All posts by Jay Sunshine


huge_bs_flagI recently attended an educational conference here in North Africa and was intrigued by one of the presentations offered  by a gentleman working for the US Department of state from the local US Embassy which was entitled ‘Critical Thinking in the Classroom’.

My interest was initially quite innocent as I had taught English lessons to students and had always thought critical thinking was almost a seditious act in today’s world of political lies and media programming. I chatted with the fellow shortly before the start of the presentation and explained how, in a recent lesson using a student book which suggested various ways to change things about the local environment such as using social media or writing letters to local officials, my wish to encourage ‘critical thinking’ in students, could lead to increased citizen activism and a general improvement in the democratic process.

He smiled and nodded as if he agreed, and little more was said and no kindling of dark suspicion of his motives occurred to me at this stage.

The presentation began with a pretty standard ‘discuss with your partner’ moment, where we had to talk about instances of using  ‘critical thinking’ in our own classrooms.

I turned to a chap sat next to me and mentioned my recent adventures using a certain student text book, and I jokingly mentioned that despite eliciting various local issues in the city such as a lack of green-spaces and water pollution and ways we could attempt to involve ourselves as citizens such as protests and social media campaigns, we stopped short of flying the red-flag starting the revolution.

And the thought occurred to me, if ‘critical thinking’ as I understood it, was necessarily, to understand injustice and the corruption of society, then how would a gentleman from the US Embassy handle such a topic?

Changing minds….Why?

Soon enough, the deception became apparent, and I settled myself down to the realisation that I was about to witness a session of indoctrination into a particularly pernicious form of mind control which is prevalent in Schools all over the United States, particularly the KIPP (Knowledge is Power Program) High schools, which the speaker trumpeted as a ‘critical thinking’ school and  also a website was alluded to:

Some weeks following the presentation I investigated the website recommendation., whose tag line is, at the time of writing ‘How we change what others think, feel, believe and do.’ among other things, offers psychological advice on how to change people’s thinking. This seemed to be the crux of the speakers thesis, that we must ‘change’ what people think so they think what we tell them to think. There are many techniques suggested by the changing minds website, among which are the following particularly duplicitous and unethical suggestions:

Persuasion principles

Much of persuasion and other forms of changing minds is based on a relatively small number of principles. If you can understand the principles, then you can invent your own techniques. It thus makes sense to spend time to understand these principles (persuaded yet?).

  • Assumption: Acting as if something is true often makes it true.
  • Authority: Use your authority and others will obey.
  • Closure: Close the door of thinking and the deal is done.
  • Confusion: A drowning person will clutch at a straw. So will a confused one.
  • Contrast: We notice and decide by difference between two things, not absolute measures
  • Deception: Convincing by trickery.
  • Dependence: If you are dependent on me, I can use this as a lever to persuade you.
  • Distraction: If I distract your attention, I can then slip around your guard.
  • Framing: Meaning depends on context. So control the context.
  • Hurt and Rescue: Make them uncomfortable then throw them a rope.
  • Obligation: Creating a duty that must be discharged.
  • Perception: Perception is reality. So manage it.
  • Pull: Create attraction that pulls people in.
  • Push: I give you no option but to obey.
  • Repetition: If something happens often enough, I will eventually be persuaded.
  • Trust: If I trust you, I will accept your truth and expose my vulnerabilities.
  • Unthinking: Go by the subconscious route.

So we can see what kind of vision has been created for education policy both domestically and abroad. One which advocates changing students thinking, by fair means or foul. But what kind of ‘thoughts’ do they want students to have?

I also took a look into the KIPP charter programme being rolled out across America and seen as a model of good practice by the speaker. The organisation was set up in 1994 by Yale graduate and possible Bonesman, David Levin along with Michael Feinberg.  As of writing they have 144 schools in 20 states with a total or around 50,000 students, from largely poor and disenfranchised urban areas and a result of this is has charitable status.

Weaponised charity

I looked into this ‘charitable’ educational foundation and discovered that is was financed by several large social engineering foundations including the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation (3rd world eugenics programme), National Geographic  Education foundation (pushing the global warming scam) Goldman Sachs (international financial fraud).

Online educational journal ‘Schools Matter’ recently reported in its December 2013 issue, how one hundred grade 8-9 year old year 5 students, were forced to sit on the floor a single classroom for one week until they had ‘earned’ their desks. According to a teacher, students were forced to sit on the floor the whole length of the day, from Monday until Friday, until they were split into groups and sent to their respective classes. The length of the class day at KIPP schools is usually from 7:30 am until 5 pm, but in this instance the new students attended half days initially, this is still the best part of four hours in a state of discomfort for a period four days. This exercise somewhat makes me think of some of the images which were leaked into the media of Guantanamo bay prison in Cuba, where part of the prisoners’ brutal psychological conditioning involved being placed in positions of extreme discomfort for many hours of the day. This clearly is a favoured method to effect a subtle transformation. ‘Changing minds’ indeed.

Apparently these students were forced to  sit on the floor until they could follow instructions. A teacher present reports how the students seem to become frustrated and other staff had instilled fear in the students that they might not pass. Thus promoting a sense of uncertainty and fear which is the key base ingredient in any mind control process. The teacher present even describes it as a ‘mind game’. The method of course is completely illegal and is a highly unethical shortcut to ensure good classroom discipline. But at what cost? Some educational commentators describe KIPP schools as ‘military style boot camps, with drill sergeants’. What is more alarming is that the majority of students at these schools are children of colour, which has led some to describe this educational system as a new kind of apartheid.

The KIPP schools seem to have generated rumours and tales of brutality, tension and victimisation. Mike Feinberg, the co-creator of the KIPP programme, was reported to have thrown a chair threw a plate glass window in rage at an unsatisfactory apology from a student (Mathews 2009, 235-239). One wonders why the man was allowed to remain in a position of care with young children with such an explosive and uncontrollable temperament. One suspects the reason is he was a place man rolling out a government agenda, and as such, these people are beyond reproach and accountability.

The schools have a ‘no excuses’ policy, and any infractions are treat with in a summary manner, with offenders ritually ostracised from other students and forced to wear a label with the word ‘miscreant’ on it. Other students are punished if they are caught talking or communicating in any way with these students, either in school or out of school, and other students have a duty to inform or report on any students breaking these injunctions. So a culture of mutual espionage, surveillance and insecurity exists within the student body, which is only assuaged by total obedience to the rules.

Commentators have claimed that psychological this system creates ‘learned helplessness’ the same behaviour exhibited by beaten or tortured animals. The teachers similarly exist at the school under what one might term a state of duress with a 65 hour week including 2 hours a night of telephone homework assistance and the staff attrition rate is reportedly extremely high.  Much of the information relating to KIPP I have cited has been gleaned from the Schools Matter website, and I will quote the following directly which relates specific examples of abuse carried out at KIPP schools. This remember, is apparently the model for education for the children of the economically disenfranchised section of the community:

In the KIPP schools and the charter school knockoffs that continue to be inspired by KIPP, this forced separation between culture and socioeconomic class is required in order to draw attention away from the effects of poverty, which, in turn, exacerbates the kinds of callous cruelty by KIPP personnel acting with little oversight, while under unrelenting pressure to achieve the unsustainable. The “no excuses” ideology, then, not only ignores the documented and substantive effects of poverty on the poor, but it becomes the all-pervasive, blinding excuse for justifying dangerous, damaging, and morally-repugnant acts that, otherwise, would not be entertained in a society grounded by humane values and ethical rules of conduct. This pervasive “no excuses” mentality results in an authoritarian organizational model that spawns a dark moral nihilism (Hedges, 2009a) that gets played out against the most vulnerable children in schools that operate from public funds but without the benefit of any credible public oversight.

This moral nihilism would have terrified Adorno. He knew that radical evil was possible only with the collaboration of a timid, cowed and confused population.

More recently, other disturbing events have been reported by parents at the Fulton County KIPP (Vogell 2009), and still other more serious allegations involve excessive punishment, child endangerment, and violations of state and federal laws (Grannan 2009) by school officials at KIPP Fresno, a school that was shut down within a few months after Fresno Unified School District filed a detailed report (Fresno Unified School District 2008) with the State of California. Fresno Unified’s 63-page “Notice to Cure” alleged legal and ethical lapses at the school by the principal and staff that involved abusive treatment, risks to student safety, breaches in test security, copyright infringement, teacher credentialing irregularities, and mishandling of school funds. Among the long list of allegations in the “Notice to Cure” are these published by Grannan (2009):

. . . Student (name deleted) said that in December of 2007, Mr. Tschang [the school principal] told him to get on his hands and knees and bark like a dog. (Name deleted) said it was a metaphor to get him to stop joking around in class.

. . . It was reported by Kim Kutzner that students who were late to school would not be allowed to eat their meals provided by the state. Student (name deleted) stated that Mr. Tschang told her, “People who are late don’t get to eat.”

. . . Parent (name deleted) reported that Mr. Tschang took student (name deleted) glasses away from him because (name deleted) was constantly adjusting his glasses. (Name deleted) is totally dependent on his glasses and cannot see without them. Mr. Tschang admitted to taking (name deleted) glasses away.

At the time none of the above information was available to me at the time of the presentation, but with hindsight, within the context of what the speaker went on to say, a chilling vision for the future of global education was revealed.

Initially the talk seemed amiable enough with comforting and easily digestible platitudes such as ‘the art of analyzing evaluating thinking’ and exhorting teachers to ‘elicit ideas and provoke a response’.

All the while, during these early innocent minutes of the talk, I was busy taking notes and chomping at the bit to respond to any request for contributions with the examples of my evening class and their wish to end corruption in this country and the various ways they thought up to tackle this fundamental problem.  Corruption was something I know quite a bit about from my encounters and research into Freemasonry, though I wasn’t quite ready to stand up and denounce the Illuminati to someone who works for the US Dept of State. I would probably find myself on some ominous sort of ‘teacher non gratia’ list.

So when the speaker fielded a hypothetical situation for us to think about, where a student is asking a teacher if he can buy an A grade and the teacher agrees to sell one, and asking us as the audience who would be the corrupt agent in this transaction. Clearly to logic and common sense, it would be the teacher who would be corrupt since he is in the position to exercise his authority to undertake a duplicitous transaction, however this answer did not satisfy our friend from the US government, and instead he wanted us to realise that the student could equally be the ‘corrupt’ one.

It was at this point I started to see where this was heading, and like Worzel Gummidge, I changed my naive and receptive, and put on my conspiracy sleuth head and started taking notes in earnest, and trying to find the angle.

It was at this point, after the vaunting of Mr Jason Singer and his work at the King’s Collegiate high school in San Antonio, that he quoted the gentleman’s pronouncement on critical thinking activities, that they are ‘perpetually arguable’ and that there is ‘no right or wrong answer’.

Nothing is true, everything is permissible

Moral relativism anyone? How about child abuse…. should one engage their brand of so called ‘critical thinking’ on this one and declare that the rights and wrongs of child abuse are ‘perpetually arguable’ and that there is no ‘right or wrong answer’? In fact why not just boil down what these people are trying to do by removing the superfluous word ‘answer’ and declare that there is no such thing as ‘right and wrong’.

This my friends, is what is being taught in many American High Schools and this is what they would like us ex-pat teachers to teach in the schools we find in whatever country we travel to. The speaker himself is a very busy little bee, offering training and guidance to high-school teachers in this country, no doubt to whittle away their so called ‘prejudices’ about such quibbling trifles such as right and wrong, the existence of God, the moral implications of euthanasia, homosexuality, the importance of the family and our own immortal souls, and whatever else they can manage to destabilise and corrupt.

This however is not limited to the United States education system, which as we may or may not know, has its origins in the German theories of education which all came from the various Illuminati infested universities of Germany and were shipped over lock stock and barrel to the US, where at the same time incidentally, Yale University and its attendant ‘Skull and Bones’ German Illuminati society was created.

With my eyes opened I awaited with anticipation what he would come out with next. We were asked to discuss in groups of three, were one person would be the teacher and the other two would be students discussing for and against the proposition about war and whether it is necessary for a nation to use war to create peace or not.

Now there are two things I immediately noticed about this situation. First of all a representative from the US State Department working at the US Embassy was asking the audience, who were mostly Arab Muslims teaching English, and were attending a well mannered and largely enjoyable conference at a comfortable 5 star hotel, whether now was the time and place to bring attention to the obvious elephant in the living room. It must be a trap, best to put it out of mind for fear of offending the American, we do teach at American schools after all.

The second thing of course was the question was clearly loaded to the acceptance of a false proposition, namely the 1984 lie that ‘War is Peace’. So I started to realise, that this rather cleverly disguised ‘critical thinking’ concept, is nothing of the sort but in fact some kind of semantic game used in order to provoke the desired thinking in any students unfortunate enough to end up with a teacher who either knowingly or unknowingly, is trying to corrupt their thinking processes.

The question was answered from within the audience from what I believe was a plant. I had spoken previously with a colleague who was also doing a presentation and he regretted not having had the time to organise his own plants in the group in order to better demonstrate his aims. Another speaking I saw later that day also used plants to provide wrong answers to basic questions, so he could demonstrate his particular teaching method.

The gentlemen however who raised his hand and was selected to answer for our esteemed colleague from the US State Dept however was planted in the audience to give the ‘right answer’ or at least, the kind of answer which we as teachers, were supposed to accept to defuse these potentially trouble and contentious moral issues. He said the following: “The absence of tolerance in the world is the root cause of war.” Phew, glad that one was safely sorted out, because I always laboured under the distinct impression that American foreign policy was the cause of most war in the world. Still, having a member of the US government asking us about war is like having a cannibal asking us what we fancy for dinner.

We soon got to the meat of the issue. With the audience suitably dazed and acquiescent over the war question and our own critical thinking faculties shut down by our refusal to admit the presence of the elephant in the room, the esteemed speaker got to work pumping us with pernicious and sometimes, risible nonsense.

The method involved: probing assumptions, which is one can pretty much accept, then probing reasoning, well ok, I guess, but mostly people have a pretty good reason for their reasons.  Questioning viewpoints, surely one is entitled to a point of view? Probing implications, now this is where the dirt really starts because any idea has an almost infinite set of possible implications. But an implication is not the idea itself and the attempt to challenge someone ideas and beliefs based on drawing out limitless implications in psychological manipulation pure and simple.

Questioning questions

Finally, the road to hell and the final initiation into madness was complete with the last sentence: Questioning questions, namely:  why are you asking that question?  We were encouraged to challenge the very motivation for someone asking a question. So you see, what they call ‘critical thinking’ has very little to do with thinking at all, but more to do with acquiescence to moral relativism, the acceptance that we do not know the right answer and that therefore, it’s probably a good thing that the US bombs women, children and wedding celebrations, and also that asking questions itself, can compromise our own position of authority on any subject.

There are no right answers except OURS

Clever, fiendishly clever, also suitably ridiculous, but people tend not to notice once they have agreed to a concept, but they didn’t pull the wool over this old dog’s eyes. And so it went on, and it seemed to me to be only a matter of time before that old chestnut ‘global warming’ entered the room. But there was already more than enough hot air in the room! Ha, see what I did there. Anyway, and so it did, but this time however, the rules of critical thinking and ‘no right or wrong answers’ no longer seemed to apply. If one were of a cynical persuasion one might begin to imagine that when US Government policy is concerned, then the Government answers are the right ones, whereas say, if its some ideas and concepts the US Government wants to change, then those ideas and concepts are probably the wrong ones.

And so the US Government representative carried out an imaginary dialogue.

This is it verbatim.

“Student A said: ‘I think global warming is carried out by humans’ Great! That’s awesome. Can you explain why? Student B said: Another ice-age is going to happen anyway so who cares. Can you show me evidence of this.’

So clearly those who toe the party line get the softball questions and need not provide evidence, for which there is none anyway which has not been fraudulently concocted by the University of East Anglia following the exposure of the Climate-Gate emails. However, the wacky, off-the wall, dissenters, should be badgered to provide evidence.

An just to cement our understanding that certain topics be given ‘special treatment’ within the framework of this so called ‘critical thinking’, he added a hypothetical situation with a student declaiming that ‘sea levels were rising all over the world’. Now the next question a normal person would ask should be, are you sure, where is the evidence? But here of course, investigation and critical thinking is suspended, and the example critical searching question which he provided as an example ‘How does this affect our daily lives?’ was designed to strengthen the statement not to question it.

So I wrote this joker off as another shill for war and carbon credits and the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation charitable genocide of the world and decided to publish what they are up to out there, at large in the world.

Students were to be encouraged in what are termed ‘good habits of thought’, does this not sound dangerously close to ‘thinking the right thoughts’ ie, what the government want them to think? I think it does. We as teachers were encouraged to ‘change the students that we teach’. Really? Is it really our job to change people? Shouldn’t they figure things out for themselves and evolve at their own rate? And finally we were told baldly, that ‘their thinking is wrong’.

I wonder if this is an attempt to counteract the pernicious internet and the wealth of truthful information out there which anyone with a bit of time to spare can discover the truth about the international conspiracy, the rights and wrongs of our politicians and perhaps the question of Israel and Palestine.

Is this an attempt to inoculate students so they cannot be infected by the truth. To tell them that there is no truth and their ideas that they hold are wrong and the teacher, a teacher trained and paid for by the government, will guide you to discover what is real and what is not.

This attempt to export thought control abroad under the cosy misnomer ‘critical-thinking’, along with reference to unscrupulous methods as exhibited on the ‘changing-minds’ website, coupled with the institutionalised intimidation, bullying and mind control methods reportedly in use at the lauded KIPP schools, then we see a worrying picture of what might happen if this system of education is allowed to infiltrate within the indigenous systems of the various nations of the world, but for the moment, let us hope that it is merely contained within the bottle-neck of the international teaching conference circuit, and sensibly ignored by wise teachers.

Black, Edwin.  2003.  War against the weak:  Eugenics and America’s campaign to create a master race.  New York: Dialog Press.

Burrell,Clay. 2009.  Framing teachers: Bill Gates’ Disturbing TED rhetoric. (accessed June 1, 2009).

Grannan, Caroline.  2009. Excerpts from report on Fresno KIPP school: Abuse, cheating alleged., February 21. n

Kozol, Jonathan.  2005.  The shame of the nation: The restoration of apartheid schooling in America.  New York: Crown Publishers.


The Art of Insanity

He awoke, and found himself once again in his own private nightmare. Outside the sound of cars scraping against the road told him it was time to get out of bed, the light had burst through his window and cut past ragged curtains to fill the room with a searching glare. He hated this time more than any other. The light had found him out again and he had nowhere to hide. He hated living and would always lay in bed as long as possible in order to try to recapture some small remnant of sleep oblivion but an hour later he was up and about with both feet on the treadmill. The treadmill took him slowly and painfully  to  a happy event somewhere on the distant horizon many years from now;  he’d spent all his life up to now waiting for it and would spend the rest of his life in the same manner. He was 26 years old he reflected, if he’s not careful about his habits, he might  only have to wait another 30 years or so. He thought of death with pleasurable anticipation even though it was a lifetime away.

As he yawned open mouthed he cursed the ineptitude of a certain someone.

Someone it seemed to him, had made a mistake, but this was a planet which revelled in its mistakes: it was these mistakes that made the world go around. The wrong people were always elected to govern the countries, the wrong people invariably rose to the senior positions in business and the wrong programmes were always on TV. People bought and read the wrong newspapers, held the wrong views and invariably said the wrong things. Everything was wrong here, even love failed to compensate, as we always ended up loving the wrong people in the wrong way.

His presence here too was a mistake, how else could he explain his presence on this impoverished suburb of the milky way, but there was nothing he could do about it except await the next transmigration and a better position. He showered and dressed without enthusiasm then he walked into the kitchen, took a fresh carton of milk from the fridge and tried with difficulty to open it, the results were the same as ever, he pulled at the cardboard hoping to take off a clean strip and pour the milk but with excessive force and a lack of manual dexterity a large piece of the carton was ripped off and the carton jolted sending milk onto the floor and onto his red jumper:

‘Bollocks” he exclaimed aloud  “you bastard!” He shouted at the carton. “Sod you” he threw the now ¾ full milk carton with force to the other side of the kitchen were it impacted with a splat against the wall, leaving a stain of milk running down the sunflower yellow walls, the carton fell to the floor and where it joined another carton which had shared a similar fate.

He closed his eyes and wanted to die right now. He willed himself to die, it was part of his morning ritual, though it never worked. He opened his eyes with a sigh, “God I hate this life!”.

Doctor Fournier looked around the room, and continued:

“Christophe’s  essential problem was that he was 26 years old and hadn’t learned how to ‘live’. He had not yet acquired the skill, the art, of living.”

“What do you mean ‘didn’t know how to live’? I think that sounds really patronising, I know exactly what Christophe is feeling, that’s how I feel myself  and…”

Sandrine was cut short by Doctor Fournier before she really got the chance to vent which was something she had lately started to enjoy.

“Ok Sandrine sorry to interrupt you and I respect your right to express any disagreement you might have but I don’t in any way mean to belittle Christophe’s  problem, I’m fully aware of the seriousness of the condition, what I mean by not having “learnt to live” was more that he was expecting too much from contemporary society, he is a pathological idealist who finds it impossible to exist in a world that doesn’t conform to his, in a sense, all too reasonable expectations, learning to live is learning to accept your lot in life…”

This time it was Dr Fournier who was cut short, this time by Pierre-Alexandre, a tall dark haired skeletal man. “That kind of definition doesn’t help us Dr, why should we accept our lot in life, why should anybody? That’s the kind of state sponsored brain washing that we don’t need.”

“Yes but we live in a democratic society” The Dr answered and someone in the room snorted.

“…And as such we have to confirm to the norms of that society, just because for example, Christophe thinks eating meat’s a moral crime and that he gets depressed thinking about it, doesn’t mean that everybody else should have their rights violated by being denied the right to choose a carnivorous diet. A man is not an island and can never live like one.”

“Yes but if it’s for the good of mankind.”

“Who’s to say what’s for the good of mankind, only the majority can know and they choose…”

“Choose! Choose! You pretend that we have choice? You’re joking aren’t you? When our lives are carefully planned as soon as we leave the womb by statisticians and market researchers, social workers and school teachers, choice and  freedom ha! Two words just like God: a nice idea that we all cling to but unfortunately they just don’t exist.”

“Well you’re entitled to your cynicism but you must understand that that too is only a point of view, there is an equal case to be made for optimism and yes, even for the existence of choice and freedom and God.”

Dr Antoine  Fournier looked at his watch, noticing it was 1 minute to three he stood up.

“Well that’s the end of the session for this week, I’ll see you at the same time next week, and remember our motto…come on what is it?”

“Change into something more comfortable.” someone joked.

“Get changed by yourself.” someone laughed.

“Stop messing about” a Celtic red headed freckled man chided “it’s help yourself –  to change.”

“Yes thank you Maurice, at least someone’s taking these sessions seriously.”

“But not too seriously ‘eh Doctor? If we get too serious in here we’re likely to start cutting our arms, then you’ll be a pickle won’t you, what with you in your nice white coat, blood’s a horror to shift Mrs Fournier wouldn’t be too happy will she.”

“Ok thank you Jacques I can always rely on you to set the parting tone. But seriously I think we’ve made a lot of progress here, the very fact that we’re now talking so freely and, yes even joking, says a lot. Have a nice weekend and I’ll see you all next week.”

With that they left the white walled room with the oval of chairs and went their separate ways. Dr Fournier went to the coffee machine, and drank a well deserved cup of coffee. He stood by the coffee machine in the corridor of Saint Anne’s hospital, he mused on the advice given him by Dr Pelle: “you must be both listener and a contributor, a catalyst and a problem solver. But above all, always be careful to keep them on the right track, I can’t stress enough the importance of letting them know what is normal, there is no room for ambiguity, the patient must be guided out of the maze of his psychosis, but there is only one path and it is the path of reasonable socially accepted behaviour, at all times you must watch that you don’t lose the patient to their viscidities of their own fantasies. Even a casual seemingly innocuous remark could lead the patient to reject everything we’re trying to teach them and relapse into a destructive neurotic cycle.”

He put down the coffee down on the floor feeling exhausted, he recalled the words from his studies, they seemed more relevant now than ever. As part of the new experimental behavioural therapy unit at St Anne’s hospital in the 13th arrondisement of Paris, he had a great deal of pressure on him to succeed. Firstly from the hospital administrator, the hospital had recently been in the news, and its new treatment had recently appeared in a national glossy magazine and so all eyes were watching them, without mentioning the international committees and professors.

He closed his eyes and thought about his patients, there was Henri who couldn’t even talk, he spoke French however, at least theoretically, but in practice he was simply too anxious to open his mouth and say anything at all, instead he would go about with small pieces of paper. Wherever he went whatever he needed he would hand them out, at the bakers “Une petite baguette s’il vous plait” at the butchers “Je voudrais un demi kilo de saucisse at une jarret de porc” and at the library “Je voudrais vous rendre ces livres dans ma main droite et emprunter ces lives dans man main gauche”. He had quickly become so pleased with the success of his system that he never spoke to anyone again, he would even carry out a basic conversation using his pen to speak and answer for him. Even at home with his parents, whom he still lived with at 35, he would use the pen exclusively, it was they who they who sent him to the hospital.

Then there was Laurie for whom every day-to-day action was fraught with potential disaster, the simple pleasure of having a meal was for her a dark cloud looming over her darkened day. She would eat with her head in her plate for fear of crumbs falling onto the table or even her clothes, she was totally unable to use her hands for anything, she couldn’t carry anything for fear of dropping it nor would she suffer to wash her hands as the running tap was to her an furious torrent of chaos which she couldn’t bear. He thought of his other patients, Rauol and his apopathodiaphulatophobia which drove him quite beyond reason into battering his fists into his stomach whenever the movement of his bowels didn’t follow his rigorous schedule, and then Seline’s hands. There was still much progress to make and it had not been regular, it was like organising a cross country race, some of the patients lagged behind, while others surged on gaining in confidence on seeing their fellows’ weakness, others still were in danger of walking-out and  giving up and needed special coaching sessions to encourage them to go that extra mile.

Dr Fournier crossed the road to walk through the park Montsouris, he always found it reassuring to look at the terrapins swimming in the small pond there, it had started as a couple of unwanted family pets, a craze that quickly went flat when people realized you couldn’t stroke walk or cuddle terrapins they quickly got bored of them and dumped them  into the park pond. From there a terrapin dynasty was founded and Dr Fournier found it deeply reassuring that these creatures, stolen from their own natural environment to be placed in a wholly alien and unnatural domestic environment and then rejected in turn from this environment should then thrive in a pastiche of their own natural environment in the middle of Paris. This amazed and strengthened him. He walked across the park, along the lawn heedlessly defying the “pelouse interdit” signs, walked past the fake concrete mountain (only in Paris he thought) and looked into the pool. He couldn’t see the terrapins this time.

He turned to a white haired old man standing at the water’s edge.

“Where are the terrapins, I can’t see the terrapins.” he said.

“Can’t you see them?” the old man answered incredulously.

“There they are,   there are lots of them, they’re all there, look!”

Dr Fournier looked into the water the man pointed, “there’s one!” Dr Fournier followed the old man’s finger, “that’s not a…” He stopped, he was going to say that it wasn’t a terrapin but a rock and that the old man’s eyesight was letting him down, but he looked closely and saw that the grey motionless stone like object was a terrapin. He looked closer, it’s grey skin was tattered and flapping in the water, it was dead, at that moment all of the terrapins in the pool, about thirty in all, suddenly and simultaneously  bobbed up to the top of the pond. They were all dead.

“B’b’b’ how?” the doctor stammered.

“look over there!” the old man pointed the same finger away from the dead terrapin and over to the other side of the pond to were a small fair haired boy was crouching by the water side.

Dr Fournier smiled as he always did when he saw what he considered the innocence of children. His smile faded as he observed that the boy seemed to be pouring vast quantities of something into the pond.

“You see he’s filling the pond full of bleach, he comes here every day to do it, little monkey!” the old man laughed.

“What, it’s impossible!” he looked, indeed he was doing just that, the boy had two large empty plastic drums by his side and was pouring the contents from a third one into the water. “But…it’s not right” he felt utterly crushed and hopeless as he felt himself falling into the pond.

He opened his eyes with a start, wide eyed for a few seconds and his heart beating a fear rhythm. Relieved that it was only a dream but disturbed by its wantonness  he tried to dismiss it, but Freud had taught him that he couldn’t just dismiss it, he had to get to the bottom of it and find out what it meant. “God I feel like my own patient” he thought with bitter irony, and decided that he didn’t like his own medicine so he quickly took his notebook from his  left inside jacket pocket and noted the details of his singular dream. As he did so he felt uneasy

and anxious, which annoyed him as in this particular context the anxiety was totally irrational and counter productive. He wanted to make a note of his dream but his anxiety prevented him from expressing his feelings as clearly and transparently as he would have wished, he hid his feelings from the page and kept them in his heart.

Next week’s session was the fifth of the eight sessions and Dr Fournier realised that their time was running short and that many of his patients were still largely dominated by their anxieties. The group dynamics were a success however and his patients for the most part expressed themselves freely and confidently, but this was essentially an artificial environment were within the rarefied atmosphere of the counselling sessions, all their needs and neuroses were catered for. They still had some way to go before they could function properly in the outside world.

“Ok what we’re going to do now is a little bit different. We’re going to learn some particularly useful communication techniques. Now it takes all sorts to make a world and as some of you know, human nature can sometimes manifest itself in different ways. In short people can be cruel, selfish, manipulative and greedy. Now what do you think happens when such a person who exhibits these characteristics discovers someone who is kind, open, disinterested and  generous. Any ideas?”

Seline shuffled uncomfortably in her chair “Dr”

“Yes Seline?”

“Can I go to the toilet?”

“No Seline.” At this repudiation she whined and fidgeted in her chair.

“What do you think then?”

The Dr looked at Henri who holding his pen, quickly averted his eyes from the Dr’s and started staring at the ground.

“Any ideas?”

Laurie looked up as though gripped by inspiration started speaking quickly and breathlessly “Yes, I think that the cruel selfish woman would come away from the experience with a profound sense of peace which would change the way she thought about things in the future

And she would become a nice person.”

“Thank you Laurie, a nice idea which shows your own openness of spirit but, though I hate to disappoint you it is not the answer I’m looking for.”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Jacques “unbelievable!”

“Now Jacques you’re being very undiplomatic!”

“Sorry Doctor, Sorry Laurie, it’s my character I tend to lash out a bit as you know,  it’s nothing personal, I’m harmless enough.”

After Jacques’ outburst Laurie started gazing at the floor again.

“Well Jacques you must be careful, as must everyone, the human being is not by nature a mind reader and as such has no idea what the other is thinking. You may say that you are ‘harmless’ Jacques but you are judged by what you say, words, however inefficient and insufficient they are what we give to the world they are our public image.”

“It seems to me” Began Maurice slowly and carefully “that when an honest man meets a crooked man, the crooked man, like a shark sensing fresh meat, begins his attack and in the end devours the honest man”  At the end of his sentence Henri, still staring at the floor, shuddered and Seline paled and started rubbing her hands. Jacques however started laughing.

“I think you’re right Maurice old man, the bad man would gobble him right up, an easy meal!”

Sandrine interrupted “I had a friend once, I thought she was a good person, but she let me down. After all I’d done for her. The bitch. I hate her. Never trust anyone they’re after all they can get.”

“Even me darling” Jacques enquired smiling

“Especially you, I can see through you you know.” at this Dr Fournier interrupted:

“Ok, that’s enough, let’s stay positive shall we. Now, William Shakespeare once said “Neither a lender nor a borrower be as both friend and debt are soon lost..”

Somebody whispered:

“Henry V.”

“Sorry who spoke? Who was that?” silence.

“Ok, it’s important not to let your better nature be exploited by somebody unscrupulous so let’s do a role play shall we. Let’s see, Pierre Alexandre I want you to ask Maurice a favour.”

“Maurice, er, could you lend me 10 euros”

“What’s it for Pierre?”

“I need to get my mother a birthday present but I’ve lost my wallet”

“Ok sure!”

“No, no, Maurice, you must tell him no. Never a lender nor a borrower be.”

“Yes but he said it was for his mother’s birthday.”

“Yes but he was lying!”

“Was he? Pierre were you lying?”

“Yes I was, my mother died 12 years ago!”

“So what you should have said” the doctor began “was ‘No sorry mate I can’t help you’, let’s drill that shall we, everybody altogether: “Sorry I can’t help you”.

Everybody stood up and all except for Henri, started chorusing the words.

“Sorry I can’t help you!”

“Say it like you mean it!” the Doctor called out above the noise.

The chorus droned on, Sandrine shouted the words with feeling while spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth,  Pierre Alexandre spoke the words quietly and scarcely audibly, and Seline repeated the words while rubbing her hands worriedly. Henri stared quietly at the floor.

“Can you lend me 10 Euros?” Dr Fournier called out.

“Sorry I can’t help you!”

“Do me a favour will you?”

“Sorry I can’t help you!”

“I’ve got nowhere to live, could I spend some time at your place?”

“Sorry I can’t help you!”

“Ok change the drill, this time “ Will you stop bothering me?”” the chant changed and “Will you stop bothering me?” was cappella’d around the room.

“Ok, lets get a bit stronger, your so called friend won’t take no for an answer so he’s asked for it “Get lost! Come on everybody!”

“Get lost!” “Get lost! “Get lost!” “Get lost!” “Get lost!” as the chant went on the patients became more excited and shouted out the words with expression and increasing violence.

“Ok and rest. Very good. Feels good doesn’t it. Ok, Raoul, can you stay late at work tonight?”

“Get lost!” he shouted.

“You tell him Raoul” Jacques laughed.

“Context, and diplomacy Raoul don’t forget!”

“No I can’t sorry Boss.”

“That’s better, I was nearly obliged to sack you for gross insubordination, you see what a fine line it is between standing up for yourself and being rude. Now Seline, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Er, well yes that would…”

“Sorry Seline, perhaps I wasn’t clear enough we’re role playing.”

“Perhaps if I asked her” Joked Jacques “We might get the desired response”

“If you can take it Jacques”

With that Jacques walked towards Seline, went down, very dramatically  onto one knee, and adopting a romantic and husky tone of voice, gazed into Seline’s eyes and asked:

“Fancy a bang?”

“Get lost creep”

Everybody in the room laughed, and even Henri smiled.

“Okay everybody, in pairs, except for Laurie, Seline and Maurice making up a three, role play and improvise on the same theme, I’ll be monitoring for force and correct use of context.”

As the role plays were played out across the room, with favours and help refused minor insults and aggression proffered freely, Dr Fournier reflected on a successful session, only Henri still bothered him and Seline was picking at her hands. She caught his eyes

“Can I go to the toilet Antoine?”

“At the end of the session, Seline, you know that, it’s for your own good.”

At the end of the session, Dr Fournier asked Henri if he could have a quick word, and as Seline left the room to go to the toilet, Dr Fournier nodded to a nurse signalling her to follow her in.

“Henri, how was today’s, session was it good for you?”

Henri nodded assent.

“Any problems anything you’d like to tell me about”

Henri shook his head.

“Now, Henri, this has gone on too long, you know it has. Tell me how you really feel.”

Henri starred at the floor.

“I mean write how you feel”

Henri took his pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote onto a piece of paper and handed it to Dr Fournier.

“I’m fine no problem really”

“That won’t do Henri, I’m a professional behavioural psychiatrist I know when there’s something wrong and when my patients are progressing. I demand to know how you’re really feeling.” Henri thought for a minute then jotted down some more words onto a piece of paper. He handed it to Dr Fournier.

‘I’m in hell’.

Dr Fournier read the paper gravely, ‘this is new’ he thought, “in some way an improvement, a first step in communication and self expression, but what could he mean, is he being in hell metaphorical or literal.”

“Henri, what do you mean when you say you’re in hell?”

“I mean what I’ve written, I’m in hell. I’m being punished” he wrote.

Dr Fournier was concerned, he looked at Henri, who’s face was marked with serious earnestness. “His file does say highly delusional but little else. 19 years old, above average intelligence, but hasn’t spoken to anyone for nine years. The usual anxiolytics prescribed, incidence of self harm and attempted aspirin overdose.”

“But Henri, you’re not in Hell, nobody’s punishing you, you’re here on planet Earth with all the rest of us in the land of the living.”

Henri’s pen worked quickly and he tore off a piece of paper and handed it to Antoine.

“I am dead and I’m in hell, so are you, as are we all.”

“I assure you I’m not dead Henri and neither are you, our hearts beat pumping blood throughout our bodies which nourishes our brains with oxygen and keeps us conscious and alive. Feel your own heart beat, you’re certainly not dead.”

“All that is an illusion” he wrote.

“An illusion, why should any of this be an illusion, for what purpose?”

“To punish us.”

“Why should we be punished Henri?”

“Because we are sinners and God is evil. There is only hell.”

For a moment Dr Fournier felt a cold chill run down his spine and words failed him for a moment. He felt distinctly out of his depth and a little submerged by Henri’s extraordinary fantasy.

“How long have you felt like this Henri?”

Henri pondered a moment before writing “I died when I was a child”

Dr Fournier felt a little triumph, a small invaluable piece of information was gleaned, but before continuing he would have to seek guidance and do a little research. And so he let Henri go, his parents had come to collect him, they asked him how he was doing and he answered them trying to wring out every drop of positivity from today’s session, but it was like trying to draw moisture from stone.

Henri left St Anne’s silently with his parents, trailing behind them as they held each-others hand. Dr Fournier watched them cross the road and considered it odd how little they seemed a family. Henri seemed to be quite a stranger to them.

That night Dr Fournier was haunted by another strange dream. He was at a family dinner with various members of his own family, some of whom were still living and others were long since dead. One of his cousins, Marie Françoise came down the stairs, he’d not seen her since she was 19, the last thing he’d heard of her was that she was pregnant. She was carrying her baby swathed in linen, she approached the table and showed the baby to the family, his grandmother cooed and chuckled with delight, his grandfather he noticed smiled at the baby and held out a finger to it. As the baby was dutifully carried around the table by Marie Françoise he noted with professional acuity the different reactions to the baby. A young man, one of his sister’s boyfriends narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly but quickly plastered a smile on his face but it was clear that he hated children, the baby went to his sister who greedily gorged on its innocence, the alarm of her body-clock had been ringing loudly for a few months now and she clearly wanted one of her own and was dying of frustration at her boyfriend’s procrastination. Finally the baby made it’s way over to Dr Fournier, it was swaddled in cotton and its face was obscured by a piece of fabric, it felt surprisingly cold, and he noticed, had a strange unhealthy smell about it, ‘maybe it needed changing’ he thought,  he removed the piece of white cotton and saw that the baby had been dead for several hours. It lay with its unseeing eyes wide open in a blue face. He looked nervously at everyone around him who seemed as happy as ever and passed on the bundle on to his mother who started cooing and toying with the bundle. It was strange but it seemed to him that he was the only person in the room who knew that the baby was dead, but then he heard a gurgle of satisfaction from the baby and wondered if he was mistaken, apparently the baby was very much alive and well. He walked over to Marie Françoise  who was now cradling her baby, determined to get the to the bottom of this mystery, he looked again into the bundle of innocent whiteness and suddenly he awoke. What had he seen before awaking, had he seen anything? What did this mean? It probably was just a remnant of the previous day’s ‘conversation’ with Henri, nothing more sinister.

Later that day, at two o’clock he was to meet Jacques, Maurice and Pierre at the hospital to do what he called battle-field training. This involved taking his patients around Paris and observing how they deal with practical day-to-day activities.

When Dr Fournier arrived he noticed that the three men appeared apprehensive, even Jacques who was usual buoyant and quite self assured in the counselling sessions, was like a crab taken out of its shell.

“I find it very hard to talk about but, well, I’ve recently discovered from talking to Dr Fournier that it was my psychoanalyst who send me insane, he literally drove me crazy. I know it seems unbelievable but it’s true.”

“I believe you.” assented Pierre Alexandre “They’re nuttier than their patients, I read this book by one once, “Face to face with madness” it was called by a Dr Bigas. It was frightening really, from what he says about his patients you would think they were his private fan-club. A young male pre-schizophrenic patient had a dream about him so Dr Bigas surmises from this that his patient has a homosexual crush on him. Another patient a girl, he says something like “she needed me like a drug”. They’re sick people, sicker than we are, take my word.”

“Power corrupts absolute power corrupts absolutely” Maurice said sagely

“Don’t generalise please Pierre, I have some very close friends in the profession.”

“Yeah but not that close eh Doctor? I bet you keep them at a distance all the same” joked Jacques.

“May I continue” Asked Raoul seriously “It’s just as you say, he was a leech my shrink he would leech out of me my whole soul and give me nothing in return and he would attack me too. For no reason he would suddenly spring up and get me in a head lock. It wasn’t terribly good for my confidence to be honest, he said he had to be careful as I had a history of violence, he said I had a funny look in my eyes sometimes and it was  better safe than sorry, for my own good apparently. He’d get me in a kind of double bind, he would tell me that the only way to be cured was to talk about what I was thinking and when I told him what I was thinking he would say that there’s no curing.”

“There are many ways of attempting to cure anxiety of course” Dr Fournier began

“some people turn to the church; others see a psychoanalyst; others still buy special ‘stress-reducing’ accessories such as small electric indoor running water features or even pillows specially impregnated  with the scent of maternal milk, although I can’t testify to their effectiveness there are many different methods, I would however suggest that cognitive behaviour therapy is the most practical.”

“But with all due respect all of your analysis and your therapy is quite worthless you know. You’re taking someone who has become sane and trying to force insanity upon them so that they have the requisite delusions necessary to reintegrate into a sick world. Democracy, respect,  law and order, capital, property and politics, all of these are sick delusions that only the sane man rejects.” Pierre harangued.

“You can’t survive long in the void dear fellow,” said Maurice “I’ve been there too, I still go there sometimes, but life’s just tends to be easier if you learn to play the game.”

“A little bit of anxiety and worry is essential though” started Dr Fournier “For example I once met a totally non anxious person once, a very interesting case. I took him for a Diogene, he was utterly serene even being with him was restful, I thought he must be the happiest person alive. On closer inspection however I saw that he was far from perfect. His life had been a series of dead-ends. He had no ambition and found it impossible to hang on to a job because he had no motor to push him on, he had no anxiety about anything at all least of all if he was making the most of his life. He came to me because he was too content, he somehow felt that there was something wrong with this, to this day I’m not sure if there is. He was like one of the ravens in Christ’s parable: he neither sowed nor reaped, he had neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God fed him.”

“Ok let’s have your poems, let’s express ourselves, that as you know is half of the battle, Jacques would you like to start us off.”

“Ok you asked for it:

How would you feel Dear Doctor,

If your life was stolen from you,

And how would you feel Dear Doctor,

If you were sitting here expressing your misery,

After working  hard, day and night,

No man could have done more,

To support his family in a cradle of comfort and security,

No man could have done better,

But my happiness was so great it had to be shared,

Or so it seemed to me,

My good fortune I would be greedy to keep to myself,

Or so I thought,

So I did a good deed and acted honourably,

By helping a friend in need,

I shouldered my friend’s burden,

But it wasn’t enough for him so he climbed onto my back,

I cried out as the burden was heavy,

but still he climbed higher and higher,

until standing tall he broke my back,

And left me crippled,

Then I became a beggar without friends or family.

“Ok who’s next, how about you Laurie.”

“Ok” She said haltingly:

My thoughts seem scattered like walking underwater,

I fall asleep while drowning and float like a log, in a dream,

And awake some time later I sit and I wonder, “what was I.”

They make me good for nothing and force me  to wake,

So they can take it all from me,

And straight-jacket my mind and force my attention,

But what they don’t know is that I’m not really there,

And they’re grasping at thin air.

“Very good Laurie. Ok next.”

“May I?”

“What is my condition?

My mind evades my control,

I can only concentrate,

On varying levels of stupidity,

That I used to call my intelligence,

But I still have some way to go,

I will not watch TV,

As my brain would never forgive me,

I won’t believe a politician’s lies,

Because I see the insincerity in his eyes,

Neither will I puff myself up with pride,

And sneer, belittle and deride,

And  I am not such a fool.

To believe what I was taught at school,

But there are some things that I know,

But I never seem to hold on to them for long,

I drop my  rusty old bucket full of holes,

Into the well of knowledge,

I wind it back up and for a moment I am clever,

Then little by little the bucket empties, until again I am empty,

But most of the time I try to keep myself half empty of half full,

But it’s never enough to fight the blaze.”

“Ok Seline.”

“My home is a pine forest, pure and clean .

The surfaces dazzle with shining clean whiteness.

The bathroom is laden with forest fruit.

The air is so fresh it burns my nostrils and scars my hands.

I love the crackling fizz of caustic soda as it burns at nameless things.”

Henri opened his mouth, everybody in the room froze and looked expectantly at Henri silently praying for a sound to leave Henri’s lips. Any sound at all.

The seconds ticked by, Henri’s open mouth suddenly closed, he stood up and handed a mall piece of paper to Dr Fournier.

“Thanks Henri, Ok  I’ll read Henri’s poem.

A shadow has lain with me since I was a child

I spoke once to tell them all

But they didn’t hear

So I closed my mouth

Once and for all

I’ll keep my secret that nobody wants to hear

My life has been stolen and now I’m dead

Waiting for a miracle to show me heaven.”

“Thanks Henri.”

Dr Fournier and Seline had a special session together on Friday afternoon. As part of the behavioural therapy technique, patients had to enter the outside world and deal with a situation which would ordinarily cause them stress and anxiety. The Doctor would be on hand if anything went wrong, but it was more an informal, almost social occasion between Doctor and patient.

They walked out of the hospital down the Seine.

“Ok Seline here we are in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, what would you like to do?”

“I want to go home Doctor, it’s so dirty here.”

“The chances are Seline it’s neither cleaner no dirtier than your own home.”

“No Doctor, my home is very clean, I use Mr Clean all the time on all living surfaces.”

“Well Selina you shouldn’t use too many detergents in the house, they’re very toxic you know.”

“But they smell nice Doctor. My house smells nice and clean. Not like here in the street, it’s disgusting I feel sick I really do.”

“But we’re human beings, we live hand in hand with germs and bacteria we wouldn’t be able to live without the you know. In your intestines you have millions of bacteria that help you digest your food.”

“I know it makes me sick thinking about all those monstrous little creatures inside me. I tried to kill them all once.”

“I know.” Said Dr Fournier with a shudder thinking about the mention on her referral notes that she had been rushed to the hospital with a hole burnt into her stomach  after swallowing half a pint of bleach “and what happened to you: you nearly killed yourself. It’s all in your mind you know. There’s nothing wrong with bacteria, they’re wonderful really, miraculous little creatures our best friends. That reminds me, I’ve got something for you” He took out a small paperback book from out of his inside jacket pocket “it’s War of The Worlds, it’s a classic, it might help you.”

“It’s about aliens isn’t it, it’s not really my thing?”

“Yes but you should read it, in fact I am prescribing it as part of your treatment”

“Ok thanks.”

“Let’s have a coffee somewhere what do you say, let’s go by the Seine and look on at Notre Dame.”

“I don’t really feel like it.”

“Well, consider it doctor’s orders, come on.”

They caught the metro to St Michel, where they alighted and returned to ground level.

They found a café overlooking Notre Dame and Seline removed her gloves.

“Seline, I’m so proud of you, this is real progress..” but before he had time to finish, Seline discarded the used gloves in a bag and with her red hands took out another plastic bag with a fresh pair of black cotton gloves and put them on.

“Oh I see.”

“I have to change them because the metro is so dirty and now I’m going to drink a cup of coffee in a café.”

Still it was progress. Only a few weeks ago this outing would have been unthinkable, the fact that Seline had consented to sit in a café in the middle of a city which was essentially a tourbillion of dust and decay  was a minor miracle. While most people got on with their lives happily oblivious to the microcosm that swirled around us, it was all Seline though about, indeed it was all she saw. Another human being was to her eyes not really a person but more a vessel for disease and dirt. A word of greeting: a “Hello how are you,” was not for her a prelude to a pleasant conversation as it is to most people but was instead a deadly salvo of saliva and potential disease. She winced whenever anyone opened their mouths to her; germs clung to every word; a laugh was plague wind blowing in from fetid pit; she instinctively turned away from anybody as soon as they talked to her and kept up a minimal conversation while keeping her back turned to them. As a result very few people ventured a second conversation with her. And so as the waiter brought the coffee she recoiled at his approach, ‘God alone knows where’s he’s been’ she thought. To her right a few tables along, she saw a waiter with a sponge washing down a table.”

“Can we move over there?” she asked Doctor Fournier.

“Whatever for?”

“It’s cleaner.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, the chances are it’s probably not, that sponge looks like it been around a bit.”

“Oh I suppose so.” At that she took out of her bag a small lemon scented alcohol based cleaning tissue and started wiping the side of her cup, then the table top, then she took out a fresh tissue and stated wiping her face.”

“It’s terribly bad for your skin you know, it kills germs but it also kills your skin, drying it out and aging it prematurely. How are you hands Seline?”

“They itch a lot, they’re full of bacteria, I can feel them creeping all over my hands”

“Are you letting them heal properly?”

“I suppose so”

“Your mother tells me you had beautiful hands as a child, wouldn’t you like to have beautiful hands Seline?”

“Of course, I hate my hands I don’t like to see them”

“Well just leave them alone, let nature take it’s course, you don’t give nature enough credit you know. She knows what’s she’s doing she won’t let you down.”

“But they’re so dirty, my hands feel so dirty, they leave slime everywhere it’s disgusting”

“But it’s a good sign for you, it means the oils are returning to your hands, it’s natural”

“So dirty”

“It’s not dirty, it’s natural. Nothing can live in a sterile environment because it’s not natural” he thought about last week’s unsettling dream “what happens if you pour bleach into a fish pond.” He answered himself.

“You clean the pond?”

“You kill everything, the bacteria, fish everything, it’s the equivalent of an atom bomb.”

“What you must try to understand is that much of what you’re experiencing is a symptom of modern life, therefore it is not a universal reality, it is totally subjective and largely down to too many TV commercials for household cleaners.”

“Well madness is relative to some extent. For example psychiatric surveys were carried-out, one in the 1950’s on a typical group of American children and another on a representative group of 1990’s American children. Now the extraordinary thing is that, by the 1950’s standards the 1990’s group of children would all have required some level of serious psychiatric intervention.

Dr Fournier sipped his hot cup of coffee, readying himself for the eighth and final session. Henri unfortunately had proved a dead loss, perhaps there was nothing to be done for him. He finished his coffee and walked down the corridor and into room 6B.

When he arrived the room was buzzing with conversations, Dr Fournier greeted his patients and reminded them that if all goes well today, he would be happy never to see them again, he looked around the room and noticed that Henri wasn’t there, the characteristic island was absent, he usually arrived about five minutes early but now he was cutting it a bit fine. As it seemed that Henri would not be present Dr Fournier decided to start without him, anyway, he thought to himself, I’d rather not see him, he’s a testimony to my failure I have no idea what’s caused his silence and what his essential problem is.

“As today is the final session you’re going to tell me about zero hour. Why it all started, why you think you’re here.”

“Can I start Doctor” Laurie asked


“Ok, well, it all started about 9 months before I was born. I was born an only child but I’d had a sister. That was why I came into existence in fact, to replace her. Her name was Amandine and she was only 8 months old when she died, a cot death. But she never really went away, she was always there haunting our family. My parents never really  recovered from Amandine’s death, they half expected me to die at any moment, so they swaddled me and watched me every minute of the day. They prayed and invented strange rituals to protect me. As I grew older I too grew morbidly afraid of death, not only of my own but of all my family, all my friends and even my friend’s family. At 13 years old I remember that one of my friend’s had an older brother who was moving away from Paris to study in Nimes. This fact terrified me, I knew him well and he was a good friend, I even had a little crush on him, I was sure something bad would happen to him so I had to protect him. I would invent protection rituals, for example.

Whenever I would eat or handle knives I would always be careful not to point the sharp end of the knife towards the South as that he was in that direction and I didn’t want to cause him any harm. I would even sacrifice small animals as I had seen my parents do. I would buy mice or gerbils every month or so and cut their throats, then cut up the body and burn the flesh in a fire. Despite all my precautions, however, during his drive home for the summer holidays his car was struck by an overtaking articulated truck and his car was thrown from the road and he was killed in the fireball. I still didn’t know what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, it had absolutely nothing to do with you, it wasn’t your fault”

“Of course not Doctor, I forget sometimes.”

“Anyway  as a result of that my live used to be a constant nightmare, anything I did or said might somehow, upset some natural order in the universe and result in the death of someone close to me. But I know that was all nonsense now, I’m cured I’m free, thanks Doctor”

“That’s what I’m here for.’ Dr Fournier replied, and he was about to continue when Henri walked into the room. Suddenly there was silence, the patients lifted their eyes, irresistibly attracted by a new and powerful force in the room.  Dr Fournier looked his defeat kindly in the eyes, “if only he would say one word, if only I could help him” he thought.

Henri took a seat. He was smiling. Everyone looked at him without realising it, they seemed to all be waiting for some kind of explanation.

Henri looked around, registering all of the faces seemingly for the first time.

“There’s Jacques” he thought “Poor Jacques has to laugh to keep sane. And  then there’s Maurice, seemingly so sturdy but like a hollow oak in a gale, then there’s the defenceless and wounded Laurie. Seline who has to keep so clean and Pierre who hates the world.

They remained silent while Henri looked at them, it seemed to them he was looking into them, something had changed in him, “perhaps they’ve finally found the right antixylotic for him” thought Pierre, not intentionally cynically, but judging Henri by his own experiences.

“He must be in love” thought Laurie, opening her heart to him and responding to Henri’s beatific smile with one of her own.

Seline looked at him, “he looks clean.” she thought.

Jacques was about to make a mildly irreverent over-familiar remark  at Henri’s expense, something like “how was the lobotomy old man?” but something held him back. Maurice returned Henri’s gaze without smiling. “At least he’s happy.’ he thought.

Henri draw a deep breath, cleared his throat and said his first word in nine years.

“I’ve been very foolish. Sorry everyone, all these years I thought I was in hell?”, why didn’t anyone tell me?” and he smiled for the first time in a very long time.

“I’ve realised now that we’re all in heaven, but if you look at it the wrong way it looks like hell.”

Dr Fournier could have kicked himself, and wondered which delusion was worse. But then he pondered for a moment and fell silent as did everyone else.

Reality flux!

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The world we live in only exists as long as one or all of our sense organs are there to interpret it. In a sense our imaginations are also a sense organ, though as we know sometimes the imagination is not a perfectly accurate measurer of reality and sometimes the view of reality can become distorted due to inherent influences of the mind and so conditions like chronic paranoia and other mental disorders may develop. As we have seen with the various sad tales of murderers and serial killers doing ‘God’s work’ as they term it, these people have become psychologically damaged at some point and thus their minds and imaginations are an imperfect reader of reality, the case in point is the sad tale of Freemason bit-part actor Michael Brea who saw three chickens being cooked in a pot by his mother and his damaged imagination saw them as some kind of sacrifice and proof that his mother was some kind of witch.

A more commonplace example might be the person who was subjected to a serious assault by a man in a previous relationship; this person as a result may harbour an irrational fear of intimacy with men: the previous experiences of the past tend to colour what you see in the present and even what you project for yourself in the future. For example such a person may see men as untrustworthy and all potentially violent, it is therefore unlikely that they will be able to forge strong bonds of intimacy and thus their views will remain unchallenged as they will have a mindset which perpetuates itself. This is one of the curses of Feminism and its agents are all operating under just such a form of self-fulfilling mind-control.

However when people become convinced of something, even though it may seem incorrect to other people, it becomes reality itself for them. This is why mental disorders are so hard to treat because the vision of the psychotic mind is the very reality they are experiencing. There is an extra metaphysical element in all this which currently eludes our modern scientific understanding. The fact that the inner reality experienced by someone becomes so powerful that it also becomes the external reality. An example we can rationalise quite easily would be the example of the depressive. The depressive really wants friends and company and wants to be happy, however there is some stream of thought operating in this person’s mind which presently prevents this. The thought becomes a habit and brain chemistry changes to render the condition chronic. It is now not only a thought or idea which triggers a bout of depression but indeed the whole world, everything depresses this person because of their change in brain chemistry which now interprets all stimuli as negative or potentially so. Furthermore the fact that this person always looks so gloomy and unhappy and seems to lack the pleasant volubility which people generally enjoy, will lead to people consciously avoiding him or even being outwardly unpleasant to him. All of which of course will further prejudice his outlook on the world. Conversely the happy, confident person who always smiles and makes people feel good to be with, will enjoy more positivity in their lives from their relationships as people will generally be attracted to them.

The extra element to all this is rather harder to put into words however. There is a certain luckiness which self confidence brings, the certainty that things are going to work out well for that person, generally but not always, leads to the desired result. Double sixes, a winning hand, the perfect goal. Sportsmen know of this phenomenon and I spent some time with professional archers in France and at that time the world’s number one archer was a Frenchman. At the time I thought that archery was just a matter of lining up the target and firing the arrow but they told me that there was much more to it that that; a kind of inner mastery was needed to hit the centre of target which I was told, was a physical impossibility using only the physical senses: the centre of the target can only scarcely be seen and there is no physical way to make the arrow hit the middle of the target. Instead it was all done with the mind. A sense of certainty and confidence being necessary; an inner stillness required to tell the body how best to fire the arrow to strike the centre. Again and again I was informed of this quasi-mystical side to the sport of archery and by extension, to all sports, indeed this was more or less proven to me by the fact that unfortunately for France archery, the world number one had recently had a dramatic drop in form and was underperforming in every competition he entered. It seemed his time was coming to an end. Yet he was still a young man so what could have been the reason? I asked around and was told, to prove their hypothesis of the inner stillness, that he was having relationship problems and that this had caused his drop in form.

Everyone has experienced this but has not known to put it into words. On the other hand the person who feels hopeless and the world is set against them will generally always throw double noughts in whatever they intend to do. This confidence and certainty in the self is one of the surest ways to succeed in any undertaking and is the key to what people call ‘magic’. It still exists, and some people take it very seriously: the Freemasons for one. There are forms of magic which have become more or less domesticated and entered the mainstream, such as hypnotism.

Hypnotism is achievable only when the person acquiesces to have their will dominated by another. Hypnotism is the act of having someone else control your reality for you by the exertion and projection of their will on to you. I have read a book about hypnotism, written by a long time practitioner, who says the most important thing needed in order to hypnotise someone is to believe you can do it in the first place. Hypnotism is a kind of distillation or essence of what we know as charisma or charm; when we see someone who is supremely confident and assured, without being cocky, we generally trust them, whereas people who are disordered and appear to mumble and lack confidence we might pity but certainly never would we place our confidence in them.

Perhaps this hearkens back to our early tribal human history when we banded together and always sought the strongest most able member of the tribe to lead and defend our tribe against the incursions and attacks of the other groups. The member with the surest aim when hunting and defending the tribe; the one whose step was always the surest and always knew how to deal with any emergency which struck the tribe, was sure to be highly esteemed and deferred to in matters of authority. Just as surely as dogs fight amongst themselves to find the pack leader, it is a natural need to find the leader. Arguably we have the same thing today in politics, however it seems only necessary these days for politicians to have the appearance of authority and skill without actually possessing them.

So hypnotism is the impact one person can have on totally dictating the reality of another person. It is a strange phenomenon and one that above all else should alert us to the fact that reality as we term it is not always quite what it seems. For example during some stage shows, members of the public can be hypnotised to edit out people from their reality field altogether, often with comic results. A wife or parent can be stood right in front of the hypnotised person and yet they will not see them, yet their eyes are open and they are looking directly at them.

What has happened in that the overall flux of reality has been edited out by the subconscious at the instigation of the hypnotic instruction. This isn’t as rare as it seems: we are constantly editing and modifying the overall flux of reality to suit what ideas are already in our minds.
Look below and read the sign, what does it say?


Are you sure?

Here’s another one coming up, keep ‘em peeled.

How many legs does the elephant have?


Look again.

So our minds are constantly modifying reality to suit what our minds think should be there.
We can never really know to what extent this filtering totally dominates our perceptions because by nature we cannot see what doesn’t exist outside of our perception. Often very young children are known to talk to people who are not apparently there, and I’m sure everyone has at least heard about such instances in their own families.

So there exists a flux of reality and our minds select what they want us to see. This applies to colours and even the perception of time itself. Some animals have a totally different perception of time to our: insects see colours which we cannot see and flies always seem able to dodge our best efforts to swat them because in their perception we lumber around slowly and are easily outwitted. Elephants on the other hand seem to lumber around slowly to our eyes but in their perception of us we seem to wiz around like flies. It’s strange to say but if a fly had a wristwatch, the second hand would move very slowly for them, while the elephant’s mantle clock would have a second hand which to their perception would be whizzing around the clock-face. This same phenomenon takes place in the human mind; time is not absolute, our perception of it changes according to the circumstances we find ourselves in. Time flies when you’re having fun is often seen as little more than a platitude but reveals a certain hidden truth about the world we live in. Time drags on slowly when we are bored, just as when we were younger time seemed to pass much more slowly, yet with age our perception of time changes and although a day surely still contains twenty four hours, it is how we experience those hours which has changed.
This is to do with our physical metabolism which slows down noticeably as we age. The best way to visualise this is to imagine a camera set on a fast shutter setting; this is akin to the faster metabolic rate that children have. If conversely you set the camera to a slower shutter speed and within the same time frame took a series of pictures you would find that although the camera operated within the same time period the higher shutter speed would have taken more photos than the slower shutter speed. These pictures are analogous to our experience of reality: the more ‘pictures’ or snapshots of reality we take with our perception the more we appear to have experienced in that time frame, thus the sense that the time-frame appeared busier and more full: in short that time seems to pass more slowly.

Therefore we cannot talk of an absolute reality: we all see things differently yet we agree on several fundamental ideas, however there are things we do not yet agree on such as religion and spirituality, and for our governments since time began these have been causes for war because a government is in the business of ensuring that everyone agrees with what it tells them to believe.
The Empire’s sole wish is to have absolute homogeneity throughout the world; this is what we know as ‘globalisation’. The reason for this is control: the government, and ‘New World Order’s’ wish is to control all aspects of our lives, from what we eat (Monsanto GM food patents, Codex Alimentarius being pertinent examples) to what we believe. The reason for this is for the satanic powers hidden behind the scenes to show their superiority to God by presenting a case that it ‘owns’ the human race. Since human beings have something of God within them too, the Satanists will also imagine that they are ‘owning’ God and dominating this force.

The prime weapon in this battle for our souls is ‘fear’. Ours fears weaken us: they use this as a tool. FEAR Everywhere, at least the cause and manifestations of it. If we can reach the point that there is nothing left to be afraid of, then we will be free from so many of the petty miseries which affect us from day to day. This was the intended effect of many of the mystery school religions which have since become subsumed by Freemasonry and special ops techniques of mind control, but so far it seems to have mostly produced killers for hire. And obviously the art of being fearlessly able to kill someone while useful to psychopaths perhaps, wouldn’t, in an ideal world, be something most of us would consciously wish to be involved in.

And indeed it takes a lot of effort to partially brutalise someone and make them excited by the prospect of firing firearms at other people. And so their dear friends at Hollywood help them out by producing streams of movies each more violent than the last, in order to completely cut our soul connection to higher emotional states. Most film goers are subjected to violence, pain, loss, tension, murder, confusion, anger, terror, and the end. A lot of films are specifically about revenge and this is the very anti-thesis to contentment. To watch a film about someone who is the victim of something often needlessly unpleasant, and then to be doubly subjected to him furthering the list of unpleasant things and somehow making you feel good about it all. The ‘feel good’ part of a film is to revel in and offer praise to violence and experience Aristotle’s catharsis. We’ve all been there. When the good guy kills the really nasty bad guy because he really deserved it, don’t we feel good about that? Don’t we just love to see that particular cliché endlessly repeated by Hollywood and co? I wonder just how crafty our government is and do surmise that possibly they try to have various wars in foreign countries on the basis that the whole country somehow needing to express this ‘revenge’ factor on some poor sand blown country or other. Whether it was the feel good revenge moment of the UN killing all those nasty Serbs who had been so nasty to those Muslims. All of these films show extremely unlikely things happening to various highly paid actors, who pretend to be extremely cross or angry, then kill with relish as they achieve their goal. The worst sorts of films are simply the horror films, where they merely present for your entertainment pleasure, the spectacle of most of the characters from the film being killed in a variety of ways. Something quite like the absurd initiation rituals of the ancients. Basically the idea of watching a film is, obvious as it may sound, the act of being an observer to a spectacle.

It is by no means a natural state. Strange as it may seem the phenomenon of watching films of people who are ‘pretending to do something’ to each other is in no ways necessary to the positive development of our species. It is essentially a mendacious activity. Not to mention genuinely cruel. Why would anyone want to do what an actor does and lie to people and try to lie so well that they actually make the viewer feel the emotions that they’re only pretending to feel? What a strange thing to do. And very seldom are any of the positive possibilities of film exploited; namely the possibility that people might get paid huge amounts of money to pretend to be happy and be getting on fine with just everyone, in the hope that the people watching will actually feel those emotions and become happy themselves and start getting on with just everyone. How many genuine feel good films are there out there? Actually very few. One finds that even films that are touted as feel-good films are simply nothing of the sort. They may have a happy ending but that is no guarantee. Often a so called ‘feel-good’ film just has a few pleasant moments of warmth and joy, but in nearly all cases, the rest of the film, in order to put the happy and ‘uplifting’ bits in better relief, contains proportionately more moments of tension, loss, sadness and anyone of a hundred negative and enfeebling emotions. For it to be a feel good film it seems a precondition that there should be something to feel bad about in the first place.

Often many fantasy based films are ostensibly feel-good films, but they often have a slightly dark side, particularly something like Disney which frequently confronts children with shocking and unpleasant circumstances, such as Simba’s guilt for him believing he caused the death of his father. Simply put, these nasty little ideas aimed at children are mini psychological tortures. Indeed, from a psychological point of view I suspect one of at least two things happen to the child as a result of being presented with these cruel situations, one, they react by becoming slightly melancholy, or they react by cutting themselves off emotionally.

I believe this is what has happened to psychopaths. At some point in their lives they have faced a traumatic and terrible event in their lives. It could be something monstrously unpleasant which has happened to them, or which they’ve been a party to; perhaps as a result of the terrible psychological trauma they react with damage control by switching off their emotions. They simply have nothing left to hang on to so they hang onto nothing. This would explain a lot of the riddles of the psychopath and how it has been surmised that these people don’t have souls or are somehow a race apart. They’re also a mystery because they do not announce themselves. They keep their condition a secret, at least if they are successful psychopaths they do; often they can go for years undetected and their damage to society is only later discovered. I’ve little doubt that psychopaths can sense their ‘fellows’, because if they know how to emulate the conventions of society most of the time, then surely they also know what the difference is between real and phoney, so presumably they would be aware when a fellow psychopath is just faking it like they do.

To return to films, what is really much worse is that we have no reason to feel these emotions. Not only is it not happening to us but it is not happening at all! In many instances I genuinely believe that many viewers actually dissolve themselves into the unreality of the character, somehow making it real and imparting genuine life to it!

Those people watching the show are breathing life into it whenever their minds, emotions and thought patterns, start to be centred around the fake spectacle they are watching. This is a kind of a magic. Kind of like hypnotism. I wonder if during an episode of Eastenders, some Mitchell or other started directing hypnotic commands at people, would they even notice? If, during a lull at the Queen Vic, Barbara Windsor started looking at the camera and gently crooning, ‘you’re feeling sleepy’, how many would make the leap from partial hypnosis by the TV to full hypnosis? Probably plenty.
Why are the people watching the big-screen paying for the strange privilege of going to watch something that will either make them feel unnecessarily sad, angry, tense, or, if the viewer has been watching people being killed, then brutalised and ultimately degraded?

This lowers our inner strength. I have felt it myself. Particularly during scenes where there is a very quick and unexpected execution. They are particularly shocking, and several times I have watched such scenes and at that very moment of being shocked with a sudden brutal killing, I have felt the distinct feeling of having a cold coming on. We need to have a default feeling of warm and peaceful, just like cats napping in the sun, there is no reason why we shouldn’t be encouraged to enjoy more positive thoughts and be exposed to more pleasant and in fact, real stimuli. It’s a case of so called actors inflicting their characters and their thousand and one calamities on us.

This is one of the very things we all take for granted. We assume films, like politicians, are important to our lives and that we should take notice of them. Why? They only feed us lies and fears. They only enfeeble our minds and play on our thoughts and preoccupy our ideas. Often people think a lot about a film they have seen and it plays upon and traumatises their minds in a hundred different ways.
The sum total of all of these acts of psychological manipulation on the human mind at all stages of its development is to cut off our perception of any higher ideas, or at least to reduce their impact, to trammel our minds into a what is commonly known as a ‘low vibratory’ domain of blood crime and general anxiety.

So our field of reality is being deliberately reduced so we focus only on the negative aspects of life. This is the media and the government’s job. They feed us a reality we can all agree on, sadly it happens to be a lowest common denominator reality of the very lowest wishes and pulsions: greed, avarice, wealth, fame are all shown as laudable by our media. Our government tell us that obedience and conformity is the key to fitting-into their system; anyone who seeks to transcend this and think for themselves will soon find themselves relatively isolated as those around him will tend to subscribe to the general definition of reality. Fortunately things are changing: more and more people are becoming aware of the fabrications of governments and how they use fear as a tool for social control, indeed there was a particularly successful three part TV series on BBC 1 within the past few years or so called ‘The Power of Nightmares’ which basically exposed the lie of the war on terror and how it was little more than a way for governments to reassert the social control and deference that has gradually been slipping from them in the years since World War Two.

The world is not composed of terrorists and muggers, nor of WAGS and pop-stars, but primarily of light. WAGS and pop-stars are only a product of the first cause. The world of so called reality is a collection or signals of light which are vibrating, it is only when we perceive these light signals that our brains create the appearance of a pop-star or a television set or whatever sight our gaze has lighted on. Television is a useful metaphor for the way we perceive reality. Just as a TV set receives electromagnetic signals from the air. Take the example of the TV: there are TV signals constantly flowing through the air, however it is only when we turn on the TV (which perceives the signals) that we actually get a picture. Without the ability to perceive the signal there are only invisible electromagnetic waves, or disordered flux.

This is also the reality which we find ourselves in; all around us is the disordered flux of the full range of the electromagnetic spectrum of which we can only perceive the smallest portion; the visible light spectrum is only four hundred nanometres long yet the full length of the electromagnetic spectrum is the size of the universe itself.

We are bathed in fog of light within which we see the familiar forms and shapes of our daily world, but the rest of us remains wholly invisible and its existence totally unsuspected. There are unknown colours shapes and even potential realities hidden in the electromagnetic flux but if we cannot see them they effectively do not exist to us. A useful analogy is the tree which falls in the forest with no one to hear it. Does it make a sound as it falls? With no one to hear it or perceive it with their senses not only does it not make a sound but cannot be ascertained whether it has even fallen in the first place. This is the central tenet of quantum physics. That only physical observation of a phenomenon can bring the phenomenon into a state of reality. The classic scientific example is the quantum box containing Schrodinger’s cat, within the box is a device which may kill the cat if the cat accidentally touches it. However it is only upon opening the box that the state of the cat, alive or dead, can be ascertained, prior to actual observation the cat is said to exist in both states simultaneously, it could be either alive or dead, quantum physics merely alters its perception to say that the cat is both alive and dead. The cat is in a state of metaphysical flux. It is only when one’s perception, as Einstein terms it, becomes ‘entangled’ with the object that it takes on a reality in space and time, until then it exists in flux as undefined potentiality.

When you leave a room, providing there is nothing there to perceive the room at any level, the room will enter a state of flux or potentiality. In a manner of speaking it ceases to exist. I have been involved in debates on this concept and some people find the whole idea artificial and hard to accept; one challenge is that it is wrong to talk of flux because if a CCTV camera were to film the inside of a room then when the door was closed and the observer left the room could still be shown to exist in its apparent ‘real’ state. One response might be that the CCTV camera doesn’t have any consciousness so it doesn’t perceive the room in any way: it merely records the metaphysical flux as a series of signals. It is only when you actually unscramble the digital signal and have the recording put through your TV and watch it that the potentiality of the room becomes reality. Remember the camera doesn’t watch anything: it can’t, it doesn’t perceive, it merely records the level of flux within the ability of its technology, as an electromagnetic signal which can be later decoded and the reality of the room established.

How can something be seen when no-one is there to see it? Light has several interesting qualities, one of which is that it needs an observer to exist in one form or another. Every school kid does the diffraction grating-experiment at some point, this experiment actually proves that light behaves only how it is measured to behave. Measure light in a different way and it will change its behaviour to conform to the observer, either as a particle or as a wave.

This is all in line with quantum theory. Another challenge was that if a torch were switched on in a cupboard for a few days, the batteries will still be dead after a few days, therefore apparently proving that there was an unobserved light phenomenon taking place. My response in this instance was to say that an electrical connection has been made, therefore electricity will run in the circuit but the light itself from the torch will enter a state of electromagnetic flux and will become just a signal of potentiality. The battery will be dead but no one saw the light! So it won’t exist, only as an effect; a flat battery will be the only observable reality from opening the cupboard door after two days. Without being seen, even an operating torch will enter the state of quantum flux, with no real reality until the door is opened.

However if there is any kind of observer inside the cupboard, be it even a small insect or a spider, then the light will be perceived, at least in the way a small insect or a spider perceives light. In a similar way if we leave a room and close the door while a dog or mouse remain inside, then the flux will be ordered according to the perceptions of the creature, suffice it to say that will have a different view of reality to ourselves. For a start the dog will perceive odours which we will not be aware of, and the colours and forms we see will have a totally different meanings for the dog. The dog will be aware of the sofa for example as somewhere he can sit but as to the meaning of the television with its buzzing sounds and lights he will have no idea. The mouse’s reality field will again be totally different: the forms and shapes it sees will have a different meaning, none of the associations of objects we have as humans will mean anything to a mouse so it will likely see only lines and edges of objects rather than the objects themselves in their complete self existence. A table for instance would not be ‘a table’ to a mouse because a table is an object and a series of concepts: it would only be a collection of edges, sides and materials. Its involvement with the object would not be with the object itself but only with its composite parts, thus it would be seeing a different reality of the same objects that we are seeing.

What if we ourselves have a similarly limited perception of the whole universe? What if instead of seeing the universe in all its complete self existence we are only seeing edges, sides and its composite materials? Everything in nature is a question of scale and one can hardly deny that we humans are only creatures which exist on a different scale, of colour size and time perception to other forms of life. Just as we see animals below us on the scale, it is only natural that there exist beings above us on the scale, which we cannot directly perceive as we are limited to perceiving only the human world we have been told is real. Sometimes we get the same phenomenon when we see an unfamiliar object, or go into an unfamiliar place, particularly if navigating, it takes a while to build up an overall knowledge of the place and be able to understand what is where and build up complete spatial awareness.

Operating a new camera or exploring a new town, our awareness of how to operate the object or find our way around, is in flux until we can record enough information about it that we can be certain of its qualities. We are ‘in the dark’ so to speak. An appropriate metaphor considering it’s all about light.

To extrapolate this idea further, if the universe were suddenly somehow to become completely devoid of life and consciousness it would cease to exist. However there is consciousness all throughout the universe and always has been, even in its earliest stages of formation, a non corporeal awareness that drives on and creates all physical life as we know it; this explains the seeming inherent intelligence of nature and how creatures likes bees and ants are able to create complex societies; it also explains evolution and how animals adapt to their environments over time, despite these changes taking place over many lifetimes of individual animals, it is the motor of life and it is intelligent: it reacts, learns and grows, perhaps too this is what we may call God.

Confused Wizards, the King of Spain and brave people who buy tinned beans in supermarkets.

Act 5 Scene 8

Steve  and Docs quickly get to work handing out joints and lighting them.

Docs: Light multiple joints for a spare. If one goes out you might not have enough fire power!

Steve: Laughing for once Enough fire-power? Didn’t you see what this stuff did to paedo Johnny?

Docs: Just in case. We can’t be certain yet if the effect is consistent. Besides, he smoked it himself!  And it was one of the rockets too!

 They all leave the cellar holding joints in each hand. Naomi Spence has been quietly briefed and has a joint in each hand. And is smoking them alternately.

Naomi Spence: Ahh, I feel so clear! It really DOES chase out your demons this stuff! I can’t hear the voices anymore.

They hear noises and shouts coming into the house.

Steve: Well I can hear those voices: they must have heard St Vile’s demon exploding.

Steve: So ok how do we do this?

John Hampton: Good question! Let me think…

They do not need to be given time to think for an answer because the answer is provided for them by the destruction wrought upon the men as they come into contact with the protective smoke wafting all around the company. As soon as they smell the smoke it is enough to break their mind control and send the demon fried back into hell. Suddenly all of the shouting and angry men in cowls all seem to come to themselves and start chatting and asking where on Earth they are and what’s going on.

Prime Minister: I say, does anyone know what’s going on? I can’t remember a damned thing!

King of Spain: stumbling towards Naomi ¿Dónde estoy? He perdido mi memoria.

Naomi Spence: Huh? I’m sorry I don’t speak Spanish.

King of Spain: Lo seinto… I try to say, I am forgotten my memory….Do you know who Iyam?

Naomi Spence: No idea. But if you’re here you’re probably some kind of evil pervert I would have thought.

The King frowns mumbling ‘perverso’ and wanders off.

For a while the men are confused and disturbed and don’t know who they are and they just chat like forgetful old men and some women.

 English prince: looking around him and appearing to realize something Excuse me! He is largely ignored so he raises his voice adopts a commanding tone Listen to me! I think I know what we’re doing here.  We’re wearing these creepy costumes like from some weird movie about dark evil satanic rites.

 A noise of assent and agreement stirs up from the now vaguely interested crowd.

French occultist: He is right!

English prince:  So whatever is happening we are the bad guys and they pointing to Steve Crew and the others are the good guys.

The sound of dawning realization comes from the erstwhile forgetful participants.

News-presenter: So what shall we do? I don’t even know my own name.

Famous pop musician and pianist: So we must chase them round and round until they all fall down starts laughing hysterically

Steve and Crew come out of the house and face to face with Mr Hands.

Mr Hands: grinning and rubbing his hands together Yes indeed. We must most certainly chase them. Round and round indeed, until they all fall down….DEAD.

Steve: taking a big draw on a joint and blasting it into Mr Hands’ face Take that you boney looking ghoul bag

Mr Hands: after the smoke clears I’m sorry son, there’s no smoking allowed here.

Mr Hands cuffs Steve hard around the right eye with his Tailor’s ring drawing blood and knocking Steve to the ground.

 Mr Hands: the façade of kindly but creepy old man suddenly falls away leaving a very dangerous and self confident and extremely psychotic being Now you have a scar there son. Is your name Mark? You thought your poxy little puff factory would work on me? I’m not like these brainless vessels waving dismissively at the King of Spain and the Prime Minister of England. I am the MASTER…. My will is my own because the Dark Lord and I are ONE.

Mr Hands: calling out to a group of still confused men in wizarding robes who seem to be having  a little conference of their own: Come here you men.

Spokesperson of the confused wizards: I’m not sure that we will, we haven’t yet picked a side.

Mr Hands: You old fool, you picked a side lifetimes ago or you wouldn’t be in those robes.

Spokesperson of the confused wizards: Well hang on there a moment, we need to clear this up. We all appear to be dressed in the same way so we’ve decided we’re going to band together and  make a joint decision about who and what we do.

Mr Hands: quietly cursing for God’s sake. You old band of fools.

Spokesperson of the confused wizards:  Who says we’re fools? Maybe we’re the masters here.

One of the less confused confused wizards prods the spokesperson of the confused wizards.

Less confused wizard: quietly but not quietly enough not to be overheard What if we were doing something bad?  Well, if we were doing something bad we must have been doing it for a good reason. I mean, all this must be here for a purpose. So maybe we should just carry on doing what we were doing in the first place.

Spokesperson of the confused wizards: ponders for a moment But we don’t really know what we were doing in the first place.

Less confused wizard: Take a look around. Burning torches, creepy old house, old men in robes. It can’t be something good and if it isn’t, then that guy pointing to Mr Hands, definitely looks the worst and creepiest around so he must be the boss.

 The spokesperson of the confused wizards stops and finding the logic difficult to refute, adopts a slightly thwarted look on his face: Hmmm, very well. You may continue Master turns around to less confused wizard and surreptitiously hits him. There is an OW clearly enunciated from within the confused wizards and Mr Hands smiles and continues as leader.

Mr Hands: And now suddenly returning to his guise as erudite and essentially harmless school teacher my dear though rather naughty young friend Cecilia Green must return to us for the culmination of the night’s revels which despite the loss of our esteemed friend Jimmy St Vile, we will continue a clock tower strikes and a bell is heard right on cue.

The smoke from the weed slowly dissipates and ceases to be effective as the assembled throng, restored to their wills, effectively decide that they are evil anyway and would very much like to continue as planned. Particularly as there are dim memories of an orgy taking place a little later.

Mr Hands: You see John and your clever, though scruffy little pothead friends, your weed no longer has the desired effect. Some people are just born this way. Why discriminate? Let us have our fun… indicating Crew, Steve and Docs At their expense….

John Hampton: defiantly Not without a fight Hands!

Mr Hands: his eyes lighting up and pouting his lips with delight  Shall we wrestle? No, a duel! I’ve always wanted to do that. So Byronesque. He was a fine Tailor of a man was Lord Byron. I had you as a man very much after his heart you know. You do so disappoint me with all this new found ‘morality’ of yours you know. Besides, what is this all about anyway Hampton? Why are you siding with these worthless oafs? Signalling to the cowled men to restrain them Hold them!

John Hampton: Who says they’re worthless?

Mr Hands: Oh come on man, take a look at them! They are restrained by a dozen hands and cannot move What do they do but bumble around in their half life moving from one pronounces the word with disdain ‘cheeseburger’ to the next? Watching funny cats on the internet while stoned and buying tinned beans in supermarkets. They’re scarcely alive at all Hampton! I thought you were headed for the stars John, like us. Living eternally in the astral light with the Earth perpetually under your gaze and at your command. Considering a moment I’ll tell you what, we can make this work for both of us. I shall make you an example of my infinite mercy. I will forgive you and readmit you to the infernal light. But you know what you must do. Mr Hands hands Hampton a ceremonial dagger. Do it now John. You’re one of us, you always were. I can’t hypnotise you, you seem to have foiled even my best tricks but you can be like me, a free and willing servant of evil dwelling forever in the heart of the dark  star pointing to a specific place in the night sky and we shall climb the serpent’s tail together.

John Hampton turns to Steve and Crew. A new look has come into John Hampton’s eyes, a growing malice and a disquieting smirk at the corner of his mouth.

 Steve: seeing this new look in John’s eyes resignedly holds up his hands and turning to the others Ahh,  that’s it then. At least we tried. I think this is as far as we go on this one guys.

Docs: considering Meh. I suppose so. We did well to get this far really to be honest. Who’d have known these guys are just naturally evil. I thought once we blew the demons out that would do the trick. But hey ho, there y’go. You live and learn.

Steve: wanly tries to crack a joke Well, not so much of the living anymore.

Docs gives a mirthless dry single laugh.

Crew: The bad guys always win, everyone knows that. Life isn’t a movie.

Docs: pleasantly surprised Hey Crew, you’re straight again…. Well, that’s something I guess.

Crew: Yeah, thanks for that ‘chocolate’.

Steve: winking There’s nothing that Crew won’t swallow.

 All three of them smile and chuckle for a moment, then await John’s work with the ceremonial knife.

John Hampton: for a moment is still, holding the knife. The strange look suddenly leaves his eyes and he throws it down to the ground. Never. These baked bean eating straggly stoners are my new friends. I could never in my life imagine anyone facing death so bravely. Certainly not one of you people. These are better men than you give them credit for and I will gladly die by their side as one of them.

Crew: Great!

Docs: considering well…not so great for John and no better for us.

Mr Hands: surprised raising one eyebrow in a slightly camp malefic gesture of surprise, like an evil Kenneth Williams then he shrugs. Hmm. I  thought you’d do something recklessly and self destructively noble like that….. There’s something about you. Lost in thought for a moment, appears unsure of what to do next. Makes a sudden decision. Ok bring them with us. I don’t know why but I like you Hampton, and your stupid friends….. Would be a shame to kill you somehow, at least right now… stops for a moment again apparently lost in thought I’ll have to think of a more noble and deserving end for you and your unwashed friends than a mere quick butchery.

 They all walk away from the house towards the Hellwood caves.

Illuminati showdowns with weapons-grade dope and beloved BBC paedo Johnny St.Vile

Act 5 scene 7

The Grounds of Felchester Abbey. John Hampton, Steve, Crew, Docs and Kora are all dressed in blue cowls and are making their way furtively out of the cave entrance.

John Hampton notices that some of the others attendees have noticed their uncertain gait.

John Hampton: Sotto voce  Guys, if you’re gonna stumble around looking like the Scooby Doo crew we’ll be spotted in a second. Stand up straight! Ordering: Arrogance! Look at the way these guys are moving around. These people own the world and they know it. If we’re not gonna get killed you’ve gotta blend in. They can smell your fear already.

A few of the cowled men approach Crew and Steve almost sniffing them out and finding their scent alien, weak and beguiling.

Hampton shoots Steve a significant look as the two men approach.

Crew: quavering Errr…. Hello gentlemen.

Steve: trying to take his cue from John but not knowing how to pull it off and instead performing a very bad impersonation of a plummy rugby club guy he knew at uni and  also apparently adding some Dickensian locutions for good measure:  Well chaps, what is your business here with us this evening?

John Hampton: doing a classic face-palm. and saying to himself under his breath:  They’d be much more scared of you if you just spoke with your normal accents. That’s the one thing these guys can’t front up against: the working classes.

Blue Cowled man: His face is invisible, lurking at the back of the hood. From the darkness What have we here? Slowly with stress on the consonants:  Frressshhh mmmeattt.

Steve: Jesus! Turning to Crew They’re Orcs man!

Crew: Soundling more and more like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Orcs!

Suddenly there is a flash of light. Or there appears to be. The Blue-Cowled man is sent flying back onto the ground where he lays smouldering and immobile.

Kora: Low born human FILTH! How dare you pollute my presence?  I can read your sordid little minds. Men! You are dogs humping your own legs and anything you can trap between those hairy and malshapen members.  Feel my female power, right between your legs. How’dyou like me now bitch?

John looks at Kora while the other man in the blue-cowl picks up his smoking brother.

Second Blue Cowled man:  Not again! Can’t take you anywhere….. Oh well, let’s bring you back to life again. I’m feeling faint as it is, you’ll drink me dry you will. Who’d be a vampire?

The  Blue Cowled Man turns to Kora with his eyes lowered Sorry your highness, we didn’t expect to see you out here. It is an honor to be in your presence and an honour for him I am sure indicating with his head the blue cowled man he is carrying to be struck by one of your energy bolts.

Kora smiles: Yes I am sure. With a strong black ghetto accent Though I don’t wanna see you little white pussies creeping roun’ my ends no more. Y’git me? Kisses her teeth loudly Little old Harry Potter bitches. Becoming leery and very sassy Yeah, das right I didn’t say no ‘witches’.. slowly and focusing her whole attention on the man holding the other smouldering man, and apparently the smouldering man himself who is apparently having his spirit sucked out of his body so Kora can give him a dressing down I said ‘Bitches’.  Harry, Potter, Bitches.

The smouldering man’s spirit groans at being called a Harry Potter  Bitch.

Kora: Suddenly becoming really sweet and much more like Cecilia: Ok you can go now.

Steve: To John. What happened to you? International man of mystery? With your bullet-proof physicist mates and your hot-police-proof hatchback! Where were you? How come Cecilia had to save my life.

Crew: Murmuring in his delirium Again!

Steve: Turning to answer Crew: Yeah, again. But not finding him there. He spots him sat on the grass. Crew mate, what are you doing down there?

Crew: Talking to Kora. She saved your lives again.

Steve: Well technically that was Cecilia.

Crew: Shaking his head and laughing with a new mania No, that’s not it. They’re together now. That was Cecilia you saw just then. She was working together with Kora.

Steve: What’s going on? How do you know this?

Crew: I told you I was just talking to her.

John Hampton: He might be right.

Steve: Anyway, I’m not going to be distracted from my point by my mate Crew apparently now being a psychic master. Why did you just stand there as they looked me over and got all Orcy. Fucking nearly shit myself John.

John Hampton: I couldn’t do anything. They were grand vampire grandfathers of the Illuminati, they would have destroyed me with their evil. I might have a few tricks up my sleeve but I don’t have all the tricks.

Steve: I seriously thought he was going to eat me.

John Hampton: No. Steve looks up raising his eyebrows looking for reassurance. They’d have had sex with you first. pauses Then eaten you.

Steve: Sardonically Oh thanks!

Docs: Intervening Let’s just count ourselves lucky neither of the two were on the menu tonight. Let’s count our blessings and figure out how to find those doobies.

John Hampton: Holding his head It’s no good. I can’t for the life of me remember where I put them. The whole thing is a total blank. I must have been hypnotized before I put them away. I never can remember what I do when I’m hypnotized.

Steve: You should thank yourself lucky for that.

Docs: I suppose the reason for that is that it isn’t you anymore in your body at all, but the demonic spirit which has invaded it.

John Hampton: Of course. So it is hopeless, I won’t be able to remember where I put the weapons grade stash because it wasn’t me who put it there.

Kora: Looking over at them: You are sure to die soon you mortals, but for the moment you entertain me, and for some reason, I have an unaccountable fondness for you.

Crew: Winks to Steve mouthing the words: Cecilia.

Kora: I know someone who may be able to help you find what you have lost, you will follow me, they start to come over towards her, she adds archly at a respectful distance!

Docs: Sorry, bowing of course your majesty! Giving Steve and John a secret thumbs-up.

They start to back-off and wait until Kora is a walking a good ten metres ahead.

They follow Kora after a short walk, into the manor house. They go into the room where Cecilia originally awoke.

Kora: In Cecilia’s voice Little Suzy? Are you here? Little Suzy I need your help.

After a wait of some moments and the flickering of candles after which a cold air seems to enter the room. Suddenly from out of the fireplace, cautiously appears the ghost of Little Suzy.

Kora: Ahh, little Suzy! There you are!

Little Suzy: Uncertainly Ooo, ma’m, I’m frightened.

Steve: You’re frightened? You’re the ghost, I’m the one who’s supposed to be frightened.

Little Suzy: looking at Kora and sniffling, as if about to cry Mam, I don’t like it, it’s strange. You’ve turned strange like one of them, and them waving a ghostly hand at Steve and Crew, I don’t know who they are, are they farmers? I’ve never seen them before.

Kora: Little Suzy, it’s ok, I’ve found some friends to play with. Can you help us?  my friend has lost something valuable and we wondered if you knew where it was because you’re always creeping about the place.

Little Suzy sees John Hampton and suddenly shrieks and disappears.

Kora: What is it Little Suzy? He’s ok, he’s my friend. He’s my best friend. Friends should like other friends’ friends Little Suzy. We’re all just friends here.

The voice of Little Suzy: I know that man. He’s one of ‘them’. It’s Pluto. He has the Devil inside him.

John Hampton: No, no, I had to infiltrate the organization and get hypnotised but then I managed to use a ring-tone as a trigger to deprogram my subconscious mind.

Little Suzy: I don’t understand.

John Hampton: thinking, after a moment  It was a game! I was pretending to be Pluto in a game.

Little Suzy: You weren’t pretending when I saw you about to kill those farmers with your trident. I ran away.

John Hampton: Well, no I was possessed yes, but I’m better now, and those farmers, well it’s these same fellows here, indicating Crew, Steve and Docs to wherever Little Suzy might now be hiding. You see, it WAS just a game. Just a very complicated and dangerous one.

Slowly from out of the shadows Little Suzy cautiously comes forward.

Little Suzy: Looking at John Hampton from deep under her brows I saw you, I was hiding though my old nan said it’s rude to peep on people without them knowing it.

John Hampton: Well not this time Little Suzy, this time you did the best thing a little girl could do!

Little Suzy brightens up and the candles flare up to flood the room with light.

Crew: Suddenly laughing from his place on the floor. Light!

John Hampton: I’ve lost something, I’ve put it somewhere but I can’t remember where it is.

Little Suzy: Was it when you were dressed as that bad man?

John Hampton: Yes it was young lady.

Little Suzy: flatly I’m nearly 400 years old. Thinking Well I saw you leaving the Farmers behind to be tied up and taken to the special horrible cave where they do horrible things, then I saw that horrible man who does the horrible things to the children, she screams, his name is Johnny St Vile, he is not really human but is possessed by a demon; since he was a child he has been like that. He came over to you and whispered something to you then you became the devil man. And you went into this house, upstairs…

John Hampton: anxiously repeating Upstairs yes.

Little Suzy: Then into the upstairs cellar and you put something under the secret stone in the cellar where it can never be found unless you know where it is.

John Hampton: The secret stone! Of course. But which secret stone! There are so many. Will you come with us little Suzy into the cellar and help me find which stone it was?

Little Suzy: Shrieks and screams No no no no no, I can’t go in there, I can’t never!

John Hampton shrugs.

Kora: Oh please Little Suzy, we really need your help.

Little Suzy: I’m sorry Miss I promise but I can’t.

John Hampton: But you did before. You followed me and peeped on me when I was hiding the things.

Little Suzy: considering Ahh, but I was curious. Now I’m just too scared.

John Hampton: But you’re safe now, you’re with us. Me, remember I was the powerful God Pluto Little Suzy visibly jumps with slight fright and Kora here is a Goddess too, and we have our friends the farmers here indicating Crew Steve and Docs. Besides, they can’t hurt you, you’re already dead.

Little Suzy: But I get terrible nightmares whenever I get too close to evil things. There’s sure to be something evil in the cellar, there always is. Or something strange and sad.

Kora: If you come with us and help us Little Suzy I will be able to help you to leave this place forever and go into the infinite light.

Little Suzy: really Miss? I haven’t seen any infingy light here for a long time.

Kora: But remember that I am a Goddess and I have the light right here! Kora raises her hand and suddenly a light emits from it which slowly starts to fill the whole room. Suddenly to the people in the room, there is the impression of warm sunlight and cool breezes, a cool seaside on a hot Summer’s day momentarily fills the room. Little Suzy’s eyes light up and suddenly she becomes as if she were alive again, her pretty auburn hair with blond in parts which seems to sparkle in the light, she smiles and jumps up with glee at feeling herself filled with life and energy once more. Then, as suddenly, it dissipates. And Suzy is amazed as she slowly reverts to her phantom condition. You see Little Suzy, you will be able to play there forever, but you must prove yourself worthy of this fine reward by helping us.

Crew: Laughing Light!

Little Suzy: Still amazed I didn’t know you could do that Miss!

Kora: I’m Kora the Goddess, I can do things like that.
Little Suzy: Well I don’t know who you think you are but I know you’re my best friend Cecilia the Clever and Brave.

Kora: Cecilia the Clever and Brave! Well I should be honoured to be thus named, in addition to my official designation of course as Queen of the Underworld.

They go upstairs into the cellar and enter the crypt and altar. They discover inside the room an old dusty box sat on a stone on the altar.

Docs: Goes over to the stone and tries to lift it It’s heavy, feels magnetic to me, some kind of iron meteorite.

John Hampton: Wait a minute don’t do that, whatever you do don’t move it.

Docs: Grunting too late, blimey it sure is heavy, would make a good work-out he starts doing reps lifting it up and down.

John Hampton: That stone you’ve just  removed has a magnetic field which was containing a smaller electro-magnetic field inside that dusty box there. Whatever it is, for some reason, is contained within a magnetic prison. Now it has been released.

Steve: Yeah, AND we’re in a spooky evil crypt in the UPSTAIRS of a spooky evil house in the middle of a spooky evil Illuminati party. Whatever it is can’t be good!

Suddenly there is a burst of light from the box and Naomi Spence appears still dressed as she was when she was abducted from her concert.

Steve: Nodding I was right.

Naomi Spence: Why you hating on me already? You don’t know me.

Kora: Delightedly Wow! This is great! I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you at last!

Naomi Spence: You like my stuff?

Kora: I love it!

Naomi Spence:  nods and looks at Cecilia Do you know the dances?

Naomi starts to dance and Kora starts to match her moves until they are totally coordinated and dancing in sync.

Cecilia: This is the best day of my life. Suddenly there is a blast of cool air which seems to rise up then leave.

Crew: She’s gone!

Cecilia: Yes, she’s gone, Kora has gone about her business. It’s me Cecilia….. This is some crazy stuff right?

Steve: sardonically It’s just one treat after another.

John Hampton: I wonder why she left. Maybe it’s because your own happiness broke through or something.

Little Suzy crouches down and indicates the secret pivot stone where hypnotized John Hampton had hidden the stash.

Little Suzy: Here it is! This is where you put the things.

John Hampton reaches down and deftly depresses the secret spot in the special swivel stone. It turns smoothly on it’s incredibly precise turning moment and John reaches in to bring out the weed.

John Hampton: I don’t believe it! It’s gone!

Little Suzy: Well that’s where you put it!

John Hampton: What happened after I left this place and went down to the cave?

Little Suzy: Trying to remember as she does so, visions seem to fill the air. Her thoughts and movements being reconstructed in her memory are visible in the gloom around her. Suddenly Johnny St Vile appears in the vision and Little Suzy shrieks, Ahh, the horrible man, now I remember, he was waiting in the dark as you came out, he came in here!

Suddenly the door bursts open!

Johnny St Vile: bawling And I am here now little piggies! Time to chop you up. He produces a huge butcher’s knife which he raises above his head. Looking at John. Shame about you John, I thought you were one of us. Have to admire you breaking the hypnosis. I’d better chop you first, then we can mop the others-up at our leisure, suddenly his eyes burn with red fire and he raises his machete.

Cecilia: Cecilia attempts to transmit the commanding tone of Kora: Wait Vile!

Johhny St Vile: Turns slowly to Cecilia. Oh, I am sorry your highness. He casts his eyes down and starts murmuring strongly: Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you later?

Cecilia: How dare you speak to me, the Queen of the Underworld like that?

Johhny St Vile: Smiling, slowly looks up: The Queen isn’t here anymore young lady, you can give up the act, but she’ll be back later you’ll see.

Johnny St Vile: Now, where was I? Looks down at the collection of rolled cigarettes he is carrying. Laughing to himself. So these chancers thought they could come here and flog weed to the Great Family? Still chuckling to himself. I used to smoke this all the time in the discos. Laughing How’d you think it got into the country? We’d run the nightclubs to flog the stuff. I’d use it on the girls to make ‘em feel sleepy and warm so they’d get their bras off for me. Laughing a dirty laugh. Steve very subtly looks at John who returns his look.

I think I’ll smoke one of these gentleman’s special cigars then I can kill you with a smile on my face.

Johnny lights up one of the big ones.

Johnny St Vile: You needn’t think this’ll mellow me out and turn me into a hippy. Grass always made me violent. It’s the way I’m wired. He smokes a big lungful. Suddenly there is a long prolonged scream which pierces the night and echoes throughout the whole grounds. The cellar in the house becomes ground zero of an aetheric energy explosion of such force that everyone is knocked instantly to the ground. When the smoke clears a dying Johnny St Vile is lying on the floor.

Johnny St.Vile: Looking around him in wide eyed wonder. Who am I?

Naomi Spence: turning to Johnny You are the world’s nastiest cunt and she boots his dying body so hard his body is smacked straight into the stone floor. Thus died  Johnny St Vile, beloved friend of Israel of Prince Charles, of Tony Blair, the NHS, the BBC; the evil man who had invaded the UK with a secret demonic agenda studied and learned through years of schizophrenic communication with spirits, passes from this world.




The Hidden Rituals of Old Gods Part 2.

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So what’s going on here? Well, there are two distinct and by no means mutually exclusive possibilities. The first possibility is that all of this was an elaborate swindle by the priesthood:  the occult priesthood have since the dawn of history always had a highly privileged position and they successfully managed throughout the thousands of years from the earliest days of Dynastic Egypt through to the depraved Greek, Druid and Roman mysteries, to maintain an
elaborate con trick and charade foisted on millions of people, placating and mystifying the population while they tuck into the treats offered up at God’s barbecue.

Does this seem likely? Are humans really so easily tricked with  that a select band of spooky priests can totally dominate human culture history and spirituality for thousands of years? Personally I don’t think it’s the whole story. This brings us to the second hypothesis.

The second possibility is that there are indeed a whole host of spirit operatives of various kinds, which choose to involve themselves in our human environment and the priests have become their agents and representatives within the human population. Perhaps a sort of quid pro quo has been arranged whereby the priests are promised earthly power and satisfaction of various material desires in exchange for representing their invisible superiors to the people and convincing them by various pieces of dubious theology and myth, in addition to certain parlour tricks and mysteries which the priests had perfected over time, particularly in the mysteries of Eleusis and whereby for example we have acquired the word ‘Illusion’.  At least, this hypothesis is more reasonable than the official etymology of the word ‘Illusion’ which is said to come from the latin word ‘iludere’ to mock, but I can’t see it myself. Not sure how they jumped from ‘Illudere’ to ‘Illusio’. However the Greek town Eleusis which was
famous for its mysteries which typically depended on tricks ‘Illusions’ and hallucinations, makes more sense.

The mysteries of Eleusis recounted the rape of Persephone as
we have seen,  and involved the initiate, or ‘mystae’ actually entering the a temple of Hades, or hell itself, again, this mystery involved watching a play unfold, likely a sexual scene enacting the rape of Persephone (Kora), and the consumption of a heavily intoxicating
preparation made from water, barley, mint, and a strongly psychoactive hallucinogen, likely ergot from the fungus infected barley[i]. Ergot is the natural substance from which LSD was later synthesised. Indeed, it is reported by history that rather irreverently the psychoactive brew: the ‘kykeon’, was stolen by the military general and orator Alkibiades[ii] in 415BC and apparently was the first recorded instance of the use of ‘recreational drugs’. In the terminology of the time Alkibiades was charged with profaning the mysteries and the story lends credence to the  theories of famous entheogenic researchers such as Terrence Mckenna, that the kykeon did indeed have a strong narcotic effect on the human brain.

This is further strengthened when one considers that   in all
of the mystery initiations of the ancient world, the candidate is instructed to fast prior to experiencing the  mysteries. Anyone who’s ever dabbled with entheogenic substances will know that the experience is much more profound effect on an empty stomach.

Not only did the kykeon have a very profound effect on the mystae’s mental processes, but so too did the performance of the mystery play itself. Indeed, what we nowadays take for granted as television and movie  entertainment, was considered to be a mystical and psycho-spiritual education thousands of years ago. Aristotle wrote of drama in his Poetics of the ‘catharsis’ or ‘purification’ experienced by experiencing tragedy in the context of a dramatic enactment and analysis the machinery of  the psychological changes which take place in the spectator:

 ‘Fear and pity may be aroused by spectacular means; but they may also result from the inner structure of the piece, which is the better way, and indicates a superior poet. For the plot ought to be so constructed that, even without the aid of the eye, he who hears the tale told will thrill with horror and melt to pity at what takes place. ’ [iii]

The mysteries of Eleusis depended on absolute secrecy. The participants were sworn to silence on pain of death not to reveal any ‘spoilers’ to anyone. In addition the priesthood were sworn to secrecy of course not to reveal to anyone the ‘secret’ of the ergot infected barley which was the key to the quasi-divine, ‘death experience’ which the mysteries were said to unlock. It is said that “anyone who was `anyone’, was an initiate of the Mysteries’ and today with Freemasonry just as then with the mystery cults, we see the importance of belonging to a secret society in order to guarantee success and renown in life.

Crucially, it is the secret priesthood who had the full secret knowledge of the experience, and how to achieve it, and it is likely that the mystae took the it all at face-value, and would have no doubt believed that there was some divine-power causing his or her extraordinary experiences, while the priesthood would have known that it

was merely the result of a special fungus. One can assume this because of the consistency and repeatability of the Eleusinian mysteries. The priests knew what they were looking for when they harvested or chose the barley and knew the results which this would provoke. One could say that while the initiate has a
mystical understanding of the experience, the priesthood had the scientific understanding of the experience.

Not only were there at least two levels of understanding between the mystae and the priest, but also amongst the alumni of the mysteries. In the inferior degrees of the mysteries of Eleusis, the conventional understanding was that the pomegranate
seeds referred to the seasons and the division of the year into lighter and darker months. The highest degree of understanding in the mysteries however, as surmised by Manly P Hall in his book ‘The Secret Teachings of all Ages’[iv], reveals that the half a year spent in captivity with Pluto, or Hades, was allegorical for the equal division of day and night, and the time spent here in the material world ‘awake’, was the  ‘captivity’
to the human physical body and the lower realms of Pluto, while the other half being spent, asleep,
in the liberated spirit-form, where our soul is released and we can gain the higher realms.

So where does leave the second view? Do we have any proof to
support the view that invisible beings are communicating with certain people and prompting them to perform certain deeds and misdeeds. Is there any evidence? Or is it all clever tricks and magic-mushrooms? Well, there’s plenty and it never ends. It comes thick and fast at us from the news, but because of the dogma of our materialistic society we ignore it as the ravings of madmen.
But those whose minds are slightly opened and whose horizons extend that little bit further beyond the narrow confines of our zoo-cage modern life,  may detect other subtle possibilities which
may explain, for once, a heck of a lot about what’s wrong with our world. “The devil told me to do it!”; “God told me to do it!” and most recently: “Jesus told me to do it!”

These are all phrases spoken by perpetrators of the most inexplicably savage, shocking and undoubtedly evil acts which confuse confound and dismay our spirits on an almost daily basis. Again and again we ask what drove the killer to do what he did? How can humans act in such an inhumane way? And on and on,
leading us all to suspect that there might be something intrinsically wrong with ‘us’ as a race because of the actions of some of our fellows. And on and on for thousands of years we have had to attempt to field and explain and answer for these terrible blots on the copy book of human culture, and we can’t, because somehow we discount the testimony of the perpetrator himself.

This relatively recent pyscho-nugget blames Jesus for his multiple murders: one time, aspiring ‘horror-core’ rapper Syko Sam otherwise known as Richard McCroskey, who in 20th September 2010, pleaded guilty to four counts of murder.[v]


McCroskey murdered his girlfriend, her parents (pastor Mark Niederbrock, university professor Debra Kelly and Emma’s 18 year old friend Melanie Well). Apparently McCroskey got into an argument after attending a horror-core concert on the
14th of September and murdered all four victims as they slept the following morning.

In McCroskey’s ‘song’ My Dark Side, this satanically possessed simpleton intones:

“You’re not the first, just to let you know. I’ve killed many people and I kill them real slow. It’s the best feeling, watching their last breath.
Stabbing and stabbing till there’s nothing left,”

Interestingly McCroskey is a Scottish Clan name of the once ruling nobility of Ireland and Scotland and the name was originally Mac an Chrosain and has been conventionally translated as ‘the son of the cross’, interesting given the murderer’s own comments about his apparent, perhaps only half-joking, inspiration for murdering the four people. But a deeper and more enlightening analysis of this strange surname is given in Tadhg MacCrossan’s 1993 book[vi]
about paganism and witchcraft: The Truth about Druids. In this book, MacCrossan explains that the name Mac an Chrosain, MacCrossan and indeed McCroskey, are all actually the same druidic name. In her book, Tadhg explains that Mac an Chrosain means ‘son of the satirist’. Where the Gallic and druidic word
‘Chrosain’ meant, not cross but ‘satirist’.

Is it possible then that Richard McCroskey murdered these
four people and claimed ‘Jesus told me to do it’ is a dark act of satanic satire? Clearly Richard could not be aware of his part in this game, of the history of his name and the druidic connection. The man is clearly a ginger haired simpleton of the worst kind, however, if this ‘tool’ were used in a pan dimensional game of planetary politics by hidden and nefarious forces then the pieces start to fit and these insane and seemingly senseless crimes start to almost make a kind of sense. Hitler was one of the biggest despoilers of human dignity and again and again we are seemingly clueless as to his motives. Why did he kill all those Jews? As children we hear silly stories about his mother dying due to the medical intervention of a Jewish doctor. Even more laughably we hear from ‘serious’ TV

humanists that Hitler was motivated by the murder of Jesus by the Jews. As if enough water hasn’t passed under that particular bridge already. But no, like so much else, this disinformation is put out there as a typical anti-truth decoy.

From Hitler’s own words we find a clue to the real reason for his despicable acts, it has very little to do with any real ideological convictions of personal bigotry but has more to do with following orders from invisible and mysterious superiors. If we examine Hitler’s own statements as reported by Hermann Rauschning in his book of apparently recorded private conversations, called Hitler Speaks[vii], we will be in a better position to understand the nature of his own particular brand of evil:

“One cannot help thinking of him as a medium. For most of the time, mediums are ordinary, insignificant people. Suddenly they are endowed with what seem to be supernatural powers which set them apart from the rest of humanity. The medium is possessed. Once the crisis is passed, they fall back again into mediocrity. It was in this way, beyond any doubt, that Hitler was possessed by forces outside of himself – almost demoniacal forces of which the individual man Hitler was only the temporary vehicle. The mixture of the banal and the supernatural created that insupportable duality of which one was conscious in his presence… It was like looking at a bizarre face whose expression seemed to reflect an unbalanced state of mind coupled with a disquieting impression of hidden powers.”

“What will the social order of the future be like? Comrade, I will tell you. There will be a class of overlords, after them the rank and file of the party members in hierarchical order, and then the great mass of anonymous followers, servants and workers in perpetuity, and beneath them again all the conquered foreign races, the modern slaves. And over and above all these will reign a new and exalted nobility of whom I cannot speak… but of all these plans the militant members will know nothing. The new man is living amongst us now! He is here. Isn’t that enough for you? I will tell you a secret. I have seen the new man. He is intrepid and cruel. I was afraid of him.”

We also discover in John Toland’s biography of Hitler[viii]
that Hitler was also a disciple of the Norse chaos god Wotan, the following poem was written by Hitler in 1915 while he served as a corporal on the Western Front.

I often go on bitter nights

To Wotan’s oak in the quiet glade

With dark powers to weave a union –

The runic letter the moon makes with its magic spell

And all who are full of impudence during the day

Are made small by the magic formula!

In his essay entitled Revolting Julius Evola and the Blood Axis Fascists[ix], William H Kennedy explores the fascist legacy of Evola and indicates that certain terrorist events of the twentieth century were directly inspired by his thinking, including the acts of various fascist and neo-Nazi organisations throughout the world, and how a whole new horde of devotees have become motivated as a result of Evolian thinking. Michael Moynihan, musician of the band Blood Axis, high priest in Anton’s Le Vey’s Church of Satan and writer of
the book Lords of Chaos: The bloody rise of Satanic metal underground (1999) is analysed in the following terms by Kennedy:

In Lords of Chaos the authors contend that avatism has a spiritual and psychological

component, namely, the emergence of unruly old Norse gods into the minds and bodies of Black Metalists. In their reckoning such recently reported occurrences of Black Metalists committing acts of destruction and violence can be attributed to the integration of Norse deities into individual Nazi-Satanists (aka evil spirit possession). This metaphysical process is catalyzed by a combination of ritual Satanism, neo-Nazi indoctrination and the harsh rhythms of Black Metal music… Moynihan further states that the entire Third Reich was a manifestation of the ancient Norse god Wotan in the German masses.”

However unlikely such a thing may appear to the Times reading and tea drinking general public the fact that certain of the chief operators within Black Metal and Satanism themselves believe this should be warning enough that even if such talk is delusion and hyperbole, that certain people are advocating that violence and various other outrages be performed, without the usual restraints of guilt and morality, because somehow it fits into a ancient Nordic theology.


Once you start researching these strands of insanity and violent extremism of various kinds, one soon starts to find the threads merge and an overall picture emerges. Typing in the band name ‘Blood Axis’ in the hunt for interesting images to accompany this rather long bit of un-illustrated text I came across the preceding  picture, representing what I suspect is a stylised representation of a Teutonic knight. I found the image on the blog of one Brad Miller[x],
which has since had all references to Satanic metal apparently expunged. One wonders if my publishing of this article on the web had brought him unwelcome publicity. Along with the Teutonic knight were the following images for a performer known as ‘Sleepchamber’.


Sleep chamber seems to allude to the Canadian Mind control
centre which was centred around the  Allan Memorial Institute in Montreal Canada and depicted in the 1998 film The Sleep Room.  Apparently it was here that forms of treatment for certain types of mental illness was researched, but in reality it was likely a cover for government mind-control. Is it possible that these performers of satanic metal were recipients of this type of treatment and are
alluding to it?

It emerged that the CIA experimented on Canadian citizens: Ed Broadbant  MP raised questions in the house to the prime minister Brian Mulroney Canadian about the practices of Dr Ewen Cameron[xi] and was eventually granted an interview with CIA liaison John Hadlan. The Cooper report exonerated Dr Ewen Cameron for his use of electroshock and the surreptitious administering of LSD and lobotomies.  The surreptitious    administering or LSD? Haven’t we suddenly returned to ancient Eleusis and the surreptitious administering of Ergot? Plus ca change.. Cameron  was funded by the CIA and it seems more likely
that perhaps his methods were more related to perfecting and practising techniques of torture, interrogation and ultimately, the neutralisation of suspected threats to national security. One wonders how many ‘enemies’ of the state may have found their way into the Allan institute and whose servants were conveniently allowed full reign of techniques learned, as we will see later,
from the Nazis (as well as the ancient priests of Eleusis) for modifying psychological behaviour and mind control.

The former Avatar of Brad Miller.

Funnily enough, the blog  on which I found the Blood-Axis image was entitled: ‘Because God told me to do it’. Is this blogger aware that he is signpost and a pawn in the same spiritual war which McCrossan and as we will soon see, another relatively well know horror-core performer are also involved in?

It gets even better, at least from a researcher’s perspective as this was the blogger’s profile message before he expunged all references to Satanic culture:

“I was born in Great Falls, Montana to a British Jewish father and Thai mother. While I was quite young, my mother moved back to Thailand to live permanently, and my father, sister and I moved to San Francisco, California. Once in San Francisco my father raised my sister and I with out assistance. It was in San Francisco that my father became obsessed with the Freemasons. My father, who was named Chaim, had made enough connections within the Masonic order to obtain a position
on the Trilateral Commission by the mid 1970’s. This position took my dysfunctional family to the East coast where I attended school. I worked during the early 90’s as a dancer at several go-go bars in the state of New Jersey. My look and personality were obviously very special by Jersey go-go bar standards… Nowdays I am realizing I need to decide what I want to be when I grow up before I am dead. Although I am usually a fraud, I am honest about it. I am generally happily medicated. I believe everything that I am told, let me live vicariously through you.”

Quite a goldmine of connections waiting to be made don’t you agree? Obviously I’ll take the ‘go-go-dancer’ bit with a pinch of salt however.

His website contained all the usual hints about Nazi ideology, Aleister Crowley, promos for the Institute of Thelemic culture and
waffle about the apparent holiness of sacrificial stones. There seemed to be allusions to blood and connections with European pagan folk groups who also share a stage with far right metal bands and advocate a strange and nebulous blood loving magical paganism.


Who’s this creepy character? More random pagan oddness.


When commenting about the cover art for a lecture by the Institute of Thelemic culture in Oregon in 1984 the blogger had mentioned the significance of the wolf of Wotan in Nazi mythology, my own blog is now the sole recorder of these comments:

The Psychick Cross also incorporates the 23 mythology. The number 23 is total neither-neither territory (Austin Osman Spare’s mindfuck technique – comparing opposites separate, together, then absent). Adding the Wolf in a crucifixion is probably an extension of that.



As far as the wolf’s symbolism… it depends on what type of magick Genesis was projecting. Many Pagans believe the wolf signifies a teacher. Many who follow old Norse traditions believe that the wolf is what Odin will ride in on to victory…”

There are other possible interpretations too. The Nordic  angle ties into Nazi Germany’s use of the werewolf and even the inverted sun. Once one starts to investigate the frequent inexplicable and horrible satanic crimes which appear on our TV and in our
newspapers, and if we can find the time and inclination to tie up the loose ends, then a general, satanic plan of action seems to be revealed, and its atrocities are stimulated and incubated, in what we call entertainment media.

For instance, the group Insane Clown Posse have the following entry written in the internet based user encyclopaedia Wikepedia:[xii]

“The themes of Insane Clown Posse and other acts on Psychopathic Records centre on the mythology of the Dark Carnival, which the duo claim is a spiritual force that has revealed a series of stories known as Joker’s Cards. These stories each offer a specific lesson designed to change the “evil ways” of listeners before ‘the end consumes us all.’ Insane Clown Posse has a dedicated following, often referred to by the group as Juggalos and Juggalettes.”

So far so weird, but surely this is just little more than spooky hyperbole and harmless fanaticism from what is essentially a form of
entertainment. But why would the band adopt the strangely moralistic tone? What do they mean by changing the ‘evil ways’ of their listeners? Well, the following news stories may help demonstrate that there is something far from harmless about the activities of its followers, and that the music itself seems to be sowing a particularly destructive type of seed in the minds of young people. In the news for instance there are frequent news stories detailing the violence and mayhem which seems to follow the band’s fans around wherever they go.

 “Local police turn a wary eye to controversial band’s followers[xiii]

Insane Clown Posse fans have been classified as a gang in Monroe County. Group will play in Allentown on Dec. 5.

September 20, 2009|By Matt Birkbeck and Manuel Gamiz Jr. OF THE MORNING CALL Police throughout the country are becoming increasingly familiar with the violent lyrics of rap metal duo Insane Clown Posse, which is booked to play at an Allentown club in December.

In Monroe County, where authorities have identified up to 1,000 fans, the district attorney’s office has joined police in Arizona and Utah in listing band followers as a gang. And the Wisconsin Justice Department has labelled the band a security threat.

The controversy surrounding Insane Clown Posse, a Detroit duo, hit Schuylkill County last week when four band followers were charged with killing a friend and follower who may have broken an ICP code.

Police said Anthony Locascio, 21, of Hazleton, was lured into the woods and struck with metal baseball bats 60 to 80 times for ratting on a fellow follower of a hip-hop group that police would not identify. A source close to the investigation said all five were devoted fans of Insane Clown Posse.

Locascio’s killing is eerily similar to lyrics in “Imma Kill U,” a
recently released ICP song:

First, I smack your head with a bat
The bloody splat, crack with impact

While most fans simply listen to the music, which speaks of murder, rape and other violent acts, Monroe County Detective Emmanuel Varkanis said followers — known as Juggalos and Juggalettes after an ICP song –have been arrested there for burglary, assault, and homicide.

The increased criminal activity led Monroe to be the first county in Pennsylvania to validate the Juggalos as a gang, putting them in the same category as the Bloods and Crips.


The band, whose two members wear black-and-white clownish makeup and go by the aliases Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope, could not be reached for comment. A call and e-mail placed to one of its promoters was not returned.

Schuylkill County District Attorney James Goodman said until last week’s arrests, the county had not seen a link between Juggalos and crime.

“I’ve heard of the group, but we’ve never had any problems with anyone associated with this group,” Goodman said Friday.

The four charged there with homicide, conspiracy and aggravated assault are: Jeffrey A. Gombert, 19, and Curtis T. Foose, 25, both of Hazleton; Andrew A Tutko II, 19, of McAdoo, and Shane D. Roof, 20, formerly of Palmerton.

Two of the four, Gombert and Foose, and Locascio referred on their MySpace pages to ICP.

 Perhaps the most shocking and unpleasant news story of 2008 was the murder by decapitation and apparent eating of a young
Canadian called, Tim McLean, another old Druid/Scots name, on July 30th 2008, by  a  schizophrenic Chinese migrant who may have
been programmed by his church group, or perhaps before he arrived in Canada.[xiv]

What struck me about the murder was that this wasn’t any ordinary murder which may perhaps have been motivated by some genuine and uncontrollable feeling of resentment or revenge, but that it
was a totally motiveless attack and, by its extremely barbarous nature, something told me there was more to this than met the eye. For me, to behead Mclean who was initially sleeping on a bus, then start to cut off parts of his body and eat them, informed me that this was some kind of ritual.

I looked into this poor guy McLean and found his Myspace page and
various links which suggested the poor young man was completely enfolded in satanic imagery;  listened to violent satanic music and visited  a satanically themes nightclub called Ozzy’s in Winnipeg. The following images were on his now defunct Myspace page, of course they are only images, but they are certainly suggestive of this young man’s unknowing involvement in a satanic industry one
way or another. In particular I noticed his favourite band was Insane Clown Posse and found the following promotional material for the band:




“The Insane Clown Posse claim that they were visited by the spirit of the Dark Carnival and were shown six revelations in the form of Jokers Cards; the first Jokers Card being unleashed on the world in 1991. Each Jokers Card is more than an album… each has a specific message telling the world to change their evil ways before “the end consumes us all”. Will this be the end of the Jokers Cards, of ICP, or “the crumbling of time itself”? No one can be sure. 2004 marked the unveiling of the last of the Jokers Cards, the culmination of the Six. A Calm has settled on Humanity, but they have little time to prepare for what is next in store for them from the Insane Clown Posse!”

McLean even tagged himself: JoKAwiLd. Was HE one of the
Insane Clown Posse’s joker cards?

What’s more the murder took place during the pagan festival of sacrifice known as Lammas and there are historical presidents
for the practice of human sacrifice during  this apparently
religiously significantly period, again connected to the seasons and the harvesting of crops. One example it is said, at least by well known witch and Egyptologist Margaret Murray, was that William the Conqueror’s son King William the Red, otherwise known as William Rufus,  who was murdered in the new forest as part of a ritual murder[xv]. During this time pagans make gingerbread men and corn dollies, and this is the period which is famous for the ‘wicker man’ and story of John Barleycorn:

There was three men come out o’ the west their fortunes for to try,

And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn must die,

They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, throwed clods upon his head,

And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn was dead.

John Barleycorn was an archetype of death and rebirth and
also the fertility of the land, however he was also played by real peopleduring the pagan rites which I argue continue to this day and the rituals are relayed to an unsuspected public, through the mainstream media. It was necessary for the person playing John Barleycorn to be subjected to torture and eventually killed. It was said that his blood was then drunk. It is no coincidence that small dough effigies of Barleycorn were made and eaten after
Barleycorn’s death. Could this be the ritual re-enacted by Vince Weiguang Li?

Shortly after the murder, on the 2nd of August 2008, and during the weekend of the Lammas sacrifice festival, rather coincidentally, in Thailand, a satanic metal concert known as a ‘God Beheading
ritual’ took place, rather strangely by a group known as ICP666 which seems to refer to Insane Clown Posse again, but apparently instead is a group called InCoffin Productions, all rather charming I’m sure:

Can it be a mere coincidence that McClean himself was decapitated? What also is the significance ‘Clean’? A pure sacrifice, or course the Chinese schizophrenic may not have known his name, but was guided by a darker higher power that did and enacted an evil ritual.

During the few days after his murder a very strange group started to crawl out of the woodwork. The following story details a US church
which has some very strange ideas about the death of Tim McLean. Much stranger than mine. My idea is that he was killed by a satanic power using a hapless and confused Chinese migrant as its vessel, this Church goes one further and claims that God itself had a hand in the murder of Tim Mclean! Well I sure didn’t read that in the Gospels. God didn’t use the Chinese migrant as its vessel, but another higher power did: The Devil itself! Suck that Westboro Church!

“The church group, described in a British documentary as ‘the most hated family in America,’ told earlier Thursday that it planned to protest at the funeral of 22-year-old Tim Mclean on Saturday.[xvi]

The daughter of the founder of the Westboro Baptist Church, based in Topeka, Ka., told she and several other church members will go to Winnipeg on Saturday to demonstrate against what she described as McLean’s “filthy way of life.” Shirley Phelps-Roper said his life was emblematic of Canada’s moral decay.

‘(His death was) supremely unemotional. You got God shaking in rage. There is no emotional component … He was a rebel against God. He was taught to be a rebel by his parents. He came from a rebel country … They brought this wrath upon his head. And it sucks to be him and it sucks to be them,’ Phelps-Roper said. She said his brutal murder was a sign from God.

“You gotta connect the dots, people … from your idols to your filthy way of life,” she said.

“Here’s what I know. He is dead and God does not do that to people that serve in his truth.”

Phelps-Roper described McLean — who she had never met — in an insulting, insensitive and graphic manner. Her crudest descriptions of the 22-year-old are not printed.

“I haven’t met him personally, but he has nothing going on,” she said

“(His life) was all about him. Blah, blah, blah … He was a rebel … I
don’t need to know anything else … I don’t need to know the minutia.
Everything you need to know is right there.”

If we take the rather heartless and ill-thought out words of
Phelps-Roger from the previous item:

“You gotta connect the dots, people … from your idols to your filthy way of life,”

And we compare his use of words with the words used in promotional material by the Insane Clown Posse we start to realise in some way that Phelps-Roger seems to be singing from the same hymn sheet as the infamous horror-core rappers:

“Each has a specific message telling the world to change their evil ways
before “the end consumes us all.”

Then the singer of ICP waxes strangely moralistic at times and offers a totally contradictory message to the message in his songs:

“In my definition, it doesn’t matter what creed, religion, or group you
belong to. If you’re doing what’s right and are a good person, then you’re right with God.”
Does he see himself as some kind of ‘tester’ of humanity? This is a well known Illuminati paradigm, where they sin themselves and promulgate sins of all kinds in order to test humanity, while they themselves know all along what is right and wrong but somehow, because they are damned (at least they are mind-controlled into believing this) then they see no purpose in their life except to try to act as moral testers by using immoral means, since these immoral means is the only course of action available to immoral people. If you
remember in the Biblical book of Job this was the role of Satan, whether you believe the Old Testament has any relevance to your life is moot, because the crackpots who run the world most certainly do.

And the LORD said to Satan, “Have you considered My servant Job? For there is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, fearing God and turning away from evil.”

Then Satan answered the LORD, “Does Job fear God for nothing?

“Hast Thou not made a hedge about him and his house and all that he has, on every side? Thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his possessions have increased in the land.

“But put forth Thy hand now and touch all that he has; he will surely
curse Thee to Thy face.”

Then the LORD said to Satan, “Behold, all that he has is in your power, only do not put forth your hand on him.” So Satan departed from the presence of the LORD.[xvii]

As for the murderer, it is my belief, and one that perhaps most people will share, that he was severely mentally ill. Clearly he was under some kind of delusion as is evidenced by when he was approached by police officers he said ‘I have to stay on this bus forever’.[xviii]  This seems to be some kind of programming, perhaps by actual human agents, or by the forces of delusion operating in his own mind. Schizophrenics often harbour various delusions and they suffer from a  suspension of the belief in what you and I would call everyday reality and may believe in any number of incredible things.

Whether they are Gods, monsters, living in hell for their crimes or anything imaginable under the sun.

For instance I met a man in Poland who was a Freemason who believed he was a ghost walking the earth and he tried to convince me I was one too. Odd I know. But something the gentleman had done in his life and the consequences of it, troubled him so much that he seemed a broken man and believed from now on that his new life was a kind of twilight half- life in the shadows, far from love and happiness. I know it sounds odd but if you’ve never visited this strange state of perception then it will seem odd, but the human mind can convince itself of any number of strange realities, given enough reason to do so, much like in films like ‘The Matrix’  where people live in a virtual world which is not real and have to break out into a higher and more valid reality. Schizophrenics have in a sense totally broken out of the matrix, but they realise too late, that their bodies are still trapped in the matrix there even if their minds are not. This results in them feeling trapped and ‘in hell’.  A common delusion of the schizophrenic mind.

Illumination is schizophrenia. It’s all to do with  portals of perception. The Illuminati by which I mean high level Freemasons, metaphorically die many times in one lifetime and are reborn into the same life many times. Sounds weird to the uninitiated I’m sure. But then what is reality?  The core theme is this: How do I know this world is real and that YOU really exist? The only thing which can be proven to be real is your own perception of the world, nothing else can be experienced directly.

So if enough clues and cues are provided to you to make you reach a different conclusion based on your experiences of this world, ie: that you are in a purgatory and are being punished, or that you are a ghost which only lives in an illusionary recreation of the world, or perhaps a more modern delusion such as your whole life is an artificial construct of a giant super computer, then you will follow the directions of this suggestion and lead your life accordingly. If a certain group can dictate your reality to you, and believe me they try, then your soul and life is theirs. And this is what the ancient mystery schools discovered thousands of years ago.

As we have saw in Chapter 6, many schizophrenics and world-leaders have reported hearing voices of one kind or another issuing instructions to them. At the end of that chapter it was concluded that we need to find the origin of these voices and decide what they are, whether figments of the victim’s imagination of something more. I believe that the phenomenon of Satanism is very real and a very great danger to us in these times and we are in need of modern day writers like Dennis Wheatley who took great care to expose the crimes and methods of satanic covens. They certainly exist and they certainly inspire and provoke various crimes and murders under the term: ‘blood ritual’.

As to whether you believe Satan exists I leave this toyour discretion. But something unnatural, evil and intent on corrupting the whole human race DOES exist. For some people it may be more plausible for them if they consider this influence as an alien, or extra-terrestrial force. However, I am personally undecided whether this force comes from another planet or comes from our own.  What is certain is that for millennia there have been strange tales and the appearances of Gods, spirits, demons, fairies, and all manner of spiritual beings. Perhaps one day this mystery as to the origin of these creatures will be clarified.

The one mistake we mustn’t make is merely because we cannot identify them is to pretend they don’t exist, they certainly do exist and they are after us in a big way. Or at least, ‘something’ is out there, bringing all these strange diverse strands together to utterly control the human race. In my opinion the level of omniscience, organisation and malevolence, presently at work here on Earth, is simply beyond us humans. It is my contention that Tim Mclean perhaps attracted this character to him by listening to what I would term ‘evil’ and ‘violent’ music. Where attention goes energy flows as they say.

Here are some examples of the satanic and occult themes of Insane Clown Posse’s songs, these songs also depict the schizophrenic mindset and we see evidence for many different delusions throughout the songs, more interestingly there is even a specific reference to witchcraft and Satanism.

“How many times you gonna say I need help

Who gives a f**k if i murder myself

I’m thinkin’ suicidal thoughts I shot a gay preacher

I didn’t do my homework so I shot my teacher

What’s really happenin’ reality is pretend

You can blow my f**kin head off I’ll just grow another

My brain and my self we don’t even know each other

Someone’s in the darkness crawling out of my closet door

That’s what the nines in the mattress is for

Warlocks and witches come and learn from the master

The walls of my home feature bodies in the plaster

The dead butt sticking out like Han Solo when he flows

With my favourite weapons hanging off their fingers and toes

But wait why do I have all this blood on my hands

Blood on my clothes blood on my shoes

I’m on the 10 o’clock news for steady

Murdering crews and their point of views

I once met a hooker and she did it for free

On the west first bus number 73

All the way in the back she was humping on me

Until I strangled the bitch and stuffed her under my seat

I got off on my stop without as much as a drop of blood

But then I remember I forgot to wear gloves

Now I’m chasing the bus my finger prints are on her neck

I was one of those monsters in the video thriller

Known to the world as the pop star killer

I’m the stink on your toes I’m the weed to your rose

Not one of your friends but one of your foes

And spittin’ the wicked shit is the life I chose

Do a spin grab my nuts then b boy pose”

“The Witch

The witch told me my girlfriend was a demon, and all this fallin’ in love shit, I’m dreamin’ and it’s pain to the angels if I don’t deliver, I sealed her off in a barrel and rolled her in the river the witch told me my left arm is possessed, so I broke it at first and then I went to confess but they put me in a home my arm still wouldn’t leave me alone, finally had to chew it off at the bone. The witch told me to crawl under my house and just wait… don’t panic if I suffocate. I bit the tail off a possum down there at one point, it’s so boring and it’s dark but the witch is my light

Something is standing between me and my sanity they say my witch is just a dream, morbid fantasy I say wake the dead, wake the dead, wake ’em! Wake the dead, wake the dead wake ’em! I say wake the dead, wake the dead, wake ’em! Wake the dead, wake the dead
wake ’em!

The witch taught me how to cut up a body, it’s nasty and wretched and hella bloody but it’s gotta get done and somebody’s gotta do it, I kick the fuckin’ face in and put my knife through it. The witch jumped on me again here we go, laying in my bed I can’t breathe any more laying in my bed I can’t move anymore, there’s a demon floating in my face clamping my jaw the witch told me I gotta murder this one kid… K well maybe the witch didn’t then but I did with the ninja suit, crept through like a black widow with the crossbow , stuck him in the neck? Like ditto. the witch told me about blood that rains outta the neck and what particular veins and about murder, witnessing death settin’ in and it ain’t no heaven that’s lettin me in.”

The power of Satan is so far woven into the strands of our society that once we start to investigate this conspiracy the results are startling, and for some people, so unsettling that they give up and return to the automated TV Alpha trance lifestyle which makes
them a virtual emotional and mental slave but at least they feel they won’t have to deal with the terrifying reality that their world is not what they thought it was. Like a child who lifts up the big old stone in their garden and is shocked and horrified to see all the creeping grey creatures scurrying around underneath, he drops the rock with a scream and runs indoors to thecomfort of the familiar. For an example of the depth of Satan’s (whatever ultimately Satan is) involvement in the affairs of planet earth consider the following. Black and red, the colours of roulette, the colours too of the Nazi
flag, are also according to reports, the colours used inside a Satanic temple. Even stranger, if you add up all the numbers of the roulette wheel the total comes to six hundred and sixty six




[ii]  Robin Waterfield,Why Socrates Died, Faber & Faber,
2009, p. 92.
[iv] Manly P Hall secret Teachings of all Ages. P55
[vii] Hitler Speaks: A Series of
Political Conversations with Adolf Hitler on His Real Aims
[viii] Adolf Hitler:
The Definitive Biography
 Paperback – December 1, 1991 by
John Toland
Anchor; 1st edition 
[ix] Revolting Julius Evola and the Blood Axis Fascists,
William H Kennedy
[xv] The
divine king of England : a study in anthropology Margaret Alice Murray Faber
& Faber [1954]
[xvii] Job 1:8 King James Bible

Excerpt from new E-book!

Sacred Language. Secret Language.

There is more to language than meets the eye (or ear) and to delve into its mysteries will reveal some extraordinary truths about the world we live in. Language is not only a tool but it is also a key. There is something remarkable about our language waiting to be discovered. This chapter doesn’t pretend to have discovered the ultimate secret of language, only hopefully, to alert my reader that there is a secret to be discovered and the hope that perhaps one day it will be revealed.

Let us look at the word ‘live’. It has often been  observed that the true meaning of the word ‘evil’ is that which is contrary to life and if you read the word ‘live’ backwards it makes ‘evil’ Both words are from the same linguistic Germanic roots. Indeed the word ‘devil’ is only the word Evil with a D in front of it. The Semitic consonant letter D was originally a pictogram which represented a ‘door’[i] and suitably ‘D’,  is still the first letter of this word.

Similarly, the letter C was original called ‘gimel’ and etymologists claim that the C pictogram represented had two meanings: ‘Camel’ and ‘throwing stick’. Indeed the Arabic word for camel is gamal. This became what the Greeks called ‘Gamma’, the third letter of the Greek alphabet. This word also shows how the guttural G sound has softened over the millennia to a C sound. For the word ‘Gamal’ has softened to a C, just as the G of ‘gamma’ has softened to the modern day C. Still the third letter of the alphabet.

If we observe we can see that the letter C, just like other letters of our alphabet, has  a similar form in some of the most ancient languages including ancient Egyptian, Hebrew and Arabic, and we perhaps realise that our languages are not quite so alien to one another as we may previously have thought:

Below is the ancient Egyptian hieroglyph for a curved boomerang style throwing stick, notice the proto letter ‘C’ in the final part of the hieroglyph which represents the shape of the object itself, the bird symbol represents the flying aspect of the stick.

word: “Ga”.

We consider the boomerang to be an essentially aboriginal hunting weapon but the same technology was used by the ancient Egyptians to hunt wild fowl in the marshes of the Nile delta: many examples were found buried with the pharaoh Tutankhamen. The Egyptian throwing sticks were designed to be thrown so as to return to the feet of the thrower for a second attempt at hunting birds.

Below is a throwing stick as found in the funerary goods of Tutankhamen.

So the humble letter C has just shown us that the ancient Egyptians and the Aboriginals both used boomerangs, which should lead us to wonder how the boomerang ended up all the way in Australia. And this is but a small example of the many mysteries which our language alludes to, but hidden in plain sight where no one would think to look for it.

Originally each letter was what is called an ideogram. A little like hieroglyphs and the Chinese Kanji script: each symbol is both a letter and a word or an idea. Our alphabet, like all European alphabets, has its origins in the Middle East. It is said that the Phoenicians created the first alphabet. The word ‘Live’ is very close to ‘love’ and differs only in the vowel, or ‘breath of life’ which animates the word.  The difference is only one vowel and each vowel has its own properties and origins.

The way the word God seems to be contained within Good. A correspondence which also exists in German with their Got and Gut near homonyms. There is something unusual about the English language.  The fact that the word ‘Spell’ describes a magical incantation but also the fact of putting the correct letters together to make a word.  When you spell a word you are putting together the correct utterance to make a magical form, full of meaning and power: a word.

There are further mysteries: Son / Sun, Temple (as in the area of the side of the  head and the stone religious building) Solar plexus / Sol / Soul,  Re-member[ii] (tale of Osiris)  Light (as in sunlight) Light as in buoyant,  Grave as in dead and gravity as in heaviness. A whole hidden initiatic instruction can be reconstructed from these secrets locked in the English language. Language is a living museum of ancient lore custom and teaching, but one which few people little suspect even exists.  Language is the DNA of our culture and history, and from a single letter we can recreate a whole people and history.

Perhaps by examining the whole alphabet and the questions it raises perhaps many mysteries of the world and our origins can be clarified, but this is another task for another time.

English is not an entirely naturally grown language like perhaps Latin, French and say Turkish are, but is in particular a consciously created language through the selective pruning and cross pollination of several different languages. Writers such as Geoffrey Chaucer who basically created ‘Middle English’ as a new synthesis of Romance French (which was the language of the court) and Germanic Old English (the language of the people) and Sir Francis Bacon and his ‘Shakespeare’. The process of the creation of English as we know it began in roughly the 14th Century when the old thoroughly Germanic Anglo-Saxon tongues spoken by the populace became combined with the more courtly French dialects spoken by the court and the nobility: a clear and oft cited example of this contrast are the words ‘beef, lamb and pork’: and  the Anglo-Saxon words which are used for the animals themselves: ‘cow, sheep and pig’, indicating that it was the non-French speaking peasantry who reared the animals their French speaking Lords ate.

I feel certain that many of the strange synchronicities in English are not coincidental but are actually an attempt to encode some of the ancient teachings and mysteries of the ages by the sages and scholars of the past. The opportunity was certainly there and one thing we can be sure of about this strange cabal running the world then as they are now, is that they never miss an opportunity. So we have the word ‘holy’ and its relationship with being ‘whole’, whole-ly or wholeness or whole-liness. Being ‘whole’ and one with God and no longer divided or separated from the awareness of God. It is essential that you become ‘holy’ or whole again, through contact with the solar (soul) light in the area of the solar plexus and also the third eye. While the heart chakra or solar plexus, allows you to feel the light with the centre of your being, the third eye allows you to directly see the light in your mind.

When you experience this you are more or less awake but at the same time in a state of rest and relaxation and happiness, the vision seems dreamlike, then suddenly alarmingly real and powerful, often one breaks off one’s focus at the magnitude of the awareness that the sun has just spoken to you and it seem a little overawing, not to mention bright and piercing. Any negative thoughts at this point such as irreverence or over self-criticism, will break off the connection and the vision will drop out of consciousness. Marijuana makes this process much more readily available however, it is perfectly possible without weed, it just takes rather longer and requires more concentration. That is concentration on ‘nothing’ in order to achieve emptiness and true transcendental bliss: Nirvana, heaven, whatever its name.

What we have very much forgotten about words is not just their dual and hidden natures but also their sound. The music of the spheres, or the ‘forgotten tongue’ the original ‘lost name’ of God. The tongue of Mordor, or the ‘black tongue’ is a language littered with swear words and their hard edged consonants. Listen to the word ‘friction’ is this word not a clear example of a word sounding like what it means. The hard saw-tooth waveform of the ‘f’, the word ‘friction’ is made by the friction of the air from the lungsblowing  across the lips.

The Masonic concept of the ‘the lost word’ indeed the Biblical Judeo Christian concept of ‘the word’ rely on the hidden and forgotten power of sound, in particular sounds produced by the tongue:  language. Words resonate not only on the semantic level but also on the sonar.  Draw two ven circles. Now repeat various words of your choosing to yourself. Try not to think about the literal meaning of the words as this will try to dominate your perception and you will fail to hear the sounds of the words. Which words actually sound nice and which sound harsh? After completing this exercise you will probably have your ‘nice’ circle filled with: ‘love’; ‘sang’; ‘word’; ’world’; ‘sea’; ‘seek’; ‘search’. And many more. The words in your harsh circle will invariably be: ‘stain’ ‘stab’ ‘stamp’ in fact pretty much anything beginning with ‘st’ or short abrupt consonants. Words like: ‘cut’ and ‘tear’, ‘pain’ and ‘sad’. While longer words with more vowels, words like :’Harmonious’ are clearly positive in their sound and meaning. Just try it. Read out all the vowels. It creates a tune. Like notes of the musical scale. Being aware of this as newspaper journalists are only subconsciously aware, leads them to create headlines with an onslaught of consonants and few vowels in order to ‘strike’ and ‘attack’ the reader’s perception.

The phonetic combination ‘mass’ seems also to be evoke pleasing and healing sensations. Just try it. Repeat the word to yourself in your mind again and again. Compare your sensations on the sound of the word in contrast to a word like Cat. Although Cat is a word which shows no particularly negative connotations (except for people who dislike cats perhaps) it is clear that the bluntness of the two consonants and the shortness of the vowel lead to a feeling, not one of harmony and melody, but of blunt sound. As if the word is trying to tell us something about the animal. Although I am fond of cats I realise that the word ‘cat’ is not a nice word, like the word ‘dog’, although dogs are popular animals the word ‘dog’ is still a word which evokes little of value.  The hard consonants are almost redolent  of a term of abuse.

Mass is a very different word. And let us look at the words which have the harmonious ‘mass’ as prefix: We have massage, and the word itself feels very much like a kind of sonic massage. However from the same root we have the word : ’massacre’. Notice the ‘cr’ combination, a combination which many words of a particular ‘negative’ meaning seem to have. For example: creep, crime, cripple, crook. What we have here is not a series of odd coincidences, but instead a reminder of the origins of our language, and possibly ALL Earth languages. Namely that letters or more specifically: sounds  themselves represented particular ideas. English originates from the proto-Canaanite languages which include Arabic and Hebrew and there are many examples of shared ideas.

Look at the Arabic letter B. The Arabic letter B was originally the design of a house  with a door and a window, and indeed the Arabic word for house is Beet (notice how it is nearly identical in sound to  the Greek letter Beta).  This tradition is still alive in languages which have retained their pictographic alphabet like Chinese but English seems to have forgotten this connection even if it is still very much present.

That is why our society is pretty much falling apart. We basically are all driving a runaway train of culture and history which few people understand how to operate and so we can expect nothing more than to steam from one crash to another. Notice the ‘cr’ in the word crash which creeps up again.  It is no exaggeration to say that words are spells and this is why the word ‘spell’ is used to describe the correct formation of words from letters. We are so used to words and they have become so mundane and commonplace that they seldom hold any magic for us, except perhaps for those who appreciate the harmonious and near magical qualities of some poetry and the plays of Shakespeare. However whether we are awake to the possibility or not, language affects our thoughts, our minds and ultimately, our state of being.

The letter F in particular is arguably the most resonantly negative letter in the English language and indeed many others. Words such as fight; fist; fail; fall; fallow; fraught; frail, and many more, all depict something of the character of the F pictogram which originally represented a weapon.

As the Hebrews and Arabs are aware, the vowel is the breath of life, this is the fairly well known reason that these languages are written without vowels. The  Japanese written language of Kanji is the same. The reason being that the breath of life is something sacred, and in a similar way of thinking to the Iconoclasts and Muslims, is too holy to be reproduced or symbolised by man’s art. The intentional symbolism and deeper significance of language is a known fact by Hebrew scholars and this explains why is the book of Genesis we are told ’Adam called his wife’s name Eve; because she was the mother of all living.’[iii] The sentence seems to be a bit of a non-sequitur to the contemporary English reader but in Hebrew the name Eve is ‘Chavah’ yet it is also the  word for the verb ‘to breathe’.

Some remnant of the original linguistic code remains in English but it is harder to find due to the inevitable entropy of the original code by new words, neologisms and changes in usage which develop over time and have altered the original interconnected structure and symmetry of the language. But still we notice the word ‘Live’ and ‘Eve’  both have the ‘ve’ ending  and Eve even  rhymes with the word ‘breathe’. In the next chapter of Genesis we find the story of Cain and Abel, and so from the name ‘Abel’ who was preferred by God because he was able to rear animals and provide a sacrifice for Jahweh,  so we have the homophone ‘able’.

Indeed we see the word ‘rainbow’ has retained its symbolic meaning for the thousands of years since the writing of the book of Genesis, both in English and in French and other languages. In French the word is ‘arc-en-ciel’ which translates as arch-in-the-sky. The word ‘bow’ is interchangeable with ‘arch’ and this is why in archery the archer uses a bow. After the flood Jahweh promises Noah and the rest of humanity that he will never again destroy mankind and the rainbow is a sign from God of this new covenant or agreement: ‘And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: and I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh.’[iv]

Some famous stars are also aware of this strange magic. When commenting on Mark Radcliffe’s BBC radio Two rock n’ roll show,[v] Iggy Pop commented on why he chose the name The Stooges for his band. Apart from commenting that they felt like the Three Stooges and so named themselves after them, he also added:

‘it’s got the double O, it’s magical, when you do that ‘ooooooh’, you’re already letting us in.’ Clearly Iggy Pop understands much about these kind of things, perhaps said in jest or half seriously, shows nevertheless that clearly our rock n’roll heroes are really clued up to mystical and metaphysical possibilities.


[iii] Genesis 3:20 King James Bible
[iv] Genesis 9. King James Bible.