Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Journalism is a dangerous job

Exposing hypocrisy and criminality predisposes one to "suicide."


Anonymous Anonymous said...
(UK Telegraph) Source: The Telegraph, London, Thursday, December 9, 2004

SPLASH: They came in the darkness and had bug-like faces. Stranger
still, they left a weird egg-shaped object behind. Uri Geller recalls
his friend John Lennon's encounter with the unknown....

There is an egg-like object in my pocket. It was given to me by John
Lennon. And it was given to him by,... well, I'll come to that.

We were eating in a restaurant in New York City. Yoko was with us, so
this was after their big break-up and reconciliation. Yoko was expecting
their child, Sean, and John was excited - he was going to love this baby
day and night: feed him, change him, teach him to talk, teach him to
love music.

He did all of that. And he was going to watch him grow into adolescence,
through the tumbles from bicycles and terrors of schooldays, from
reading to dating to college. He never got to do that. John started
talking about UFOs. He said he believed life existed on other planets,
that it had visited us, that maybe it was observing us right now. He
took me to a quieter, darker table, lit a cigarette and pointed its
glowing tip at my face.

"You believe in this stuff, right?" he asked me. "Well, you ain't
f---in' gonna believe this.

"About six months ago, I was asleep in my bed, with Yoko, at home, in
the Dakota Building. And suddenly, I wasn't asleep. Because there was
this blazing light round the door. It was shining through the cracks and
the keyhole, like someone was out there with searchlights, or the
apartment was on fire.

"That was what I thought - intruders, or fire. I leapt out of bed, and
Yoko wasn't awake at all, she was lying there like a stone, and I pulled
open the door. There were these four people out there."
"Fans?" I asked him.

"Well they didn't want my f---in' autograph. They were, like, little.
Bug-like. Big bug eyes and little bug mouths and they were scuttling at
me like roaches."

He broke off and stared at me.

"I've told this to two other people, right? One was Yoko, and she
believes me. She says she doesn't understand it, but she knows I
wouldn't lie to her. I told one other person, and she didn't believe me.
"She laughed it off, and then she said I must have been high. Well, I've
been high, I mean right out of it, a lot of times, and I never saw
anything on acid that was as weird as those f---in' bugs, man.
"I was straight that night. I wasn't dreaming and I wasn't tripping.
There were these creatures, like people but not like people, in my

"What did they do to you?" Lennon swore again. "How do you know they did
anything to me, man?"

"Because they must have come for a reason."

"You're right. They did something. But I don't know what it was. I tried
to throw them out, but, when I took a step towards them, they kind of
pushed me back. I mean, they didn't touch me. It was like they just
willed me. Pushed me with willpower and telepathy."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. Something happened. Don't ask me what. Either I've
forgotten, blocked it out, or they won't let me remember. But after a
while they weren't there and I was just lying on the bed, next to Yoko,
only I was on the covers.

"And she woke up and looked at me and asked what was wrong. I couldn't
tell her at first. But I had this thing in my hands. They gave it to

"What was it?" Lennon dug into his jeans pocket. "I've been carrying it
round ever since, wanting to ask somebody the same question. You have
it. Maybe you'll know."

I took the metal, egg-like object and turned it over in the dim light.
It seemed solid and smooth, and I could make out no markings. "I've
never seen anything like it."

"Keep it." John told me. "It's too weird for me. If it's my ticket to
another planet, I don't want to go there."

When we first met on November 28, 1974, almost exactly 30 years ago, he
was suffering terribly from his separation from Yoko. His drug abuse and
drinking, linked to the sorrow of Yoko's recent miscarriage, had driven
them apart, and John desperately wanted to mend the relationship.
He just didn't know how to make the first move. The night Lennon and I
were introduced, Elton John was playing at Madison Square Gardens. Elton
was trying to persuade the ex-Beatle to get up on stage with him, and
John was torn - he wanted to perform but he was scared.

Finally, he turned to me and offered a deal, as though I were a
negotiator sent by God: "I'll sing," he said, "but you have to make Yoko
call me."

Like all of John's jokes, this one was a plea from the heart, wrapped in
a sardonic quip. Yoko phoned John out of the blue, 36 hours later. I
think John always believed I had beamed a mind- control ray at her. For
my part, I think that of all the synchronicities that have shaped my
life, that was one of the strangest.

John Lennon was a compulsive doodler. The last autograph he ever signed,
15 minutes before Mark Chapman gunned him down outside his home at the
Dakota Building, on December 9, 1980, features a double portrait of
himself and his wife, Yoko Ono. The drawings are done in a couple of
lines - the style is unmistakable and so are the faces.

I always marvelled at John's skill as an artist. There is no doubt that,
if he'd been tone deaf and tuneless, the boy who created The Beatles
could have become a successful painter or illustrator. During the last
year of his life, we met most weeks to chat over a coffee in one of the
hotels near our New York homes.

Sometimes John would bring Sean, who was about four years old then. The
rocker had put his music career on hold while the child was small. John
once told me how bitterly he regretted that while his first son, Julian,
was a toddler, he himself was devoting his energies to the stage or the
studio, or would be out partying with friends.

"You don't get those years back," he said. "I'm not going to miss a
minute while Sean is growing up."

That is the greatest tragedy of my friend's death. He had finally
learned what made him happy, and then he was robbed of it. What really
interested me about John was not his incredible life, his fame or his
talent, but his deep spirituality. I too was working out what made me
happy - I'd realised at last that buying watches and eating six
helpings of dessert before making myself throw up was not the path to

The shock of Lennon's murder was one of the powerful forces that drove
me to quit New York and spend a year in Japan, undergoing a spiritual
detox. John spoke with passion about Japanese views of life, and I am
certain that Yoko's philosophies were at the core of his last years.
I was woken on the day John was shot by a call from a friend, Roland, a
publisher who lived opposite the Dakota.

"He's dead," Roland sobbed. "They killed John." I dressed in a few
seconds and ran across town: somehow I had to see the house to believe
the news. The radio reports weren't enough.

If John really were dead, if this wasn't some sick media hoax, then
there would be people outside his home with candles and prayer bells.
They were there, in their hundreds already. I didn't have to push my way
through the crowd; I simply stood and stared across the road, and then
walked away through Central Park with the tears running down my face.
Now, 24 years on, when I hold the cold, metal egg in my fist, I have a
strong sensation that John knew more about this object than he told me.
Maybe it didn't come with an instruction manual, but I think John knew
what it was for.

And whatever that purpose was - communication? healing? a first-class
intergalactic ticket? - it scared him. I wish I could have warned
him... that however scary aliens seem, IT's THE HUMANS YOU HAVE TO


"I Am the Walrus" by John Lennon

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I'm crying.

Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Mister City Policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky, see how they run.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
I'm crying, I'm crying.

Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.

I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don't come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.

Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don't you think the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I'm crying.

Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Alan Poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.
Goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob g'goo.

--The Beatles

JEHOVAH 1 - a.k.a. YAHWEH - is a mad alien,
full of eyes round about, He cometh with the
clouds, radioactive, all-pervading, He has
forged His covenant with the SubGenius in
OBEISANCE to His caveman sense of humor.
He has been denying us SLACK and what He is
making us do dates back to Homo Connectus,
First Whole Man; only by letting our bodies
obey the Code of financial lust survival that
is built into them can our brains be freed
from his INEVITABLE FIST." [...]

Cybridized Insectoid ^ And now a Wyrd Prophecy:

Forrestal, James V.
First US Secretary of Defense
There's a bronze bust at the mall entrance to the pentagon
inscribed as follows:

"This memorial to James Forrestal, as a spontaneous
tribute to his lasting accomplishments in providing
for national security and his selfless devotion to
duty, was erected by thousands of his friends and
co-workers of all rank and stations."

The "horrible truth" was known by only a very few persons:
They were indeed splendid little creatures, shaped like praying
mantises , and were more advanced
than us by perhaps a billion years. Of the original group who were
the first to learn the "horrible truth", several committed suicide,
the most prominent of whom was James V. Forrestal. Yes, he
poll-vaulted with a fine, triple back-flip to his psyops "death"
from a 16th story hospital window... And, the records - as they
say - are still sealed to this very day... Hhmm, except, that is,
for these few, paltry, declassified tid-bits at Princeton
and at Google:

The Sorcerers --

Picknett, Lynn and Prince, Clive. The Stargate Conspiracy:
The Truth About Extraterrestrial Life and the Mysteries of
Ancient Egypt. New York: Berkley Books, 2001. 425 pages.
... The Dweller on the Threshold ...
Against the Light: A Nightside Narrative
by Kenneth Grant (London: Starfire Publishing, 1997)
. . . t i m e l e s s n e s s . . .
Meet: " T H E A N C I E N T S "
"Large head which is proportionally much larger relative to its
body than the heads of humans. Slit for mouth. Indentations for
nose and ears. Hands are webbed with only four fingers. Thin body.
Resemble a praying mantis insect. The Ancients are supposedly an
extra-terrestrial species closely related to the Greys.
The Ancients are reported to direct and control the actions of the
Greys. Some individuals believe that the Ancients are the
masterminds behind the abduction of human beings and the
human-Grey cross breeding experiments. These rare and unusual
beings may be the leaders or arbiters of their culture--A culture
based on raw intellect, data and sterile replication biology
without a spiritual or emotional connection base. Detailed
information on Ancient interaction with human beings still
remains a mystery."

Parallel Universes [May 2003 issue]
Not just a staple of science fiction, other universes are a direct
implication of cosmological observations

By Max Tegmark

w e a r e a l l a n o m a l o u s

The Cube:
"Six people wake from their daily lives and find they are imprisoned in
a deadly maze. Slowly, they discover that each holds a key to unlocking
this diabolical puzzle. But as a mathematical formula for escape begins
to reveal itself, the enemy rises from within themselves and survival is
threatened by the same human weaknesses that created the CUBE."


Hajj - pilgrimage to Mecca

The Triune Brain

Tesseract, hypercube ...,+tesseract

"Gilgamesh tomb believed found
Archaeologists in Iraq believe
they may have found the lost
tomb of King Gilgamesh - the
subject of the oldest book in

Why? The Neuroscience of Suicide

"... One focus is on differences in the availability of the
brain chemical serotonin--previous research on the basis
of impulsivity has indicated a dearth of it...."

Brookhaven National Laboratory

Astrium - Space is our business

John Lilly's "Cosmic Coincidence Control"

"In the province of the mind, there are no limits."

4:07 PM  

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