Archive for April, 2009

Chemtrails en el Aire

Wednesday, April 29th, 2009

WASHINGTON (AP) — The president’s new science adviser said Wednesday that global warming is so dire, the Obama administration is discussing radical technologies to cool Earth’s air.

John Holdren told The Associated Press in his first interview since being confirmed last month that the idea of geoengineering the climate is being discussed. One such extreme option includes shooting pollution particles into the upper atmosphere to reflect the sun’s rays. Holdren said such an experimental measure would only be used as a last resort.

“It’s got to be looked at,” he said. “We don’t have the luxury of taking any approach off the table.”

***

But Holdren noted that shooting particles into the air — making an artificial volcano as one Nobel laureate has suggested — could have grave side effects and would not completely solve all the problems from soaring greenhouse gas emissions. So such actions could not be taken lightly, he said.

Still, “we might get desperate enough to want to use it,” he added.

AP 4/8/09

After Holdren’s comments hit the net, he was quick to clarify, “Relax, dudes, it was just, like, an idea, okay?“  Nearly a year ago, the CFR brought in CMU’s Jay Apt and M. Granger Morgan for a Workshop on Unilateral Planetary Scale Geoengineering to discuss such ideas; last month, Granger also contributed to this Foreign Affairs article, which concludes, “It is time to take geoengineering out of the closet-to better control the risk of unilateral action and also to know the costs and consequences of its use so that the nations of the world can collectively decide whether to raise the shield if they think the planet needs it.”

If this tech is just “on the table” being debated by think tankers, that’s one thing; but if, rather, it’s in the sky being sprayed by tankers, I’d say that’s a whole different bucket of spiders.  As for the nations of the world collectively deciding stuff, this tends to happen clandestinely.  Maybe what Morgan is getting at is some kind of digital open global referendum…

_ Geoengineer my ass (the planet needs it)!

_ Don’t chemtrail me, bro!

Then Al Gore or whoever can declare that more people picked “Geoengineer my ass”, so “the shield” shall be raised by popular mandate… even though it appears it already has been.


“It’s a nuisance to you and I to determine what’s real and what’s not.”

Innit, though?

Thanks We Are Change Pittsburgh and Your Inner Vagabond for the free public screening of Aerosol Crimes yesterday.  The next movie night is May 27, so check their calendar in few weeks to find out what’s playing.

CHEMICAL CHORDS

There’s still no official video for Beck’s track “Chemtrails“, but there is one by Luca Maximilian for Iris Aneas‘ “Chemtrails en el Aire” which I really like.

Here’s a provisional translation of Aneas’ lyrics:

So much time believing that what we see

is composed of water and steam,

but perhaps it is not true

and there is something hidden,

some lines that could be deadly

in the sky/heaven and diagonally,

a network that expands through the air

and kills the sun in the end.

Today I am sad because

there are chemtrails in the air

and I think on my balcony,

Where is the blue sky?

Is it not depraved what is made

before us in broad daylight?

It isn’t all the same to me

to watch it in my city.

Look and verify it,

look and verify it,

some lines that could be deadly

in the sky/heaven and diagonally.

Above they say

they are testing the aerosol

but it kills the sun in the end.

I believed it was a simple plane

like a naïve fish in the sea

that found a shark

and the naïve one has been me.

Today I am sad because

there are chemtrails in the air

and nobody knows it

and I cry from my balcony,

Where is the blue sky?

Something like that.

The Calderón quip at the end of the video (A quién le daña el saber, homicida es de si mismo.) translates to something like, “One who harms knowledge is the same as a murderer.”

Cheers, Iris!

¡Cuídate!

I Think I’m a NWO Clone Now

Sunday, April 26th, 2009

I think I’m a clone now

I’ve been on Oprah Winfrey

I’m world renowned

Weird Al Yankovic

The W is Crowley’s grandson thing was pretty rad, but the First Fam are Eighteenth Dynasty clones thing is kinda even radder.

According to Brainstalin, Obama is also a reincarnation of Pope Leo (lion/sun) XIII (part of Akhenaton and Hitler’s “soul group”) and thereby resonant with the Final Fantasy VII character Red XIII.

Red XIII, real name Nanaki, is a red lion-like beast that serves as one of the playable characters in Final Fantasy VII. Red XIII was the name he received while being a specimen “owned” by Professor Hojo.

***

Red XIII joins Cloud‘s group sometime in December 2007 after being rescued from the Shinra HQ. They encounter him right as an experiment involving he and Aeris is taking place, in which Hojo is trying to coerce them to mate in order to “preserve” their species (Aeris being a Cetra), and provide him with new specimens to be used in his experiments. During his captivity, Hojo places a tattoo of the Roman numeral XIII on his left front leg as Hojo has injected him with Jenova cells in an attempt to create another Sephiroth Clone.

The Final Fantasy wiki

Nanaki ain’t that far off from “Anunaki” (sometimes rendered as “Ananaki”) and Obama (accompanied by Oprah earlier in that month’s campaigning) visited Cherokee and Sioux City, Iowa (not quite Cosmo Canyon, but still resonant) on Dec. 17, 2007.   The FF wiki gives “1959, exact date unknown” for Nanaki’s date of birth, making him 48 at the time of FF VII. Obama, ostensibly born in 1961, will celebrate his 48th birthday on 8/4 this year.

Might be time to dust off the Dune series.

¡Cuídate!

Card: How long before fringe marriagists use scalar WMD against Washington, Geneva?

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009

How long before married people answer the dictators thus: Regardless of law, marriage has only one definition, and any government that attempts to change it is my mortal enemy. I will act to destroy that government and bring it down, so it can be replaced with a government that will respect and support marriage, and help me raise my children in a society where they will expect to marry in their turn.

Orson Scott Card in Mormon Times 7/24/08

“Dr. Device is much more powerful. Nuclear weapons, after all, were weak
enough to be used on Earth at one time. The Little Doctor could never be
used on a planet. Still, I wish I’d had one during the Second Invasion.”
“How does it work?”
“I don’t know, not well enough to build one. At the focal point of two
beams, it sets up a field in which molecules can’t hold together anymore.
Electrons can’t be shared. How much physics do you know, at that level?”
“We spend most of our time on astrophysics, but I know enough to get the
idea.”
“The field spreads out in a sphere, but it gets weaker the farther it
spreads. Except that where it actually runs into a lot of molecules, it
gets stronger and starts over. The bigger the ship, the stronger the new
field.”
“So each time the field hits a ship, it sends out a new sphere–”
“And if their ships are too close together, it can set up a chain that
wipes them all out. Then the field dies down, the molecules come back
together, and where you had a ship, you now have a lump of dirt with a lot
of iron molecules in it. No radioactivity, no mess. Just dirt. We may be
able to trap them close together on the first battle, but they learn fast.
They’ll keep their distance from each other.”
“So Dr. Device isn’t a missile — I can’t shoot around corners.
“That’s right. Missiles wouldn’t do any good now. We learned a lot from
them in the First Invasion, but they also learned from us — how to set up
the Ecstatic Shield, for instance.”
“The Little Doctor penetrates the shield?”
“As if it weren’t there. You can’t see through the shield to aim and
focus the beams, but since the generator of the Ecstatic Shield is always
in the exact center, it isn’t hard to figure it out.”
“Why haven’t I ever been trained with this?”
“You always have. We just let the computer tend to it for you. Your job
is to get into a superior strategic position and choose a target. The
shipboard computers are much better at aiming the Doctor than you are.”

Ender’s Game Ch. 14

For the record, I oppose any and all legislation pertaining to Eros, Philos, or Agape, and would like to see Control get out of the marriage racket altogether, and just rape our souls and pick our pockets on an individual basis.  My political/religious viewpoint diverges from Card’s rather drastically (he’s a Mormon Democrat War on Terror supporter; I’m an agnostic/gnostic armchair anarchist war unsupporter, particularly unsupportive of the War on Terror, or whatever it’s called now, and of the War Between the Ears [in case yinz were wondering]) but he writes really fun SF and fantasy, humbly and limpidly sharing tricks of his trade on his site, at workshops, and in How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy (which I recommend even to non-writer fans of either genre).

Orson, you’ll never lose points with me for putting your ideological cards on the table; just watch where you’re pointing that molecular disruptor.

¡Cuídate!

Bohemian Grove Cutups

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009

The last Bohemian Grove encampment took place in July 2008. Here’s an abridged schedule of events from the club’s program. Who knew the Grovers were so soulful?!

Saturday, July 12
9:15 p.m.—Owl Shrine—Cremation of Care
“Come join us as we raise the battle banners in the name of beauty, truth, peace and fellowship. Oh, Beauty’s Vassals, let us together seek the counsel of the Great Owl of Bohemia so that we may rediscover the wisdom needed to banish Dull Care once again!
‘Hail, Fellowship’s Eternal Flame!’”
[Around 9:30 p.m., V.F. reporter Alex Shoumatoff is apprehended.]

Monday, July 14
9:15 p.m.—Campfire Circle—“Sly Fox”
“Come enjoy an evening of laughter as we reprise this Broadway hit comedy. M*A*S*H creator, Larry Gelbart, provides a laugh around every crooked corner in this witty look at the workings of greed and lust. Come see why our jubilant City Club audiences gave this talented cast a ‘Standing O!’”

Wednesday, July 16
9:15 p.m.—Campfire Circle—“Sam Cooke”
“Sam Cooke was one of the founders of Soul Music with 29 top 40 hits between 1957 and 1965, including ‘You Send Me’, ‘Chain Gang’, and ‘Bring It On Home To Me’. Join some of Bohemia’s most soulful vocal and instrumental talent as we celebrate the music of this legendary singer, songwriter, publisher and producer.”

Thursday, July 17
10:30 a.m.—Museum Talk—“The Role of Nuclear in America’s Energy Choices,” John Grossenbacher, Vice Admiral, USN, Ret., Director, Idaho National Laboratory.

Friday, July 18
12:30 p.m.—Lakeside Talk—“Always Present: The Role of Religion in American Politics,” Hunter Rawlings, Professor of Classics and History, and President Emeritus, Cornell University.
9:15 p.m.—Grove Stage—“The Little Friday Night”
“This is the night that size does matter. Our ‘Little’ show takes over the BIG stage with BIG acts from Bohemia plus some surprise BIG names and that means BIG stars from the BIG time. Don’t miss our show, it’s really, well, BIG!”
[M.C.’d by Christopher Buckley.]

Julian Sancton, “A Guide to the Bohemian GroveVanity Fair 4/1/09

On a mission to purchase pig’s feet in the Strip District this afternoon, Jae Ruberto told me of a Vanity Fair article about logging at Bohemian Grove.  Here’s the paragraph with the double elevens.

I am here to investigate reports that the Bohemians have been desecrating their own bower. That nothing is sacred with these guys anymore. Everything is fair game. But how could the Bohemian Club, where California’s forest-preservation movement began, be logging its own land, which includes the largest stand of old-growth redwoods in Sonoma County? That’s what it did quietly from 1984 to 2005—11 million board feet, roughly 11,000 prime redwoods and Douglas firs. I imagine they don’t need the money. It costs $25,000 to join the club and $5,000 a year after that. A 150-foot redwood with a 27-inch D.B.H. (diameter at breast height) fetches only $850 these days, and a similar-size Douglas fir $450. Critics say to sacrifice these jewels for such small change is unconscionable. And for the last three years they have been trying to double the harvest.

Alex Shoumatoff, “Bohemian TragedyVanity Fair 5/09

When Jae related this story to me, I was reminded of the Bush fam’s alleged 2006 purchase of 99,000+ acres in Paraguay (historical home of Christ knows how many Paperclip Nazis, including “José Mengele”) near the Reverend Sun Myung Moon’s own little slice of earthly paradise.  As the owl is well out of the bag at this point with the Grove (thanks, in no small part, to another Grove-crashing Alex), I thought it would make sense for the PTB to flip the trees and move their shindig to Paso de Patria.  Having read Shoumatoff’s article and followed up a bit, though, the Grovers’ agenda no longer seems so clear-cut.  We’ll see what develops, and what can be augured from Dull Care’s ashes, this coming July.

Cuídate.

UPDATE, 6-22-09

Here‘s what happened to the piggies’ piggies, and some germane goofery from Colbert.

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Bohemian Grove
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Mark Sanford

Also, I recently found myself leafing through the Vanity Fair with Johnny Depp on the cover and found this:

Trouble in the Grove

I WAS SURPRISED to read that Alex Shoumatoff believes that, because he disclosed to the Bohemian Club his longtime friendship with one of our timber-management plan’s opponents, he did not have a journalistic conflict of interest. Such an association is, of course, a conflict, whether or not disclosed, and his lack of objectivity is evident throughout “Bohemian Tragedy” [May]. Furthermore, Shoumatoff separated himself from journalistic ethics by breaking the law in pursuit of his story when he trespassed at the Bohemian Grove. It is clear that Shoumatoff was more interested in settling a score with the club because of his embarrassing arrest at the Grove than he was in reporting in a balanced fashion.

For the record, our timber-management plan will effectively reduce the potential of a serious wildfire. It prohibits cutting of any old-growth trees, follows sustainable timber practices by restricting harvest levels of trees to well below the growth rate experienced in our forest, and enjoys the support of leading authorities in the fields of forest management and fire prevention as well as that of government agencies charged with the duty of reviewing our plan.

We would have been happy to engage with a reporter from Vanity Fair who did not carry with him the most obvious biases and conflicts of interest. Despite our honest efforts to engage in a constructive dialogue with senior editors, V.F. ultimately rebuffed any and all calls for journalistic objectivity. This resulted in a flawed and unfortunate article. Your readers deserve better. —JAY C. MANCINI, president, Bohemian Club, San Francisco, California

ALEX SHOUMATOFF RESPONDS: We seem to be going in circles on the subject of the Bohemian Grove’s so-called Non-industrial Timber Management Plan. The spin that Mr. Mancini is re-spinning here was dealt with in my piece. His only new claim is that the plan is sustainable. I have yet to see evidence that it is, but I would like nothing more than to be proved wrong. I take exception to Mr. Mancini’s assertions that the article was some kind of a vendetta against the Bohemian Club for my being arrested and that I was influenced by my friendship with Jock Hooper, the logging program’s most outspoken opponent. All Mr. Hooper did was to alert me to the situation. It was my attempt to get the club’s side of the story that brought about my belief that the club’s leadership was trying to hide something. I am proud to have committed, as a result, this little but necessary act of civil disobedience in search of the truth.

LettersVanity Fair 7/09

Props to everyone (yes, even the Phantom Patriot) who has infiltrated the Grove and to anyone considering doing so next month.  Seriously, cuídate!

JG Ballard died.

Monday, April 20th, 2009

As a child, he had witnessed the worst of man and the author’s works were filled with imagined horrors to come. But he kept a core of optimism, saying in a 2006 interview: “I think of myself as a kind of weather forecaster. I see stormy weather ahead.

“Those storms will pass but I just want to limit the damage.”

BBC obituary

BBC’s Emma North caps this (two minute and eleven seconds-long) tribute with the phrase, “strange new world order.”

It’s difficult to say, because I think he’s a writer of enormous richness, but he had a kind of paranoid imagination. He saw the world as a dangerous conspiracy by huge media conglomerates, by the great political establishments of the day, by a corrupt medical science which he saw as very much a conspiracy. He saw most of the professions, law in particular but also law enforcement, as all part of a huge conspiracy to keep us under control, to keep us down. And his books are a kind of attempt to blow up this cozy conspiracy, to allow us to see what’s on the end of the fork.

J.G. Ballard on William S. Burroughs’ Naked Truth

Ballard was born on 11/15/30 (11) and died at age 78 (15) on 4/19/09 (23) (yeah, I ditched the millennial and centurial digits… so?).

Read interviews with and articles about Ballard here and here or just read one of his stories.

As Ballard’s death fell on Bicycle Day and I heard the pop song “Crash into Me” [also on this infamous list] on a jukebox yesterday, here’s one of my favorite passages from Crash:

We left the airport through the exit tunnel, crossed Western Avenue and ascended the upward ramp of the interchange.  For twenty minutes I drove along the Northolt expressway, holding the car in the centre lane and letting the faster traffic overtake us on either side.  Vaughan lay back, right cheek resting against the cool seat, his arms limply at his sides.  Now and then his hands contracted, arms and legs flexing involuntarily.  Already I could feel the first effects of the acid.  My palms felt cool and tender; wings were about to grow from them and lift me into the speeding air.  An icy nimbus was gathering around the roof of my skull, like the clouds that form in the hangars of spacecraft.  I had taken an acid trip two years earlier, a paranoid nightmare during which I had let a Trojan horse into my mind.  As Catherine tried helplessly to calm me she had appeared in my eyes as a hostile and predatory bird.  I had felt my brains sliding on to the pillow through the hole she had pecked in my skull.  I remember crying like a child and hanging from her arm, begging her not to leave me as my body shrank to a naked membrane.

With Vaughan, by contrast, I felt at ease, confident of his affection for me, as if he were deliberately guiding me along this expressway which he had created for me alone.  The other cars passing us were present through an enormous act of courtesy on his part.  At the same time, I was sure that everything around me, the growing extension of the LSD through my body, was part of some ironic intention of Vaughan’s, as if the excitement suffusing my mind hovered between hostility and affection, emotions which had become interchangeable.

We joined the fast westward sweep of the outer circular motorway.  I moved the car into the slow lane as we turned around the central drum of the interchange, accelerating when we gained the open deck of the motorway, traffic speeding past us.  Everywhere the perspectives had changed.  The concrete walls of the slip road reared over us like luminous cliffs.  The marker lines diving and turning formed a maze of white snakes, writhing as they carried the wheels of the cars crossing their backs, as delighted as dolphins.  The overhead route signs loomed above us like generous dive-bombers.  I pressed my palms against the rim of the steering wheel, pushing the car unaided through the golden air.  Two airport coaches and a truck overtook us, their revolving wheels almost motionless, as if these vehicles were pieces of stage scenery suspended from the sky.  Looking around, I had the impression that all the cars on the highway were stationary, the spinning earth racing beneath them to create an illusion of movement.  The bones of my forearms formed a solid coupling with the shift of the steering column, and I felt the smallest tremors of the road-wheels magnified a hundred times, so that we traversed each grain of gravel or cement like the surface of a small asteroid.  The murmur of the transmission system reverberated through my legs and spine, echoing off the plates of my skull as if I myself were lying in the transmission tunnel of the car, my hands taking the torque of the crankshaft, my legs spinning to propel the vehicle forwards.

The daylight above the motorway grew brighter, an intense desert air.  The white concrete became a curving bone.  Waves of anxiety enveloped the car like pools of heat off summer macadam.  Looking down at Vaughan, I tried to master this nervous spasm.  The cars overtaking us were now being superheated by the sunlight, and I was sure that their metal bodies were only a fraction of a degree below their melting points, held together by the force of my own vision, and that the slightest shift of my attention to the steering wheel would burst the metal films that held them together and break these blocks of boiling steel across our path.  By contrast, the oncoming cars were carrying huge cargoes of cool light, floats loaded with electric flowers being transported to a festival.  As their speeds increased I found myself drawn into the fast lane, so that the oncoming vehicles were moving almost straight towards us, enormous carousels of accelerating light.  Their radiator grilles formed mysterious emblems, racing alphabets that unravelled at high speed across the road surface.

Learn by Ballard’s example: don’t drive while tripping, get prostate cancer, or (especially if you write it) despise (as the Telegraph claims he did, but which this 1968 interview belies) the term science fiction.

Drive safely on the backroads of the bardos, Ballard!