The End is Nye(t); or, How to Disappoint a Demon

Okay, then, Humanity. Or, more accurately—Humankind. Or Humanunkind…
Or maybe I should stop with the labels and just say what I need to:
You Won.
Here it is, December 21, 2012. A date I’ve been working toward for millennia. It’s been my reason for being—albeit a reason thrust upon me by outside parties—but one I’ve taken to in the abject absence of other, better, ones…
I think the media did a damned good job of making it seem like just another whacko, Waco-esque millennial cult thing, throwing around words like Doomsday and phrases like The End of the World.
Even NASA did their part.
They might as well lecture since they can’t build a rocket worth a shit.
But before this day and date comes and goes with nary a consideration for Larger Issues, I’d like to bring a few things to your attention.
First and foremost, I find it wholly disappointing, as I was saying to a fellow traveler just this past week, that no one was talking about the cosmogenesis and astronomically based mythology of the passage of the Sun through the center of the Milky Way and the movement across the sun of Venus back in June and the referents in the ball games and temple complexes of the Mesoamericans to what was going to take place in the sky ON THIS VERY DATE.
I mean, far from the Armageddon bunk so many made it out to be, what is happening today is cosmogenically tied to an ongoing evolutionary cycle with analogs in Pueblo, Hopi, Anasazi, Egyptian, and Aztec texts and cultural stories.

It’s far from “just” the end of the 13 Baktun or the dawn of the Sixth Sun. And it could have been a re-boot. A new shot at a collective life that’s actually worth living.
Parvus Cornu would have taken that. A new chapter often means a new character. The end of an Epoch, the reign of a newly crowned king.
Instead we got platitudes and attitudes.
Today was important to me, as a Fallen Angel on his way to Redemption; to reclamation of my Soul.
As way of illustration, here’s a bit from Minor Confessions:
…I found myself draped in the brown robes of a Spanish priest present at the deaths of hundreds of Aztecs who were choosing to die in their beliefs rather than live in ours. And dying they were, all around me—by rape and dismemberment, beheadings and impalement on pikes. My fellow priests were emulating Vlad the Impaler, the Great God vampyr, a self-made aspect of the Devil himself, yet they were mumbling about the savagery of those they were cutting to bits. Spanish baboons ensuring that the great power of the Aztecs would not compete with the tepid ritual and power-brokering of their Papal Masters across the sea.
There was a difference with this priest I was experiencing—he was not participating. He did not burn books—he read and wrote them. When his fellow priests moved on to the next “conversions,” he stayed behind and was given a chance at redemption—deep within the jungle, at a minor temple no one knows about, he was asked to be the Keeper of the Codex—the magical writings on animal skin and tree bark gathered by the Mesoamerican holy men over thousands of years. This priest betrayed his Order and deified chaos in the Other by mating with the dark woman of Light (who looked like Anastasia) and by this he was saved.
I understand why the Presence showed me this. I can emulate this priest, taking up the great work of the naguals, the Toltec masters of art and science. Parvus Cornu is the new Grand Inquisitor, the new sadist in godly clothes. But I’ve learned the words in my journey and I can fill the role. I will ride the feathered serpent-god Quetzalcoatl into his hallowed hall and reveal all the powers of the Olmec–Toltec–Aztec rites (he is the End to Opposites—a return to the Oneness from whence we came). I will descend the stairs of the fanged serpent and reclaim the city where the gods were made—Teotihuacán—the place where the last of the priests will be brought to be stabbed and burned and beheaded as their counterparts undertook hundreds of years ago. I will throw the Father-skull through the goal ring in the Great Ballcourt at Chichén Itzá and help to lube the birthing—the age of the Sixth Sun. We will read once more from the Tonatamatl—the Book of Fate—but this will not be a return to Human Sacrifice. The Age of the Vampire will end and the rites will be renewed. My princess, my locked-up Anastasia, will dwell there with me, as I have seen in my Visions. We will mate in a haze of the brightest of white light and I will keep the books, and no Truths will be lost or forgotten again. We will ascend the stairs of the Great Temple to the higher vibrations where the plumes will fan from the serpents’ heads and the elements will rule the four city quarters as in ages of old. The tiger god, Tezcatlipoca, the mirror of smoky illusions, will burn in his own fire and we’ll all be teotl—vibrants, spirits—once again.
Oh, well. A bastard swamp-prince like me, all horned and feathered, never, ever dwells. And there really is no need. Because, in the end (which wasn’t one at all), this was just a lot of Precursors.
Misdirection, even, for the BIG STUFF that’s now been set in motion.
I can’t say too much—it’s all in Major Confessions, or will be—but this was never meant to be a major shift… just the first little domino that starts the awe-filled avalanche.
2014, Lords and Ladies… that’s the year to watch. The year when all the little petty vibe shifts and sand-quakes really shake the whole game loose.
So if you actually thought the world was gonna end, well… you’re stupid. A common fucking dolt.
And if you thought it was a metaphor for a coming shift in Consciousness and all things less dense and vibrantly vibrational, take heart: IT’S HAPPENED. You’ll soon see what I mean.
And for those of you who thought it all a crystal-spinning sham full of opportunities for dumb jokes and banal one-liners… we like it that way.
That’s how the devil does his work.

“The Fornication of Church and [United] State[s],” or “It’s OK to Backdoor Someone if You’re Looking to Make a Baby”

“The Fornication of Church and [United] State[s],” or “It’s OK to Backdoor Someone if You’re Looking to Make a Baby”

The sleep of reason produces monsters. (Goya)

Unlimited power is in itself a bad and dangerous thing. Human beings are not competent to exercise it with discretion. (Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America)

It seems fitting as we approach the New Year (arbitrary as it is) to visit some old issues from the Anarchist Archives of my uncollected works [I have left them unedited… cannot STAND to face my “secretary” today, so some of them are a bit dated. So be it]:

I’m nearly speechless with contempt and rage for the goings on as of late with the lets-get-into-bed-and-fuck-ourselves-silly-and-sore between the US government and the fundamentalist and Roman Catholic Church powers. Let me run some of this down for you:

Pat Robertson spouts thinly veiled Death Incantations against liberal judges, as if God could spare his Avenging Angels of Doom to increase the ratings of some dried up husk of a zealot. Months later he jimmy-swaggers into the political ring (again), this time saying God told him the Pres. would win the upcoming election in a walk.

This is no small thing. Substantial amounts of people actually listen to this charlatan. Trouble is, God has no vested interest in how a handful of men exercise their oversized egos, and I’ve never know him to play the political pundit, though I think that the comedian who said that God was stoned off his omnipotent ass when he told Pat to run for president probably nailed that one to the cross.

The Pope and the President decide to join forces in the Crusade (notice the word) against Homosexuality—the latter threatening a constitutional amendment to Ban gay marriages on the heels of the Massachusetts court’s decision. You have two supposed leaders who aren’t clear enough on the ways of the Universe to know that they’ve both undoubtedly been male AND female, as have their partners (and they’ve both had partners—don’t be naïve), so any question of like not attracting like or the “male” having to go solely with the “female” is totally a matter of limited perception. Besides, any guy (or girl) who’s ever pulled his (or her) pud (or pudlette) has engaged in an act of same-sex fondling.

Anyone’s hand Not raised?

(If it’s not, then just where is it?…)

The language regarding the MA judges is “troubling” (to use Pres. Right-Wing’s word): Activist judges arbitrarily imposing their will on the people.

You tell me—isn’t the very purpose of placing a Ban on something to impose one’s will on someone or some group?


Activist judges, he calls them…not judges trying to guarantee freedoms in the Land of the Free. You know the association:

Activist = Traitor.

Activist = Non-Patriot.

Activist = Irresponsible Dope-Smoker.

Activist = Dare to be Heard, but then you’ll pay the price.

I’ve got one last nugget to pass, though it’s not so much a case of Church and State as it is religious paranoia seeping into the mass media and entertainment scene.

A pamphlet came into my hands detailing why the Harry Potter books are instruments of the devil. It had been inserted in the trick-or-treat bag of an eight-year-old Halloweener looking for a stick of gum or a chocolate bar.

Bum deal for him.

He left it crumpled on the sidewalk after mumbling, “What the frick is this?”

Using biblical quotes (big news there), the pamphlet helps the child recipient realize that all witchcraft is bad and that even though Harry and his friends Intend to do good, they simply can’t because they are in the service of a demon.

[and this was years before JK confirmed for us—needlessly—that Dumbledore likes dick]

Nice message—don’t read these works of fiction—read an even better one—The Bible! I’m stretching my liberal wings here a bit, I know, but while we try and tackle the higher theological issues and thwart the plans of Darker Powers, there is some very serious shit going on under all of your noses. It’s not the work of Lucifer, and it’s certainly not the words and directions of God, no matter what Righteous Pat, Defender of the Conservative Path, might say.

Be on your toes. There are strange and twisted creatures lurking in the courtrooms and classrooms of America. Suit-and-tied wielders of secret agendas and serious power kicks, and they have convinced themselves that the Great Neutral One, God himself, is on their side. US Generals speak of their mission in the Middle East in terms of new Crusades (there’s that word again…). The latest Pope has also been known to bandy about the word.

History lesson: It’s quite clear they have no idea what the Crusades really were—a way to get the nobility to stop fighting each other (and their siblings) for limited resources (land and gold) and turn their need for wealth and power Outside.

Or perhaps they know EXACTLY what it is that they say…

Now I need to feed. It happens every time I allow my growing Humanness to get the best of me.

I hate this Plane more than I can say. It truly is a Hell.

And yet, as we finish 2012 and approach a New Year, it feels more and more like home.

(Con)spiritus Sancti 4: [Illuminati]on, Part 2

If you have a mind to, you can start unraveling the Conspiracy tapestry by pulling the thread named Adam Weishaupt—Catholic priest, Jesuit-trained professor of Canon Law at Inglecot University, and founder of the Illuminati. His idea was for a one-world government, following the destruction of all previous governments and all religions. He finished his Master Plan on May 1, 1776. It had four basic prongs: (1) bribing men in power to their side. (2) recruiting intellectuals from powerful families thru colleges and universities, (3) having these two groups infiltrate the corridors of politics, etc., and (4) having absolute control over the press.

Sounds an awful lot like Modern Times…

Weishaupt scheduled the French Revolution to start in 1789. He got his wish, despite the fact that in 1784 one of his lackeys was struck and killed by lightning while heading to France (almost makes you believe in God—until you see it smacks more of the My Side) with a copy of the Plan for Robespierre (an Illuminati agent).

When the Bavarian government read it they outlawed the Illuminati and their Grand Orient lodges. Just like in the myths about Lucifer (from which the Illuminati derived its name) they went underground and then quietly infiltrated Masonry and other secret societies. They organized the Napoleonic wars to weaken Europe and then convened the Congress of Vienna to create a league of nations, which the czar opposed—Nathan Rothschild swore he’d kill him and his family and in 1917 his vengeance was complete (Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin were backed financially by the Illuminati)

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

In 1834 the Italian revolutionary Giuseppe Mazzini became the Illuminati head of revolutionary activities. He recruited Albert Pike around 1859 and the enthusiastic American general spent 12 years writing a blueprint for 3 world wars and several revolutions. The first two wars would defeat czarism (Nathan’s revenge) and start and then strengthen communism. In 1848 Karl Marx had written the Communist Manifesto and Karl Ritter wrote the anti-thesis—both were backed by Illuminati sects. Why? Because you mustn’t think of the Communism of the Reds as the NWO’s ultimate goal—it isn’t (as evidenced by watchdog groups like the John Birch Society, named for a intelligence officer/Baptist missionary killed in WW2 by Chinese communists—the wrong type of Communists, just like the American ones rooted out in the 1950s by Tailgunner Joe McCarthy). They just needed two sides equally matched to finally duke it out after the third world war, which would be focused on the Zionists and Muslims (i.e., the troubles with Israel and Palestine).

You need a Magog for the new Crusaders to fight once they are done with their current annihilation of the Gog of Iraq and Afghanistan (loose labeling, with some overlap, but it’ll suffice). Ritter’s work was taken up by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, whose ideas helped foment WW2 Nazism. Before the Big Shooting began, though, FDR opened wide the doors to world bankers in 1933 (because it’s always, Always, ALWAYS been about the cash). When FDR went to Lake Leman in Switzerland (where the last known head of the Prieure de Sion had a home) to hash out the Marshall Plan, one of his two closest advisors was the financial wizard Bernard Baruch, who was a graduate of a French hermetic school and a disciple of George Gurdjieff, a Cathar-like mystic. Baruch had previously advised Woodrow Wilson and was an architect of the NWO.

Socialism and the writings of Marx have been praised by the heads of the CFR and the TLC—the Federal Reserve Act and the graduated income tax came directly from Marx and were enacted thru Wilson’s other master—I mean advisor—Edward Mandell House, who started the CFR in 1921. The TLC was headed by Zbigniew Brzezinski in 1970 at the appointment of David Rockefeller, who had read his book praising Marxism and the one-world government. Jimmy Carter, that rags to riches peanut farmer-turned-US President, was a disciple of ole ZB’s and a founding member of the TLC. ZB became his national security advisor.

For a slam-bang finish to all of this I turn to none other than Mr. Bill Clinton, where it all comes together—Rhodes Scholar (named for Illuminati linchpin Cecil Rhodes), TLC, CFR, Bilderberg, and Senior [Order of] DeMolay (an organization modeled on Freemasonry—like with his use of pot and his affairs, no one knows for sure if he went all the way). There are those who say he’s the illegitimate son of a Rockefeller, heartily adopted by the Rothschilds.

Wouldn’t that be a kick.

The world is smack dab in the middle of a game of three-card Monte where the one you choose is being palmed and you keep laying down the rent money in the hopes it turns around.

reflections of the angel falling upward on his 44th birthday and another (fake) election


Waiting for the right vibes beneath the undulating floorboards of a post-Sandy New Jersey of the mind makes me soggy, less inclined to write and fight.

Bono singing “I am the Walrus” will have to do.

And do nicely, thank you.

Don’t believe in H1N1 scare-tactics. The season’s coming up.

It just might be that there are nano tracking devices in the injections.

Or just plain old mercury and formaldehyde.

Don’t believe that everything is going to be alright.

Sure the recession looks like it’s over—just in time to solidly re-elect the princely pawn of the New Technic—now it’s something new. A consolidation of wealth.

90 percent of black kids will be on food stamps in their childhood. That is a failure of this government to the EXTREME.

Who is behind the meteoric rise of Barack Obama? That’s a question worth getting real answers to, cause those self-same bastards are gonna own you. Start with Rahm Emanuel, add water, bring to a boil and you’ll see what will appear.

Al Gore’s making hundreds of millions and just about a billion on a greener environment.

Someone should stick a Mental Advisory—Skewed Lyrics sticker on anything he says from now on (as some have been for quite some time), starting with his books and films.

Donating all the profits to an Environmental Group, Al? I hope fucking so.

Stop with the Twilight and Vampire Diaries nonsense. Teenage girls need to realize that unless they wanna kiss old men, teenage boys are going to be everything teenage boys always have been, and they just need to Deal.

You think vampires are romantic?? Sexy??? We are NOT! Our skin stinks. We are of the Grave. We put worms within your Wombs. Find that appealing? We hypnotize you, not to be all Langella-like but because you wouldn’t let us near you otherwise.

Yeah—Langella. The sexiest movie vampire ever. AOL leaves him off and puts Tom Cruise and this Pattison brooder-boy in their top 10. Please. At least pretend to be rationale. Just to fool the fool-able. Pattison took back the trampire cause it’s good for movie business.

That’s a completely different kind of blood-sucking.

We only brood when we’re questioning god. We don’t pine for you. Just your blood. And you are not your blood.

You’re Tupperware, girls. Nothing more. Not to us.

And your fascination with homosexuals…they see you as drinking buddies, confidants. Not possible partners in life.

Respect who they are. And that might lead to self-respect as well.

Hold your male peers to higher standards, by all means—teenage boys need that—but don’t dance on the dipping dancefloor of TOO HIGH EXPECTATIONS.

As Shakespeare once said, You yourself are “not for all markets,” babe. As a matter of fact, you’re an out to lunch, self-centered, overly dramatic pain in the balls a lot of the time.

Just ask your parents.

Why are priests and nuns being quietly murdered the past four years? Ask yourself this question, and then pursue the most likely answer. The least likely is a pure con. Trust me on this.

It’s almost time to get the sand out from between my teeth and toes. Gonna take that long, public ride in the bright midnight of Jim Morrison and Edgar Allan Poe.

But I’m gonna sleep awhile longer, amigos and madres.

At least thru the premiere of the latest (and thankfully—hopefully—last) Twilight film.

Planner Forthright, The Angel Falling Upward

“(Con)spiritus Sancti 3: [Illuminati]on, Part 1”

“The devil is only a convenient myth invented by the real malefactors of our world” (Robert Anton Wilson)

“. . . there are periods of history when the visions of madmen and dope fiends are a better guide to reality than the common-sense interpretation of data available to the so-called normal mind. This is one such period, if you haven’t noticed already.” (Robert Anton Wilson)

Do you remember the police brutality and hostile protests in Miami over the FTAA a few years ago?

What’s the final threshold to be crossed before the match is lit and the bastards burn it down—turn all the cities of the world into burning odes to Nero’s, as the appropriately named Club of Rome might want? How many jagged-glass windows must be dressed in pearls of Innocents’ blood?

And who are those bastards of which I speak? If you believe the police and media, it’s black and Latino males and their gangs, but that’s a load of shit—the lower economic class of which they are a part is reaching upwards into the realm of affecting things only occasionally—especially now when a drive-by can fall under the terms of TERRORISM. …Not that these loose associations of disenfranchised, disowned teens are trying to affect the larger world beyond their turf—they’re too busy just trying to survive.

And that’s the whole design.

Keep a minor threat manageable and relatively harmless but make it appear to be a massive threat to national security and you keep your law enforcement agencies and court system looking like they’re chock full of trod-upon heroes, trying to turn the tide, no matter how biased or harsh they get. You know the realities and origins of the rampant drug trade, the growing poverty class, unaffordable education, the prison–military–industrial complex—they’re all key components of State Control and government oppression. Old News. So why, you ask, do I bring this up now, with so many other, more pressing matters (global warming, shrinking gas and oil supplies, a farcical/Imperialistic war, the Presidential “Election” [the next round of Who’s the Public Face of the Private Cash Machine, etc.) at hand?

Because it’s the backdrop for everything that’s to come.

There’s an increasing visibility to these things. The stronger the State becomes, the less clandestine it makes its operations. That’s what we’ve got here—a mood of fear and distrust of the Other that has allowed the world’s most powerful government, in conjunction with affluent, elitist organizations like the Bilderberg Group, the Trilateral Commission, the Council on Foreign Relations (and the rest of the so-called Illuminati network of the Round Table) to manipulate global affairs in such a way as to create Discord and War in the short term so they can enact policies and legislation that will make them more dangerous and lethal to the common folk than the supposed Enemies ever were. These groups are financed by banking institutions like Rothschild and Lazard Frères, who have connections with the Synarchist International and Banque Worms financial and industrial cartels that backed the fascist elements in the Vichy regime in France during World War II. These are the people who have dismantled the auto, airline, and steel industries in America thru the changed bankruptcy laws and have driven up the price of oil, natural gas, and electricity, all to enact their vision of a One-World Government. Consider the financial crippling of the postwar Weimar Republic that led directly to Hitler’s ascension (he was, so I’ve heard, a Rothschild) and the creation of the Jewish state in Palestine—a recipe for Holy War and Apocalypse if there ever was one. And the men behind the throne (schemers like Edward Mandell House, Rahm Emanuel, and Karl Rove) have these organizations behind them.

No one wants to believe in presidential bloodlines akin to the Grail and the existence of power-brokerage clubs where the powerful’s offspring go to learn the ways of the secret infrastructure; when names like Felix Rohatyn and David Rockefeller come up, people balk—it’s all too fantastic to believe.

If you were doing things in secret, isn’t that how you’d want it to be? It’s classic misdirection—absurdity is the great delegitimizer, but let’s be real—

What’s more absurd than Life itself?

Those who dig deep and seek to share their findings are labeled paranoiacs and conspiracy theorists and are left discredited even as their predictions play out.

Or, in extreme situations, they are killed.

Take Congressman Larry McDonald, who called for an investigation of the TLC and CFR in 1981 and then died with 268 other passengers on Korean Air Lines flight 007 under the typical “mysterious circumstances.” There are Bills that have gone thru the twin congressional houses of Wealth and Privilege that are so blatantly elitist and corrupt one has to wonder how those politicians feel safe enough to walk the streets. I guess by allowing abuses like those in Miami—barricades and bully lines. Plain-clothed enforcers with tasers and iron fists. It seems so far afield from what you hear on the quadraphonic Blaupunkt—that all this WTO and NAFTA difficulty is some beanpicker’s problem that’s not your heart’s to bleed. But the middle class is shrinking and it ain’t from upward moves…

A growing number of white males are seething at a slow, steady boil—I’ve heard grumblings at the counter of the local breakfast joint about the Infiltration of the Minorities and about Affirmative Action and the quota system. Grumblings rife with words of which their mommas won’t approve but their preacher probably does. And I’m not talking about any Mason–Dixon madness—this is an all over and all around resurgence. But it’s aimed in the wrong direction—“When you get to the bottom you go back to the top of the lies…splice…times…slide.” That slippery fuck of a children’s playground piece. Right down to Miami so crammed full of Cuban refugees turned entrepreneurs and yet quite pointedly, there were 54 countries at the table and Cuba wasn’t one of them. That’s a statement quite clearly made and yet almost completely overlooked.

I’ve been hearing some interesting talk as of late (and for many years, truth be told)—that I could be in danger because I dare to write about these things. Me—a fallen angel, pseudo-human vampire! Some have said that these shadow-government types might get wind of my loathsome Leftist ideals and try to convince you that I’m real—real like Iraqi WMDs, African uranium, Pakistani plutonium (and every other military ruse and play on words), and as out of my mind as all the other conspiracy-hawkers whose constructs contradict their own.

Jesus told the Essenes not to be of nations but of Spirit and yet the great Ultranationalist state is run by right-wing Christians looking to deem anyone not of their mind Terrorists, Deviants, Murderers, and Anti-Christs (not real antichrists, mind you—the Church tends to excommunicate those who have Visions of angels and imps). But you don’t have to take the word of a demon like me—you’ve got other choices—radio stations, grassroots Web organizations (I’m no one’s PSA—spin the dial, do a search, and you’ll find them—at least for now). There are plenty among you who do not reside beneath flags, slogans, anthems, presidents, political parties, or multinational conglomerates. It seems the Biggest, Purest truths are those that suck the hardest and loom largest before one’s eyes. Knowing who’s the Savior and who’s the Antichrist is the key to toppling the towers that set the Low Man low.

(Con)spiritus Sancti 2—Tales of the Triple Godless: ELF, GWEN, and HAARP

(Con)spiritus Sancti 2—Tales of the Triple Godless: ELF, GWEN, and HAARP

Some of you seemed interested enough in my last Blog to warrant a similarly themed follow-up. I’m standing on the shoulders of giants here, with all this talk of Mental Manipulation—and none of them are the friendly, vegetable-hawking types.

For some 50 years or more the governments of the US, UK, and Russia have been manipulating the Ionosphere and the Schumann Resonance—the extremely low frequency (ELF) waves between it and the ground—which happen to be identical to the frequency of human brainwaves—about 7 Hz—at least, in their pre-manipulated state. Using something called High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program (HAARP), the guppies in the US government (at the behest of bigger fish) heat up sections of the Ionosphere, creating extreme weather (like the flooding of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers in 1993) and altering moods on a massive scale. The Russians have a version as well. By speeding up the Schumann Resonance they are in effect speeding up time itself—the way you all rush around like stoned, retarded ants has got to be proof enough that something Just Ain’t Right.

Not to leave out the wave energies of the earth itself, the government can use Ground Wave Emergency Network (GWEN) Towers to alter the geomagnetic activity along the horizontal plane by using copper wire to send out radio waves across large distances. HAARP and GWEN are a means to mind control because the unprotected human brain attunes to these frequencies without fail—and it doesn’t take an array of fancy towers any more, either. The frequency on which cell phones operate—400–450 MHz—creates a nice little window to the mind into which a lot more than your boss’s griping or your girlfriend’s sexy talk can enter. That’s right—between all of these manipulations you’re getting a wonderful selection of unwanted intrusions—suggestive voices in the head, ideas of being abducted by aliens (a classic misdirection to draw attention away from the real kidnappings), thoughts of the Second Coming and the Armageddon fires (that’s irony for you—a selection of world governments are actually doing advanced marketing for my own theatrical freak-show), wars in third-world countries, ill health (these guys can actually duplicate the vibration of a disease and send it out among the populace like phantom rats carrying a specifically implanted plague—as all plagues were, but that’s for another time).

All those odd little additives they put in your food and water—fluoride, aspartame—are facilitators to help the waves do their work (and you thought it was all about clean teeth and Nutrasweet being better for ya…). This is dangerous shit—not only are they inducing apathy and causing a hell of a lot of trouble, all toward their ultimate Endgame, but they are also cutting up the Akashic Record (that etheric layer of embedded info that holds all that was, is, and will be) and when it’s gone it’ll be like a videotape of the cumulative history of the entire sum of all that’s ever been was “accidentally” erased.

Now why would the bastards wanna go and do a crappy thing like that?

Think of the old adage: “History is written by the winners” taken to the next level—if you are gonna go as far as my Capitan intends, why rewrite it when you can wipe the whole thing out?

I have to say that not all energy-field manipulation is being used for ill-gotten gains. In the mid to late ‘90s, specially created coils, called Harmonizers and Acu-Vacs, were used to clean up pollution in Colorado and Arizona and smaller versions of the coils are used to try and rebalance what is being thrown out of whack.

But most of that research gets suppressed.

I can’t imagine why…

“(Con)spiritus Sancti, Part I—Mind Control and Manipulation as Government Policy”

You have to be in Hell to see Heaven. (William S Burroughs, The Western Lands)

If I am going to act as a proper agent provocateur for the coming Armageddon (and I am by no means sure that I’m actually going through with this…) I need to know about the crawling-ant entity that is Man, from the smallest minutia up to the grandest schemes and manipulations.

Time is short, and I’ve needed to learn from the best. The following is a sample of what I’ve found.

Using a sensory deprivation chamber of my own construction (details of its inspirations, creation, and operation are available in Minor Confessions of Angel Falling Upward—stop reading this free stuff and buy yourself a copy!) I have, on countless occasions, recreated and paddled through the psychic passage I came thru in 1968, amid the Bacchic rituals of the hippie counterculture and the rampant street warfare in the aftermath and midst of government operations like COINTELPRO—engineered by J. Edgar Hoover and the rest of the Purple-Assed Baboons like Burroughs’ Homer Mandrill who were focused on bringing down groups like the Nation of Islam, the Black Panthers, and the anti-‘Nam movement.

There were also darker, seedier “projects” like MK ULTRA and Operation CHAOS. All the CIA Mind Control projects of the shadowy government types (just before they went tech-nuts)—projects that had their roots in the Third Reich. You see, after the war, thousands of Nazi scientists, researchers, and administrators were smuggled into the US under Operations Sunrise, Blowback, and Paperclip. There was also another project—Monarch—which was a refashioning of the Nazi’s Marionette Programming, which used extreme trauma to induce Multiple Personality/Dissociative Disorder. But the Nazis aren’t solely to blame—the more primitive forms of mass mind control have their origins in the religious shackles forged by the Jesuits, the Vatican, and some mystery religions.

Dr. Mengele (who later worked in the US under the innocuous name Greene) refined techniques used during the Inquisition, which makes sense given that in the 1960s and ‘70s religious cults were the new testing ground for MK ULTRA. Enter Reverend Jim Jones (a Bible thumping faith healer who used chicken livers to show his sham removal of cancer) who just happened to be under the protection of a torture and assassination specialist trained thru the International Police Academy (a CIA front) who worked in South America. When Jones had to leave the States after a 1977 exposé on his practices turned up the heat on his twisted mission, the CIA helped him set up the People’s Temple (better known by the settlement name of Jonestown) in Guyana, a small country on the NE coast of South America.

Before leaving the US Jones was backed in California by the World Vision international evangelical order, another CIA front. John Hinckley Sr., an oil man and friend of George Bush, was an official with the WV. If the name sounds familiar it’s because his son was John Hinckley Jr., who tried to assassinate Reagan under the pretext of getting Jodie Foster’s attention. Four months earlier, Mark David Chapman, also associated with World Vision, gunned down John Lennon. Both assassins had copies of Catcher in the Rye, whose author, JD Salinger, worked with Kissinger in military intelligence in WWII (LH Oswald was another victim of programming, thru MK ULTRA, but I’ll skip the details here—I give you all the details in the book I’m writing now). Jones was also involved in California with the head of the Communist-hunting John Birch Society and leaders of the Republican Party, for whom his people conducted voter organization and fundraising for the Nixon ’68 campaign.

I should note at this point that George Bush’s father, Prescott, a senator from Connecticut who had been very tight with John Foster Dulles (a secretary of state), his brother Allen (a head of the CIA), and Pres. Eisenhower, had led a powerful group of businessmen in 1941 who backed Nixon for Congress (mission accomplished in 1946) and the Vice Presidency in 1952. In exchange for the work he did as part of his father’s cabal, George was made Chair of the RNC in 1973 after serving his time as ambassador to China in 1971 and it was Gerald Ford, who raised funds with him in the ‘60s, who made Sneaky George head of the CIA. His reign didn’t last long, but he got his revenge. Jimmy Carter’s decision to replace him with Admiral Stansfield Turner was the peanut man’s complete and utter undoing—if anyone in America is the national rep. for the shadow government called the NWO or Illuminati, it’s Herb. Turner later became a director of Monsanto, that wonderful chemical experimentation lab that gave the world aspartame (NutraSweet)—a poison pushed through for approval by the FDA by none other than Donald Rumsfeld (at least partially for its ability to prime the mind)—Bush 2’s one-time secretary of defense, who at the time was chairman of G.D. Searle, the company that held the aspartame patent. Curious that Monsanto got into bed in 1967 (just before I arrived) with I.G. Farben, who had made a lethal nerve gas for the Nazis.

And that’s where all this really clicks—one of the People’s Temple’s Board members was Dr. Lawrence Layton, former head of the Chemical Warfare division of the US Army—his wife’s father was Hugo Phillip, a German banker, stockbroker, and lawyer representing the likes of I.G. Farben and Siemens & Halske, the makers of cyanide for the Final Solution. So the Nazi–US mind control link comes full circle at last. Jonestown had a very modern and extensively outfitted hospital with a large supply of drugs used for Mind Control—Quaaludes, Valium, morphine, Demerol, Thorazine, sodium pentathol, chloral hydrate (for hypnosis), and thallium (which confuses thinking). Sensory deprivation in an underground box was also used.

Now back to Reverend Jim (okey-doke?). Here’s what you’ve probably heard—On November 18, 1978, 900 people committed suicide with cyanide-laced purple Kool Aid. In truth more than two thirds were shot, strangled, or injected (the needle marks were found by a pathologist from Guyana). It’s key to know that Jones’ cult was made up of Blacks, the mentally ill, wards of the state, and the poor, although management was all White. He fleeced his people and ordered the death of several “strays” prior to the Big Kill. California Congressman Leo Ryan, who had sponsored the Hughes-Ryan Amendment, which would have required the CIA to divulge secret ops to Congress, had just paid a visit to Jonestown to investigate alleged human rights abuses lodged by cult members’ families. He was gunned down at the airport after his visit by CIA Clean Teams and his amendment was later killed in Congress. Ironically, Dr. Layton’s son, who was a victim of drugs and brainwashing, was initially charged in the shooting but was later cleared. As for Reverend Jim, he probably survived—the photos of “his” body didn’t show any of his tattoos. Several other people associated with the People’s Temple were killed all over America in the years following the massacre but all anyone seems to remember is Kool Aid.

Ya f***in’ dolts.

Leave it to the U.S. to pointedly use dangerous substances (legal and otherwise) and depth psychology to find a means to ever greater Control—to feed LSD-25 into the streets just to see what the benefits could be for the stroke and stagger guys. Who knows what part who played? Huxley, Kesey, Leary, Lilly. Who could think amid the blaring alpha rhythms of heartbeat love rock, thumped out by acid trips, and wired visions of the holy, holy? Every van on the west coast had at least one sage and one con-man, and not even they knew which was which. It was the perfect time for us to Ascend, I’ll give my Capitan that…the mid-twentieth century—the coffee grinds at the bottom of the Piscean age—what the Hindus call Kali Yuga.

One last bit, and I’m gone: Anton Szandor LaVey had founded his Church of Satan in 1966, on April 30, Walpurgisnacht (the same day Hitler offed himself 21 years before). My “boss” was so ecstatic that a few weeks before he had one of his little patsies put in an appearance as the Jersey Devil and really go nuts on some guy’s farm—it was a ripped-up animal body count never, ever forgotten in those parts. LaVey had some far gone friends—Kenneth Anger, disciple of Aleister Crowley, who taught us all a thing or three. Some of Chuck Manson’s “kids” had ties with those guys, though LaVey loathed the hippies and cursed their asses good on the night of the Tate murders. That’s if you believe the lore, but considering some of the shit you swallow (and what I’ve just heaped on the plate), why not eat this sweet pie?

At least it’s sorta fun.

Babylonian Rants from the Anarchist Archives

“Now I understand what you have to do. Put your political message across with a little honey.” (John Lennon to Ray Coleman)


Religion is based on belief, while the true power of the Universe is not. All praise to Sarah Lawrence’s Old St. Joe of Campbell—Mythology and religion are inextricably intertwined, although it is the rare priest or rabbi or minister who will admit it. They’ve done everything they can to take the richness of the ritual and make it mere Simulacra. The conversion of the Mass from Latin to the home language removed much of its meaning, Universality, and power, but made it more palatable for the Casual Catholic (there should be no such thing; Catholism, by nature, should be strict: just as Father Joe). Same goes for the moment the priest turned toward the people and away from the Mystery. He may as well have broken all his vows. Baudrillard said that it was the degeneration of the ceremony from its original purpose of reflecting a profound reality, to then masking and perverting it, to masking the absence of it, to eventually having no relation to it at all. It’s my problem with Carlos Castaneda—by undertaking the ritual ingestion of hallucinogenics as mere Academic Investigation is to render the ceremonies Profane. Take a metaphor and try to qualify its greater ramifications or, even worse, make it historical fact and there you have religion.

Ask your typical Bible-reader—did Jonah really reside in the whale? “Of course,” comes the reply, “it says so in the Bible.” So begins the Greater Sin. Make a literal determination and you completely MISS THE POINT. We are all Jonah, all having our doubts and going down into our subconscious (AKA whale or dragon or snake or lizard or swamp or cave or pond) to wait or fight or think. Recall the old PSA of the “Indian” [the actor was actually Italian] walking among the litter on a crowded highway stretch, his horse following behind, a tear upon his cheek. Does reverence for nature only reside with the ancient tribe? Must one be Navajo or Sioux or Pueblo or Cheyenne to understand the ways of the Pollen Path, the Good Red Road? Some elders say yes, while others allow the Wasichu into their circle under clever names that separate more than include. Nature’s powers are most assuredly manifest in the clothes and sacred items of these people and their Holy Men and Shamans, but can’t anyone take part? Can the safety pin in the leather jacket mean as much as the tobacco leaf in the medicine pouch or the buffalo bone and eagle feather woven into the hair? In each of us there resides the sacred totem animal of inner power, be it bear, wolf, snake, eagle, hawk, turtle, buffalo, raven, elk, horse, or any other and the sum of all.

And while we’re on the subject of religion as Corruption, consider this: there are four main Principles in the Islamic world: Brotherhood, honesty, the will to work, and proper recompense for labor.

Why the hell aren’t these chickens in everybody’s pot? Why should brotherhood, honesty, productivity, and prosperity be tied to a Religion?

Easy: To make sure they are only Principles and not realities….’Cause the same clerics and wise men touting these very ideas will also tell you (and with a straight face) that freedom cannot exist in every instance—that one must bend to Allah’s will—be drunk and awed by Allah’s will and follow his every word, without applying to it one shred of your own sense.

Brothers and sisters, it don’t take a stone-cold Atheist to realize that if Allah’s will is to kill or convert everyone who ain’t an Allah-ite, then Islam really isn’t about those four Principles at all. So somewhere, somehow, all these great ideas got soiled.

Without these four Principles in the foreground, Islamic theology is just about more Dominion, the same as all the others. The same ideas in different robes of prayer. Call the main players Buddha, Jesus, Mani, or Mohammed—it doesn’t matter; all of their stories overlap and borrow from the others—especially those of Jesus and Mani. Take a man with an inkling of piety and make him Divine, and milk it for everything you can and all you’ll be left with is a dried up husk of a herded, cowish religion.

As long as history is the pissbucket-boy to theology, you’ll be faced with forced contradictions and Holy Wars.

“As it is in Heaven, so shall it be on Earth.”

“Science and the Mass-Man”

At the second decimal God disappears. (Erwin Chargaff)

I’d like to talk to you about Science, my friends. If you are to understand the origins of Evil, and from where it is that my adversary, the Cornu, truly came, then we must include in our ongoing conversations not only the theological, spiritual, historical, political, musical, and literary but the technically scientific. And, in order to understand the science, you must by needs have an understanding of the scientist. The scientist is, generally speaking, disconnected from the world he has been at the forefront of creating. The nature of scientific exploration has steadily grown to the point of ultra-compartmentalized specialization with little communication across fields, strengthening the image of the nerd in the white coat toiling away in his after-hours lab. But advanced science requires advanced Ethics—no wonder we are once again entering the realm of the Victorian-era megalomaniac scientist. In the early days of philosophy, and through most of the 19th century, the scientist was also a philosopher—Aristotle and Goethe certainly come to mind. They were men of Arts as well, seeing the connections between all their seemingly disparate fields of study. Stephen Hawking says science advances so rapidly now that researchers must look at tiny areas, devoting their entire lives to a single equation or subset of physical problems. (Necessity and morality rarely go hand in hand.) Ortega terms this new breed of scientist the mass-man, who favors the singular over the multitude, but his singularity seems to have nothing to do with Oneness but is ironically a highly fractured singular-ness. It sounds highly self-serving—like US foreign policy. No coincidence there. He knows only his piece of the Universe, yet knows it better than anyone—and he guards his secret like a lioness does her cub. He is the propagator of Newtonian mechanics—a ridiculous belief in a clear cause-and-effect relationship stemming from rigid laws of Universal governance and the predictable behavior of matter. But the mass-man’s heresy is the disconnect between science’s Reductionism and spirituality’s Wholeness that quantum physics seeks to overcome, thanks in great measure to the writings of Michael Talbot and Fritjof Capra. The problem with the mass-man is that he gains such confidence from his small success that he wishes to pervade the rest of the world with his genius. Karl Popper, the Austrian philosopher of science, and in direct opposition to Thomas Kuhn, felt science [as also politics, art, and business] must continually question its paradigms and therefore itself and its propagators rather than having (per Kuhn) the occasional, although inevitable, reevaluation, usually post scandal or fraud. Many scientists have won Nobel Prizes for theories later proven to be wrong. No one asked them to return the medal or the money. Are scientists merely to be solvers of riddles, the way priests are facilitators of faith? Popper even used the word indoctrination. You must, must, must question everything, all the time—be Shaw’s unreasonable (wo)man.

I took it upon myself to contact the editors of a certain journal that dances in this valley of which I speak some years ago (they recently published an article on this reductionism vs. complexity debate) because I thought that I could help their wholeness vision, but I was ignored—obviously non-specialists need not apply. I’ve found similar closed doors in other organizations and lecture halls due to the fact that my degree, in line with my illness, is non-terminal. The famous biochemist Erwin Chargaff, at the forefront of human genome research, has spoken out about the Hegelian danger of reductionism in his chosen field, one of particular interest to me for reasons I find it prudent to not yet reveal. He says the great theoreticians (the wizards) are gone, as are the scientists (the apprentices) so that only the mindless, wooden technicians (the broomsticks) remain. So why piss on the passion of Moreau or Jekyll when turning the keys over to those who just want to solve the puzzle, like an accountant with the Sunday Times crossword? No more using stacks of statistics to replace a sense of moral obligation to make things better. They now grant educational qualifications with no thought of or emphasis on the moral ones. The scientist who will work on the level of the human gene must not confuse himself with the detached auto mechanic, or even the professionally distant surgeon. The Greeks called science Philos Sophia (Lover of Wisdom), but now it’s all about the prizes and prestige. To be a biochemist one must be a philosopher, a spiritualist, a shaman, as were the alchemists and mystics of old. In other words, a little superstition and fear of the Gods is a good and necessary thing.

For this reason, coupled with an abnormally large intellect, I am perfectly suited to the task.

Intelligence organizations suffer from the same tunnel-vision and misguided morality (which is no morality at all), which manifests as the refusal to share information or cross-reference with other entities, so the terrorist cell-structure (appropriately named, given Chargaff’s concerns) will always have the upper hand. And the analyst and researcher share equally the pressure from higher up (the same as priests) to not only work on what is preferable but to find the preferable answer—the one that will ensure continued funding or win a re-election. You wanna keep your job, you best work the Party Line. Just more pawns sacrificed in the fight to protect the king. But there are two questions it’s time you ask:

1) Is the king worth protecting?
2) Why are you all so quick to believe anyone who calls him- or herself a scientist?

Morally devoid science has pervaded life from pre-birth to post-death. And you wonder why everything’s fallen to shit? Why Yeats’s center cannot hold? The suppression of the truths of global warming is perhaps the greatest modern example—it took a group of professional comedians on a TV special some years ago to draw attention to the work of moral, serious scientists. Me—I would have emailed streaming video of polar bears eating one another to every wired bastard on the planet with the caption: “How long before this is you?”

Luckily though, there is, in addition to people like Chargaff, the modern day Goethe–Aristotle, Edgar Morin, and his ideas on Complexity. He reminds us that all the jargon and closed associations (the ones who seem to keep losing my email and phone numbers) put the scientist in an ivory tower of mystery. They truly are coming full circle to the days of Alchemy but with none of the spirituality or true transformation.

They’re turning the gold back into lead…


Why does the Devil have all the best songs? (Fran Landesman, “Bums Never Get Bald”)

So, as the Stones have said, allow me to introduce myself, and tell you just what it is that’s going on.

I’d been layin’ low, and many of you might not know me.

I wasn’t always a vampire antichrist. For countless millennia I traveled the ether, free and unencumbered. I answered to no one, and no one cared to speak to me. Then, in 1968, in a moment I shall never forget, everything I had ever known and been was ripped away, and I became, in the very weakest of categorizations, a Man.

The details of this twisted act of transformation are available in my brand new book, Minor Confessions of an Angel Failing Upward. Within in its pages, you’ll learn all about the How. For the purposes of this Blog, I’ll talk about the When.

A caveat—I say I was “born” in 1968, although it’s merely a means of putting it all in context in a way you’ll understand. In truth, we etheric spirits—angels and demons—favor older, more complex means to mark the passing breath-beats of time. (Thru the Great Irony that is the key to the Last Lock, Bill Shatner released his monologue and spoken word album, The Transformed Man [double Italics for title and emphasis], that year. “I…go…flying…so high…when I’m…stoned.”) It was a year of political, spiritual, artistic, and mystical mayhem and the results were always, ever interesting, if not dangerous and at times sobering as the whole illusion of free love and major Togetherness and undoing the Establishment all came undone in a haze of swelling violence. Richard Milhaus Nixon was elected on November 5—I got here the day before—but by then the ball was already well on its roll.

It was the year of the bullshit trial of Father Daniel Berrigan and the Catonsville Nine for burning draft files in a Maryland parking lot in protest of the Vietnam War. (Six months earlier a few of them had been sentenced to six years in a Federal Pen for pouring a mix of their own and animal blood over draft files in Baltimore. That’s the awesomely symbolic, religiously potent kind of action that might just turn the tide should it begin again.) Violent days indeed. Two extreme examples: The first is the assassination of MLK and RFK in April and June, damn near two months apart to the day. Truly sublime expressions of the fear of change. The second is as ridiculous as the first is sublime—the shooting of Andy Warhol two days before RFK went down by a mad femme named Valerie Solanas, author of the SCUM Manifesto, a piece of radical men-hating trash that some idiotic douche-dolts still want to read.

I’ve always been a musician and lover of mad music (though I never played angelic harp), and Musica Symbolica marked the times. The Rolling Stones wrote “Sympathy for the Devil” in ‘68, but I’d be a poor pug indeed to blame a gang of Atlantic-isle potheads for my Transformation into this Thing that I am.

Then there was the famous Fab Four—The Beatles. Even if you throw out all the carefully constructed theories and album-clue tidbits about Paul McCartney dying and being secretly replaced by one William Campbell (blew his mind out in a car Nov, 1966, the same month John met ole loco Yoko), there is still so much magical and mystical about these wunderkinds and their late 1960s adventures before the Big Breakup, when they tried so hard to Let It Be but couldn’t, that it bears some detailed text.

In early ’68 the boys from Liverpool engaged in a ten-day self-medication meditation hosted by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. They dug on it so deeply that they hopped a plane in February and went to Rishikesh, India to the Yogi’s incensed digs. A place to get away from the rat pace and the LSD and get a little mind cleansing with the Always-Laughing One. Brian Epstein had died several months before, and they were looking for relief. The boys wrote dozens of songs during the months they were there—lots of which wound up on The White Album, released (unleashed?) the same month as I. Catch that? The album Charles Manson used to fuel his delusions of world domination was composed mostly while its authors were meditating for days on end at the foot of the Himalayas. [Add in the Maharishi and Manson both being chummy at times with the Beach Boys, lightly chill, and serve.] Just take a listen to “Sexy Sadie” (a much kinder version than originally written) and “Piggies.” If you consider John and George to be the most deeply spiritual (they lasted the longest on the banks of the Ganges—four months), that’s quite a little dig on the sex-nutty Maharishi and what really goes on in those cooped-up TM ashrams. The boys got duped—they weren’t the first, weren’t the last, and at least they admitted it was as much their fault as his. Deify anyone (including a deity) and you’re bound to eat some shit.


In the summer of ‘68 my all-time favorite enlightenment-seeking band—The Doors—was doing pretty well. Waiting for the Sun, with Morrison’s aborted attempt at completing “The Celebration of the Lizard”—was #1 and so was their song “Hello I Love You,” and yet Jim wanted to quit and Ray came on like an overbearing yet well-meaning father presiding over the battle for Jim’s soul—an interior battle, same as mine. Perhaps that’s my great interest in James Douglas Morrison—his psychic rift, his split personality and conflicting behaviors, and how he danced so precariously on the tightrope between them.

He truly was a genius—well read, highly poetic, a student of shamanism. I was in the audience at several of The Doors’ shows before my Transformation in November—Boston, Chicago (a damned fine night, with pieces of “Celebration” and Jim inviting the audience to take off their clothes and roll around the aisles), the Hollywood Bowl (Jim wearing a cross and Jagger in the shadows), Queens, Cleveland (Jim drunk and belligerent as he would be in Miami in ’69, trying to get the audience to do something other than just enjoy the show; “Five to One” always juiced him up—“Get together, one more time”; and “When the Music’s Over”—“We want the world and we want it NOW.” Fine. Question is, was anyone sober and straight enough to figure out what the hell to do with it?), Philly, Frankfurt, Stockholm, and, thru a great concentration of energy and will before my form became too solid to manipulate for many years to come, I even attended the Minneapolis show six days after my Transformation. I think the engineer of my Man-time only allowed it because it served his purpose—sort of like how rap music and some seemingly subversive films are “tolerated” by the US government because they allow it to present an illusion of freedom.

I enjoyed those shows.

Chicago was a haunt of mine between May 11, when the Doors played the Coliseum (exactly one month after Congress enacted the Anti-Riot Act, at the same time the Beatles were doing the so-called Esher demos for The White Album) and August 25–29 when Allen Ginsberg, Abbie Hoffman, Norman Mailer, Tom Hayden, Dick Gregory, Jean Genet, and William Burroughs were part of thousands-strong gatherings and rallies at Lincoln Park and the Coliseum and the riots surrounding the DNC at the Amphitheatre close by. Hoffman (and to a lesser extent the rest of the Chicago Eight—remember Black Panthers Chairman Bobby Seale being bound and gagged in the courtroom before getting his own trial??) is a true American tragedy and clear proof that any form of real Democracy will not be tolerated by the Powers That Be. Maybe he was juvenile (writing “Fuck” on his forehead—seriously?) but then again, getting arrested for that indicates juvenile thinking on both sides. Mayor Daley’s equivalent tirade of bad language after Senator Ribicoff’s remark about “Gestapo tactics on the streets of Chicago,” though not heard, was certainly seen by anyone caring enough to read his lips (a tactic everyone had to use again with George Bush’s tax plan, eh??). Daley’s later slip that “the policeman isn’t there to create disorder [but] to preserve disorder” is reminiscent of the Jesuit priests breaking up the pow-wows on the ceremonial grounds of the Lakota. Get together some youthful energy and naïveté, a dash of pure spirit, a little pinch o’ love, a dime bag of native plant power, some tie-dye, and a fistful of peonies and suddenly the Establishment gets all nervous.

When are you going back to the parks, all you new-millennium hippies and spirit-power people? Occupy Wall Street got me all hopes-up and hard, but it quickly fell to shreds. Maybe it’s time to really revive the lost ways and make the Establishment quake a little. You came so close to breaking free thru the music in those years—the great revolutionary rupture of chords and drugs and Love, Woodstock, the jagged anthems of the musical Hair. But your musical gurus fell like flies—Jimi, Janis, Jim. The “27 Club,” which has grown over the years to include, among others, Kurt Cobain, who might have planned it that way—he won’t return my calls. Still in all, both gods and devils love an irony. Morrison and Manson looking so similar…two sides of the same coin. One the killer would-be rock star, the other the rock star too soon killed. (Don’t read into that last word—I wasn’t there in Paris in 1971 and I don’t know the truth of the hows and the whys.)

So that’s the world I entered into. It’s been downhill ever since…