Tuesday, December 25, 2007

“hate christmas”


A sunny but cold Tuesday. Stuck inside my shoebox apartment with nowhere to go. Just another person who is left out by circumstances during the so-called “Happy Holidays” season.

I turn on the TV just long enough to make sure that they haven’t blown up the world on this holiest of holy days. Then I snap it off. Why should I bother to watch sappy Xmas specials or movies for the nth time? Even the TV news – known for its “objectivity” – is slanted towards upbeat seasonal cheer.

So it’s time to escape this frozen tundra Podunk and connect to the outside world via my blazing 40 kbps dial up connection. Type in the key words “hate christmas” on the Google search engine and see what pops up.

As I suspected, I’m not alone. Not everyone can conform to the societal dictates of the season.

Of course, there are those who hate the holiday because of the stress on materialism, not religion. As oxymoronic as it may sound, there are Christians out there who hate Christmas.

Sometimes the lamestream media will mention that complaint, how the holiday has been corrupted by materialism. It’s a brief item, just enough to provide “objectivity.” But generally the media is pushing the positive because it’s beholding to its sponsors who don’t want their sales ruined by the truth.

At one site I come across a sad but honest post by someone who finds the holidays meaningless, empty. He says everyone tries to hide their negative feelings by putting on phony smiles and eating and drinking too much. Another poster mentions that suicides rise during this time of year.

And then there’s the poster talks about the peer pressure she feels because she wants to opt out of the holiday routine. She doesn’t want to send out stupid greeting cards or even bother buying gifts. The usual labels are thrown at her: Grinch, Scrooge. It’s that name-calling time of the year.

What the average non-thinking conformist doesn’t understand is that not everyone is the same. And because someone doesn’t believe in the phony bullshit of Christmas, doesn’t mean that person expects you not to celebrate. Go ahead and indulge. Conform.

Just keep in mind that some people are different. We’re not you.

Sunday, December 23, 2007


You are commanded: $pend! $pend! $PEND!! Buy more gifts, throw bigger parties! Indulge in the illusions of joy and freedom. Then sober up and report to work, wage slave. Thus The Ill stays in power!!

(Brought to you as a public service by your local Illuminati.)

[Illuminated art by TG; coloring by RX]

Saturday, December 15, 2007

The Science Of George Adamski

(Flying Saucers Farewell by George Adamski. 1961. Abelard-Schuman, publisher.)

Unfortunately, I only have one book by contactee George Adamski, his third effort. But even this one tome reveals many startling truths.

Back in 1952 Adamski claimed that he met a Venusian with the synthetic-fiberly appellation of Orthon. This happened like all such events in a desolate area: a Californian desert. Following this life-changing meeting he had other encounters with the space brothers who, he said, looked like ordinary humans and who lived amongst us unsuspecting earthlings.

In his books Adamski made claims that were quickly derided by scientists. He said that all the planets in our solar system were habitable to humanlike beings, even the outer ones like Pluto, despite the great distance from the sun.

So how could the outer planets be warm enough to support life? Check out the image below from page 29 of Flying Saucers Farewell. (Click on image to enlarge for detail.)

As you can see Adamski stated there are three asteroid belts, one between Mars and Jupiter, the second between Neptune and Pluto, and the last after three undiscovered planets beyond Pluto. It’s too bad that Adamski passed away. I would like to hear his take on how Pluto is no longer officially considered as a planet. Or that three more planetoids haven’t been found beyond it.

Be that as it may, we’ll consider Adamski’s claims in light of his own times, i.e., that there are twelve planets and three asteroid belts.

The asteroid belts explain how a far-flung orb like Pluto receives enough warmth from the sun to be habitable. Adamski invokes the analogy of the cathode ray tube (CRT) with its grids and anodes that give off great quantities of electrons. I’m using a CRT now to wordprocess this article.

While the inner planets receive enough sunlight, the intensity of the light starts to diminish beyond Mars. But the first asteroid belt acts like a CRT grid. To quote Adamski (page 30):

“The negative charge of the asteroid belt is great enough to attract the particles from the sun and pull them back up to their original speed. Because this belt is grid-like in construction, with thousands of openings and paths, similar to a window screen with air going through, the particles dash on through and enter the influence of the planets beyond.”

I don’t know about you but I’ve never felt a sudden shift in airflow pressure on a calm day caused by window screen activity. Wind and cross ventilation do their part from what I’ve observed. The screen just passively allows air to flow. Then again, I’ve never considered a window screen as a CRT. It must be a mental thing.

Anyway, the sunlight starts to wane again after Neptune and so it gets another boost by the second asteroid belt. And finally, the third belt/anode gives those solar particles another step-up before leaving our solar system.

Anyone for a tan beyond the twelfth planet?

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Don’t Hesitate: Ugate!

Sick of the holiday rat race? Tired of shoving through crowds at the mall to find The One Perfect Gift?

Then why bother? All you’re doing to letting some CEO rake in more obscene profits while you go deeper into debt. And does everyone out there really need the latest overpriced, materialistic fad? You’re just accumulating a pile of useless junk. Christmas is really Crapmass.

Ugation is the answer. Slap together a gift on the small and cheap. Here’s an example made from a couple of dollar store items, a mouse pad found in a wastepaper basket, and a comb spotted lying on the sidewalk:

All I have to do is glue this grotesque arrangement together on the ratty mouse pad and it’s ready to go.

(Health tip: The comb was rinsed off, the pad was only dusty and worn. No need to spread contagion. Always use items that are at least semi-clean.)

Of course, I wouldn’t give this to a friend unless they were in on the true meaning of ugation (ugly creation). But there’s always some pain-in-the-ass who’s clueless to how he annoys you. Then you can pawn off an ugation as a sincere gift, saying that’s it the latest trend in fringe art.

And when it comes to pretentious arts fads, well, that’s another kind of crapmass.


If you’re like me, when someone wants to share a weird dream, your instinct to is flee.

Start running.

I’m standing in the middle of nowhere with three other men. Barren flatland in all directions. The road stretches straight ahead, falling over the horizon. Dusky brown skies prevail. It’s imperative that one of us has to get home within the next two hours.

Suddenly a car shows up. Not exactly a car. A futuristic transport one-and-a-half lanes in width, no roof, plenty of seating. The driver is a friendly woman who offers us a lift to civilization.

I know what is going on. This is an alien abduction, albeit a benign one. The woman promises that no one will be hurt. I ask her how long it will be because one of us has to be home as soon as possible. One hour, no more than two, she replies.

My companions and I end up in what appears to be a standard issue medical center. Most of the tests are mental: IQ, psychological, whatever. No nasty needles or probes.

I’m aware that they have sedated me but not completely. I act dumb, trying to see who or what is creating this event. I glance sideways at a pretty nurse, like someone at night who detects a faint nebula by looking indirectly from the corner of his eye. The nurse is really a black blob, a humanoid face protruding from its “torso.”

I’m last in line, being lead down a hallway. The tests are over. The man in front of me drops his file; the contents spill out on the carpet.

Trying to be helpful – and also trying to learn more – I stoop down to put the materials back together. One item is a semi-completed jigsaw puzzle, the upper left hand corner. The pieces are large, easy to fit together. But they only reveal part of an abstraction: a random squiggle and one black dot.

The solution of the physical puzzle only uncovers a metaphysical one.