a good candidate to explain people disappearing mysteriously.  They’d be a culture.  They’d avoid us, sometimes use us.  Prey on us.

We get the inter dimensional folks raving, too, trying to explain Sasquatch’s amazing elusiveness.  They’d say Elisa Lam fell into the tank though a vortex or portal, clinging to a conceptual explanation too fanciful to count as persuasive and fitting none of the few facts.

Then we move into the urban areas.  That’s unsettling.  No handy Bigfoot to fall back on, unless it’s a variant of the Wolfen concept from Whitley Strieber’s book or the movie with Albert Finney.

Again, that’s far-fetched.  Factually, in urban areas people very often vanish from the midst of friends, from crowded bars, and from family gatherings, only to turn up several days later in water.  Rivers, canals, tanks.  None had drowned, none were in the water even half as long as they’d been missing.  They seem to have been kept somewhere, then discarded.  Cause of death unknown.

Over the last nine years there have been sixty-one deaths in Manchester, England, UK, all the dead found near or in canals rarely deeper than two to four feet.  If you fall in, stand up and you’re fine.  Oh, and they didn’t drown.  They’re called the Canal Murders in Blighty.  Stateside we have the Smiley Face Killer, linked to the Clown Killer, both names stemming from a smiley face found at the scene or glimpses of someone, or some thing, dressed as a clown in the area.  All are young men, college aged and responsible in life.  No one sees them vanish, and friends frequently report, “He was right there, then he wasn’t.”

Surveillance cameras in bars and on streets fail to show the missing person leaving or passing by, yet the body ends up near or in water.

As I said earlier, water removes traces.

Then there are shoes with feet in them, almost always left shoes and left feet, coming ashore along the northwest coast and on the shores of the Great Lakes and other large bodies of water.  DNA matches no known missing person.  There are hundreds of them so far.

Could these have anything to do with missing people?  What could explain this, a harsh form of captivity, piracy, or slavery?

No proven cause of death, no reason they vanished, and no explanation how they got to where they’re found.

About sixty percent of those who go missing in National Parks are found alive but are either too young to speak or cannot recall what happened or where they were.  They sometimes offer surreal explanations such as a toddler saying, “A big dog ate my shoe and carried me in its paws, then slept with me to keep me warm,” and so on.

Ten to fifteen percent of those who go mysteriously missing are utterly gone.  No trace, or sometimes tantalizing clues such as one inside-out glove liner, clothes folded neatly, or weapons discarded. Despite such hints, they are never found.  Dogs can’t or won’t track them.  Skeletal remains never show up.  They’re just gone.

The rest are found dead.  Sometimes only tiny fragments are found, such as a tooth, part of a skull cap, or flakes of crushed bone.  Some bodies are found without enough blood to identify even the type.  Utterly drained.  That is rare and even weirder, in such cases there is not a mark on them.

Most mysterious disappearances are male, white, and, strangely, a high percentage are of German descent. No explanation is evident or offered.

Most are superior physically, which makes sense given that they’re in wilderness areas, and mentally, which seems a fluke.  Many are doctors or scientists.  Almost none are troubled or poor.

Of those who vanish in cities, ninety-nine percent tend to be found dead.

Dogs being unable to find scent is one of the standard oddities.  Another is bad weather striking soon after someone goes missing.  Is this timed to cover tracks?  Should we be extra cautious prior to heavy weather striking a wilderness area?

The Kathy Ann Shea case, from Thursday 18 March 1965, in Tyrone PA, where the six-year-old was last seen by her mother and the crossing guard as she walked the remaining couple blocks to school after having come home, as usual, for lunch.  At that time Tyrone, a small town now, was a village with no near-by highway and only winding roads through mountain forests as a way to reach it.  Or flee from it.  Outsiders were noticed.  Nothing unusual was noticed that day.  Massive searches revealed no sign of her.  No remains of any kind were ever found.  She simply vanished.

Most feel she was abducted, which makes sense.  Are her bones moldering in someone’s basement dungeon? did a passer-by snag her into a car and simply drive off?  Did she chase a puppy into the woods, only to get lost, die of exposure, and have her bones scattered by animals and time? Did a teacher keep her in the trunk all school day and drive her to a secret place?  Or was it even more mysterious?

All those theories and more have been considered.  Her family continues to hope she is still alive, somewhere.  Somehow.

I know of a case in Omaha, that of a school girl who managed to vanish in half a block after getting off a school bus and walking toward her house in the middle of the block, and another in Peru, a small college town, where a college student went missing and has never been found despite river dredgings, divers, and searches of farmland and woods.  Nebraska is not part of the usual patterns or clusters, but people vanish from here, too.

There are even incidences of people disappearing while on the phone.  They’ll say, “Oh, no,” or “Help me,” or “Oh my god,” and some sound as if they’re moving rapidly away from the phone.  In a terrifying case, screams and growls are heard.

Most of these are never found, which is chilling.

One wonders if there may be witnesses who see things they won’t discuss, perhaps because they don’t understand them.  No one ever seems to see a thing.  Very rarely do people hear things.  SAR people have sometimes heard cries for help, whimpers, or other distress sounds.  Those almost never pan out, but a few have led to the discovery of an unharmed child who should have died from freezing over a few days of being naked in the wilderness.

This indicates these people are being taken at opportune times when they are momentarily alone, whether in wilderness or urban settings.  This hints strongly at stalking, stealth, and confident ambush.  No attempts to grab have been known to fail.  There are no slip-ups, attempted abductions that fail and leave angry, upset people and witnesses.  Something is well within its comfort zone, operating at a level of efficiency we don’t usually see.  The disappearances are eerily seamless.

There are about one per week that we’re aware of, disappearances featuring weird and mysterious details or aspects.  They come in clusters, rather than regularly, and often there are lapses of years or even decades between clumps in certain cluster centers.  It is as if some plan to hide these statistics with a broken pattern is in play.

Paulides created a profile for the disappearances he considered mysterious, so he could cull kernel from chaff.  After all, many vanish in wilderness, taken by bear, falling off cliffs, or drowning.  Being lost, starving, freezing to death, and many other mundane causes are not necessarily mysterious at all, and those people are found, or their bodies are found.

It is baffling, chilling, and ignored by the authorities.  They’ll find a few bone chips and declare it a “death from exposure”.  They’ll stop searching in a short time and declare the missing person “obviously dead by now” and forget it.  Once declared “presumed dead” they have no obligation, legal or moral, to do more.  It’s an easy out.

This dismissal of case lets them move on, perhaps, but also leaves families and loved ones hanging, and blocks further search and investigation.  They seem not to want to understand what’s going on.

There is some indication that the Dyatlov incident could have featured human mutilation, something not openly discussed among the National Park rangers.  The Dyatlov incident happened in Russia, of course, but there is a Bigfoot overlap in those mountains where it happened.  Pictures show jaws stripped, eyes, taken, even a tongue removed.  That one was a woman, and her stomach had a lot of blood, meaning it happened to her while she was still alive and swallowing.  Note how the mutilations parallel those of so-called cattle mutilations, which actually began with a horse and involved mostly cattle but many other animals as well over the years.

A map of American cattle mutilation sites matches an overlaid map of nuclear test drift zones, incidentally, prompting some to speculate the mutilations are soft-tissue samples being taken to check for radiation from a random population.

Both the Dyatlov and American cattle mutilation events hint strongly at attack from above.  This, along with lights seen in the sky, make people mention UFOs without specifying what they mean.  Unmarked black helicopters are sometimes cited.

All these unsettling details are supposedly why Russia kept the Dyatlov incident under wraps for so many years.  It freaked them out at official levels because it could not be categorized or explained.

Incidentally, a recent TV show purported to be a documentary of the Dyatlov incident showing “new” photographs depicting a Bigfoot-type shape in a blurry picture turns out to be fiction, and should be discounted as a source for anything factual.  It is made by the same types who did the fake mermaid documentary and the fake mega shark documentary. Ignore those sensationalist hoaxes.

Not surprisingly, myth fills in where facts are scarce.  Alma, the bigfoot of the area where the Dyatlov expedition met its grisly, mysterious end, were mentioned as culprits to explain why dead students seemed crushed.  So many bones were shattered that their injuries were compared to having been in high-speed car crashes.  Bigfoot attack?  Or were they, as so many cattle mutilation cases indicate, dropped from 200 feet or more?

Really, UFO abduction and mutilation explains things better than a yeti attack.  It’s eve better than the soviet special forces squad explanation, that cites a roving band of Spetznaz deciding to obliterate the athletes for seeing something classified.  Why then the scattered carnage?  They’d simply have been shot once in the back of the head and buried in shallow graves.

It was not locals.  Those tribes are not violent.  They even helped search when the Dyatlov expedition failed to show up on time.  Nor would there be motive, considering nothing was taken or missing from the camp equipment.  Impoverished attackers steal of necessity.

Galling that the apparent ETH provides the most elegant, persuasive explanation, given how targeted any Extra-Terrestrial Hypothesis is for ridicule by so-called establishment scientists.

Attack from above could explain why some of the Dyatlov expedition members ran for the trees, from which, presumably, an attack was not coming.  The three found single file headed up the hill could have been dropped that way, not in their tracks but from a height.

In fact, these bodies were found only by using probes in the snow.  They were four feet down.  All lay face down.

Seems we have no further details from the reports even though there should be more.  Russian paranoid protocols and secretive practices have thwarted investigations for decades.

As for National Park disappearances, they are often found dead miles away and many hundreds of feet higher.  Many are gone for a week or two or three before being found, yet the times of death are only a couple days prior to the body being found, in conditions such that they seem to have been held indoors or protected somehow from weather.  Their bare feet or socks are clean, unmarked.  Their boots and other clothes are often never found.  No explanation of why they’d remove clothes or especially boots is indicated. Often they’re found in places that have been searched repeatedly, as if placed there as a taunt.

What, Paulides asks, are their stomach contents?  They had to have been eating something to be found in such healthy a state of death.  With no supplies, how were they eating at all?

One little girl stated the “dog” that carried her in its paws made a nest of leaves for them and curled around her to keep her warm, and also stated that it had gone off and brought back berries in its paw.  Talented dog.

Many are found in or near berry bushes but berries alone won’t sustain anyone for long, at altitude, in inclement climate, often harsh storms.  Bushes offer no shelter from severe weather.  Mountain weather is wet, cold, and unpredictable and its effects should show.

As Paulides emphasizes, anyone who reads all five (so far) of his books realizes there is, and likely cannot be, a single answer.  Conventional answers don’t apply, especially across so many cases over such a wide area over so much time.  These mysterious disappearances date back into the 1800s, and that is only as far as his research in newspaper accounts can find.  Earlier accounts surely explain folk tales and local legends.  One thinks of the Pied Piper of Hamelin Germany or the Green Children in England.

Paulides chooses cases for his books using a set of clear, well-defined parameters.  There are many more cases that fit, and new cases continue to arise, so he cuts the clutter.  Clusters and patterns revealed seem designed to baffle and frustrate.  There is also an eerie sense of will in them.  This is intelligence at work.  These things are being done on purpose and with awareness.

Kathy Shea is not in the Pennsylvania section of the second Paulides book.  Her case should be; perhaps he elided it, or does not know of it.  He states that PA is a cluster in and of itself, so many children have gone missing in mysterious and inexplicable circumstances.

It is mostly children in PA.  There is an odd cluster of older men around Timmins, Ontario, Canada.  Other clusters show other slants.

My guess is the local patterns involve different needs.   Unless they’re simply falling into random space-time holes they’re being taken for reasons we can’t yet spot.

Cases of bone fragments being found, sometimes tiny flakes and little else, or a single tooth, or a skull cap, beg the question of where does the flesh, blood, and skeleton go?  Why?

Blood is rarely found on any clothes or the ground around them.  These seem to be taunts, or dump sites, not murder scenes.  If murder it was.  It is next to impossible to confirm cause of death from mere fragments of bone.

Then arose awareness via a TV limited-run documentary series of the six Chillicothe, Ohio women who went mysteriously missing.  Four have been found dead.  Two remain missing entirely.  This is likely an active serial killer.

Some think he was killed in a motel room by a potential victim who managed to grab his gun, which he’d set aside in order to strangle her more efficiently with both hands.  She fired blindly over her shoulder, instantly killing him with a bullet to his head.  This killer apparently roamed from Ohio to the West Coast, and ended up dead in Reno, Nevada.  Whether he’s linked forensically to the missing Ohio women is being investigated.

The Chillicothe disappearances happened between May 2014 and May 2016. Interviewed cops, including the chief, do not speak clear English, which makes me think it unlikely they’d think logically or with much awareness of other aspects that may apply to a given crime.  This in turn makes the serial killer’s continued evasion more understandable.

Small town hunting grounds work best, it seems.  They are the urban echo of wilderness, with few witnesses and no overview.

The Chillicothe Gazette’s editor, Mike Throne, is literate and articulate but only a newspaper editor.  He won’t be investigating personally and won’t be privy to inside details of police investigations, if any such details arise.

As a commercial venture, the ID Channel’s show THE VANISHING WOMEN has a companion guide on sale at news stands and grocery stores, as well as a discussion thread on the Investigation Discovery website. I’m wondering if this will be a trend as a new multi-media approach, as TV continues to change, struggling with the urge to mesh all media into one thing.  To stay productive and competitive, TV must offer changes that stick with the internet and other audiences.

It’s a six-part series while the murders and investigations continue, so I guess it’s focused more on process and situation than solution.  This has become a norm in nonfiction TV.

One wonders if they’ll milk it.  Probably not, unless there is a big break in the case, when a follow-up single episode would suffice as excuse to show the whole thing over again.  It’s summer filler, so who knows?  Maybe an annual update?
Piracy of books is so bad now that publishers and sellers are ridding their lists and shelves of tea-cosy mystery stories, even though this sub-category is hugely popular, especially among women, who read more than men overall, apparently.  It’s very popularity undermines it, allowing pirate sites to profit even if offering free books as enticements.  These proliferate.  It’s theft but it’s what killed music’s profitability.

Worse, a generation now feels entitled to free music and books.  They defend the theft by saying writers or musicians wanting money are greedy for asking for pay for something they’d do free.  These entitled thieves don’t see creating as a real job not everyone can do and have no appreciation of how hard creative work is.  Some imagine all creators of entertainment are rich.  Writers are all Richard Castle or J. K. Rowling or Stephen King.  Musicians are all the Beatles or the Stones or business moguls like Sean Combs.  It’s bizarre and infuriating, because it’s willful blindness.

How much more marginalized must writers and artists be before something fundamental breaks and works in our favor for once?

This is the backdrop not only TV faces, but even investigators such as David Paulides, who understands books reach only a small portion of his potential audience.  Wisely, he avoids putting out electronic versions.  That way lies automatic piracy.  If it costs them only a few key strokes to pirate a work, they’ll do it on spec.  If they have to spend big to make hard copies on the off-chance a book will sell, they’ll skip it, or focus only on the sure-fire best-sellers.  So Paulides sells his books through his Missing 411 CanAm Project website.  Amazon does have them, but at grossly inflated prices by gougers.  Avoid that and buy direct, where they are fairly- and regular book-priced volumes.

As stated, he knows this is only a small part of the people who’d be interested, so to widen the audience for this ignored, uncovered, and some say covered-up story of mysterious disappearances in National Parks, he has crowd-funded a movie, which is in final editing to be released later in 2016.  Movies reach more people, so this could mark a turning point in breaking down National Park Service stonewalling.

As you will hear Paulides mention often, the NPS told him flat out they don’t keep tabs of any kind, not even a list, of people who go missing in National Parks.  Further, they demanded huge fees to process Freedom of Information requests; any billionaire interested in funding these, please get with Mr. Paulides.  FOIA applies because the NPS is Federal.  State Parks are exempt.

Worse than all this, one person he contacted at NPS told him he’d never get those files.  When he asked why, he was not answered.  Paulides concludes the NPS does indeed have extensive records and does not want the public to know what’s in them.  He believes if the extent and nature of these mysterious disappearances got out, visits to parks would plummet, and National Parks are a many-billion dollar a year proposition and enterprise.

Capitalism, ironically, has destroyed the artistic community’s ability to make a living, demolished small business, and wiped off competition by favoring corporate big money homogenized extruded product.  Making even a paltry living is nearly impossible for most creative folks, unless they allow their work to be co-opted by corporate in some way and thus rendered non-creative.

Sickening but typical, these corrosive, even cancerous effects spread also to investigative journalism.  Without funding or officially-sanctioned access, without government approval, and without resources to back you, you’re left flailing in a choppy sea of indifference, and no one is looking for you.

The Jennifer Kesse disappearance from Orlando, Florida — scene of both a mass-shooting hate crime at a popular nightclub called Pulse and a gator killing a toddler at a Disneyworld resort — in 2006, as detailed in the DISAPPEARED episode #705 titled “Girl Interrupted”, on ID Channel, fits Paulides’s parameters.  She became mysteriously and utterly gone amidst her ordinary life.  Her father believes she was trafficked, a possible solution certainly.  Others think she was grabbed, raped, and killed, there being so many places to dump bodies in Florida.  The boss who lusted for her instantly said, “Gators ate her,” when a co-worker told him about her being missing.  That’s creepy and suspicious, of course, but no evidence has linked him or anyone to her disappearance.

She vanished, apparently, in the twenty foot walk from her car to her condo’s door.  Argues for a car abduction, you’d think, but parking lot cams show nothing of another car.  The lot abuts a wild, swampy area, however.  Could someone or something have dragged her into that?

Her car was found parked elsewhere in the complex and her keys were never located.  Her apartment remained undisturbed except for the oddity of her MACE, found on a table instead of in her purse, where she was known always to carry it.  Another urban mysterious disappearance, no trace of the missing found.

I’m convinced the Kathy Shea case fits well into David Paulides’s books and study.

Here is a contrast:  Locally, here in Omaha, there is the case of 12-year-old Amber Harris.  She is the girl who vanished on a half-block walk from the corner to her house, having gotten off a school bus.  This was on 29 November 2005.  On 14 February 2006 her book bag was found on top of a cement mixer used as a garbage container, at a location near her home, leading eventually tot the arrest and conviction of Roy Ellis.  In 2008 he was sentenced to death.  Amber’s remains were later found in Hummel Park, a particularly wild area of Omaha.

Here we see the expected, usual situation.  An abduction, rape, murder, and body dump.  We see evidence sifted, the crime solved, and the body found.  What was mysterious at the start was revealed as a heinous crime and the victim was not gone forever.  Certainly some of the National Park disappearances are the work of serial killers, if statistics can be believed.  However, so many over so long a time, in so many places, in clusters separated by long stretches of time during which nothing happens, with the patterns always the same?  That would require an army of serial killers all disciplined, all following the exact methods, and never making a mistake.  Ludicrous.

This example shows how facile answers and superficial resemblances do not necessarily serve to dismiss the unresolved cases Mr. Paulides discusses in his books.

In one such case a woman who’d left her toddler outside in a fenced front yard to play while she cleaned the house came outside in time to see what she at first described as a bear carrying the child off.  With the child slung under its arm.  Running on two legs.  She screamed.  A neighbor passing by joined her in chasing after this abductor.

At a high fence, the child was dropped and found to be without a scratch.  When the woman’s story of a bear doing this elicited incredulity among reporters, who knew bear did not behave this way, she offered, “Maybe it was a wolf?”

Rationalizing what she could not understand would explain why her tale was unbelievable.  She could not believe it herself and had no terms to describe what she’d seen.

Yes, this hints strongly at a Bigfoot situation, although would that not have prompted her to call it a big hairy man without clothes, or perhaps a large ape of some kind?  She seemed genuinely baffled and unable to say exactly what she saw taking her baby.

In THE VANISHING WOMEN, a suspected serial killer case is presented in well-filmed artful documentary style.  Testimonials are from participants and the cases remain cold as ice.  It’s still happening.  One is curious whether any of the money the series and its concordance booklet generates will go toward either the cops or to a private effort to fund further investigation.

If the serial killer angle doesn’t pan out, it could mean a criminal got away with it, or the cops were inadequate to the cases, or it might mean that something more mysterious is happening.

Sifting the genuinely mysterious disappearances from the creepy ones, from the mundanely-criminal ones, from the disappearances that only seem mysterious until the solution is presented, is difficult.  It requires patience and time, focus and concentration.  It requires organization and an ability to stay alert to small indicators across a wide range of material.

David Paulides possesses all these traits and more.  He’s doing important, interesting investigations, and where they leads may require us to loosen our grip on what we imagine is quotidian reality.  He’s also spreading the word, so more of us can start to realize that something mysterious, dark, and appalling is going on, and being officially ignored or covered up.  We expect and must demand more of our society’s officials.

There is another tribe among us, it seems.  It prowls at the fringes of our awareness, in wilderness and in urban areas.  It takes some of us, returning only a percentage, entirely keeping others.  This tribe can be sensed the way astrophysics notices celestial bodies it cannot see, by observing their influence and deducing their aspects and qualities.

Look askance and ask yourself if that shadow moving in the corner of our society’s vision is going to grab you next.  It has already snatched thousands.

///  ///  ///
5500 words
18 June 2521 Athenian Era

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Review of The Sign and the Seal by Graham Hancock

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The Sign and the Seal
by Graham Hancock
Touchstone/Simon & Schuster, 1992, Trade
600pp, $14.00, Index, Reference Notes,
2 maps, 61 b&w photographs

A Review by Gene Stewart

Then a world economics reporter, the East Africa correspondent for The Economist, and author of several books about Africa, Hancock first visited Axum, Ethiopia in 1983, shortly after civil war died down enough to allow foreign nationals to visit again.  It was then he experienced his first tingle of interest in the mysterious, and mysteriously lost, Ark of the Covenant, the one mentioned in both the Bible and Indiana Jones movies.  This began a decade of searching for him, as he traced tantalizing leads, whispered hints, and decoded clues.  He admits he was led from his beaten path of prior success but to judge from the result, he chose wisely.

He began with surveying the Parzival and Holy Grail stories, reading up on King Arthur, the Knights Templar, and other old tales of powerful, god-touched artifacts and revealed hidden knowledge.  As patterns emerged, Hancock started piecing together a rational, if untested, time-line for the Ark, the core talisman of the Moses-led Jews, the Levites, the early Christians, and so much else, to have vanished without so much as a mention in the array of records.  How had such a thing happened, why, and where might such a holy relic have been hidden?

Hancock writes vividly of his dusty, exhausting experiences traveling in places, through conflicts, most of us would avoid.  He is excellent in his descriptions and compelling in his narrative; the book reads like an adventurous mystery novel, yet it’s reporting, not fiction.  Being open to new things, be they cultural or conceptual, allows Hancock freedom of action and logic perfect for unraveling this great mystery.

He wants to know.  How he goes about finding out, the scholars he consults, the places he investigates, and the discoveries he makes, combine into a cogent, trenchant work that cost Hancock much but gained him far more.  Example:  His marriage deteriorated during the grueling years of researching this book, done on his own ticket.  Example:  His first solo non-fiction work, The Sign and the Seal became an international best-seller and allowed him to continue expanding his life inwardly and outwardly, with further pivotal books on such topics as aqua-archaeology and ayuhuasca.

Intelligence shines from every page, his sentences being balanced and clear.  He presents information systematically and keeps the reader in context, with just enough reminder or nudge when called for.  We see the mystery as he discovered and unfolded it, sharing the thrill of making links and confirming them.

While he openly admits he is neither academic nor scholar, he demonstrates remarkably wide knowledge and knows how to delve deeply when the need arises.  These abilities add up to persuasive, rational argument awaiting only the picayune detail of scientific sifting, much of which already done by Hancock.

Definitive is a description remaining to be claimed but I know of no other work, scholarly or popular, that comes even close to The Sign and the Seal in regards to tracing the origins, aspects, and fates of the Ark of the Covenant.  What it was is understandable from reading this book.  How it may have worked is strongly hinted at, too.

Hint:  Not mentioned in this book, which was written long before they happened, are replication experiments performed by many engineers and college classes.  By constructing a replica using the exact specifications from the Bible, and they are quite explicit, one ends up with what is today recognized as a capacitor.  It builds up and stores electro-static energy which can release through the cherubim mounted atop the box lid.  It gave off sufficient volts and amperage to be fatally dangerous and college classes have had to dismantle their replica arks as a safety precaution.

Now imagine a powerful capacitor, decorated with carved gold, able to deliver fatal shocks, as happened to Aaron’s sons when they ill-advisedly got too close, imagine such a device’s supernatural qualities for people living 2000 years ago in the desert.  They’d be justifiably terrified and unable to explain it.

Fortunately, the man who built it, Moses, was steeped in esoterica and other hidden arts, having been raised as a Pharaoh’s son, which automatically made him a priest of the hidden orders.  He’d have learned the magic illusions he used to such good effect to keep his rabble in line for the forty years of indoctrination and training needed to whip a horde into an army, which then successfully challenged and conquered an established military.

Aaron, his son, was taught such matters, too, but his own sons apparently got cocky or had not yet properly been taught and so paid the price of being electrocuted by a huge discharge.

Add to all this electrical mayhem other evidence that the Ark also contained strong radioactivity and one can see how and why it was worshipped as a seat of a god, as a place where a god manifested — as the blue-white spark of degaussing electrostatic charge, perhaps?

Yet letting such an astounding item simply vanish from the records without comment is a mystery no one, until Hancock, has solved.  He sifts out reasons, then tracks down evidence to deny or support his speculations, always allowing the evidence to lead him.  In this way, he comes at last to gratifying steps and satisfying conclusions in this persuasive, rational book.

Along the way he even offers a reasonable explanation of why both the Ancient Egyptian and Ancient Sumerian civilizations started at their apexes, only slowly to wind down, with no prior hint of growth before they suddenly appeared.  Both, he finds, are rooted in a third civilization, already at an apex with monumental architecture and world-class artistry, transplanted to the general Egypt/Sumer area by a catastrophe, very possibly a flood.  Yes, echoes of Atlantis without the crazy shouts of aliens; it’s even supported by much archaeological evidence, albeit considered fringe so far by orthodox, received-wisdom defenders.

In this book we also trace the Jewish diaspora, with strong evidence presented concerning where the oldest Jewish culture ended up, and remained virtually untouched.  To this day, practices long expunged by the Jerusalem-centered Jewish rituals continue unaffected, deep inside Ethiopia’s war-torn, shattered shadows.

If archaeological matters interest you, and if this kind of adventure of logic, hardship, and discovery appeals, then The Sign and the Seal is strongly recommended.  Make sure to get a new copy; mine’s burning up from age, an archaeological relic in and of itself.

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Review of Psi Spies by Jim Marrs

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Psi Spies:  The True Story of America’s Psychic Warfare Program
by Jim Marrs
New Page Books, 2007, $15.99
318pp, Appendix, Notes, Index
ISBN-13:  978-1-56414-960-2
ISBN-10:  1-56414-960-9

A Review by Gene Stewart

This book was suppressed from the summer of 1995 until publication in 2007.  In the interim, other books covering this topic came out, based on or rooted in magazine articles leaked by insiders or those with inside contacts.  Reasons for its suppression are many but boil down to military and government policy, politics, and procrastination.

Stupidity makes most conspiracy unnecessary.

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In the interests of full disclosure, this:  In the 1980s, my wife was in the US Air Force and stationed at Ft. Meade, MD.  We had one car, so I’d drive her to and from work if I’d be needing it.  That day, after dropping her off, I drove through base and spotted a road leading off at an angle toward a clump of pine trees.  Thinking perhaps it was a camp, I turned onto the road to investigate.

It led to a dirt parking area beside two dilapidated Army barracks.  There were two or three cars parked under the trees.  As I pulled up, still thinking it might be a camp administered from one of the old buildings, three men in civilian garb, two lounging by a car in the trees, the other coming from the screen door in one of the barracks, waved to me and wandered over.  They asked what I was looking for.

When I said camp, they exchanged looks, then told me I’d have to go back to the main road because they knew of no camp grounds.  They told me to go ahead and turn around and just follow the same dirt path to the road, and I did.  Thought nothing much about it.

Turns out I’d met the Star Gate guys, who were at that time on Ft. Meade in those barracks doing remote viewing.  Maybe they’d thought I was a new recruit.  That none wore uniforms should have struck me more forcibly, perhaps, but I figured they were clearing out or refurbishing the old barracks.  Renovation was always happening on Army bases, most being from the WW II era or older.

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Jim Marrs does a thorough, systematic job of explaining both how the military came to have its own psychic spies and the roots of what they labeled remove viewing, or RV.  (There’s that echo of camping again, on the edge of a definite wilderness, too.)  In nine concise chapters he introduces many of the key personnel who comprised the very small, elite cadre who developed working methods still used to this day.  Marrs also explains the method and recounts many of their successes, along with, at the end of the book, glimpses from what the RV’ers themselves called The Enigma Files.  Those are far-flung, wildly surreal experiences they’ve all had, opening eschatological, epistemological, and other philosophical and cosmological vistas.

That millions of dollars were spent on GRILL FLAME, STAR GATE, and other such programs featuring ESP is confirmed even in the federal records.  That these small programs, often fewer than a dozen people, moved from one host unit to another, finally going entirely dark, demonstrates how strong the reaction for and against such information-gathering techniques could be.  None could argue whether it worked, few could agree how to account for it.

It was ambiguity and indifference, along with the occasional religious hysteria, that drove the Remote Viewing programs that continue into the deniable realm.  As one officer put it, “If you have information from Remote Viewers, you have to act on it to confirm it, and that can require a lot more faith than many field commanders can muster.  Do you put people at risk on the say-so of people who saw it from an armchair or in a dream?”

Consistently demonstrated, and proven reliable, Remote Viewing refined itself as methods developed by trial-and-error.  Experience helped, too, along with adding coordinates from maps or using multiple RV sessions and people on a single target, say, a missing, kidnaped officer or a sunken sub or downed plane.

RV has since moved from military-only to the business world.  As the first generation of Remote Viewers retired or matriculated, some founded companies to teach RV, or to offer its revelations to any corporations that might pay for such insight, such as oil companies, mineral companies, and even law enforcement agencies.

Psi Spies is the best book I know for a solid, well-grounded overview of Remote Viewing.  Another book featuring a year-long well-funded free-descent deep dive into what the American government bubbles know, or think they know, or don’t know they know, is Out There by Howard Blum, 1990, which covers Remote Viewing among other outré topics.  For a more in-depth delving into Remote Viewing, go for Jim Schnabel’s 1997 book Remote Viewers, which rounds out what ends up being, among these three books, a thorough look at what is known about the attempt, which seems on-going, to put the ESP into espionage.

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