Is fashion an extension of architecture, or vice versa? Is a fancy car a type of suit in which to strut around the road? Are clothing and housing phenotypical traits that natural selection is now acting upon? In the future, will we wear our homes like hermit crabs wear shells, our bodies whittled down by evolution and surgical manipulations to the barest essentials? These are some of the questions Gerald Heard raises in Narcissus: An Anatomy Of Clothes (1924).
The thesis of this book is that evolution is going on no longer in but around the man, and the faster because working in a less resistant medium. Man becomes like a wireless valve, a transmitter which in the process immensely amplifies the current that he receives. When the Force that shaped all life evolved man, it seems that it kept him henceforward un-specialised, gave him, strangest of gifts, no vocation and equipment but, if not at one blow, freedom, innate opportunism. This was reserved for the favourite. To all the others their function and place. They sink into their groove, deeper, ever deeper; they run their appointed race; they become every generation more perfectly adapted to be what they are. Vague Trial and Error pass into the exquisite precision of instinct: restless wandering, physical preparation for doubt, distress and conflict, settle into a functioning so appropriate that by all to whom it befalls Nirvana is attained. Desire becomes ever obviously compassable until it follows unrest beneath the vast sea-level of indifference, and Life is justified in all her children: she has rounded their day in perfect completeness. But man she has not completed. That is her supreme bequest to him: he shall finish the story as he likes.
While the short book consists mostly of a history of clothing trends and their relation to architecture and the cultures that produced both, Heard's real goal, laid out in the final chapter, is a manifesto of fashionable transhumanism: we will reshape ourselves, both culturally and physically, through our most intimate of all technology, clothing.
A cap with tinfoil as radiation protection layers comprises a cap body, a top radiation protection composite layer and a side radiation protection composite layer. The top radiation protection composite layer and the side radiation protection composite layer are the same in structure and are both composed of a tinfoil layer and a flexible connecting layer, the top radiation protection composite layer is connected to the top of the inner wall of the cap body, and the side radiation protection composite layer is connected to the side portion of the inner wall of the cap body. The tinfoil layers coat one faces of the corresponding flexible connecting layers, and the other faces of the flexible connecting layers are connected to the inner wall of the cap body through adhesive patches. The adhesive patches are hook-and-loop fasteners, and the flexible connecting layers are cloth. The tinfoil is used as the radiation protection layers, the cap has the advantages of being simple in manufacturing process, convenient to manufacture, low in cost, uniform in thickness and convenient to carry, and well overcomes the defect that an existing radiation protection cap is uncomfortable in wear, the top radiation protection composite layer and the side radiation protection composite layer can be flexibly taken down, and the function of an ordinary cap and the function of the radiation protection cap are achieved.
Does this mean the AFDB is now subject to a patent? No. This patent is focused on attaching a removable inner foil deflector layer to an outer cap using velcro, so AFDBs per se are not covered. However, this patent could be used to claim the exclusive right to attach a hat to an AFDB, a common form of camouflage among the beanied.
Past actions by patent trolls have shown that mere end users of a product supposedly covered by a patent can find themselves facing demands for license fees (see MPHJ vs. anyone using a scanner to send emails). Even if these demands are later determined to be bogus (as the MPHJ patent abuses eventually were), they can still be a means of expensive harassment.
So, could this patent be a ploy by the forces of mind control to keep paranoids from hiding their beanies under a hat for fear of a lawsuit? While it's possible some legalistic faction of said forces might try such a tactic, it seems pointless.
If you are discovered to have been violating this patent, that means you have also been discovered to be an active paranoid seeking to avoid psychotronic mind-control. Instead of finding yourself in some East Texas court pleading to avoid paying license and lawyer fees, you're more likely to be abducted by a mind-control compliance van (which look like this, btw.)
Paranoids are advised to ignore any legal threats related to this patent and continue camouflaging their beanies. If you receive a cease and desist, assume your cover as an orthonormal is blown and go to ground.
(Related post: anti-Gray Orion helmet patent.)
The new normal: the cover of the November, 2015 issue of The Atlantic features an Aluminum Foil Deflector Onesie (AFDO):
The image is for an article, titled "If You're Not Paranoid, You're Crazy", about life in our surveillance society.
Unfortunately, the editors of the normally orthonoiac magazine overlooked one of the most important parts of deflector shielding: camouflage. While you would certainly be safe from mind control in an AFDO, the Surveillance Machine would immediately notice your paranoid tendencies should to walk around in public like the cover model, and would quickly dispatch a van to abduct and render you to a black-site reprogramming facility.
As we awaken to a new Paranoid Age, when more and more realize that all is not as we have been told and even our own thoughts may lie to us, it is important that people aren't misled by dilettantes among the nouveau paranoïde -- or worse, agents of misinformation working for the forces of mind control -- into unsound paranoid practices that will expose them to capture or even total mental liquidation.
Always cover your beanie, onesie, or any other deflective shielding to avoid detection (search "kigurumi" for AFDO camo options -- thanks to the Japanese, wearing panda pajamas in public is now considered only mildly eccentric).
Remember: discretion is the better part of paranoia.
Les Pieuvres de Paris ("The Octopuses of Paris") is a French novel by Pierre Zaccone. Sadly, it's not about giant octopuses hosting drunken parties on their backs as they float down the Seine. Much like the equally misleading Trail of the Octopus, these octopuses are only metaphoric.
Is the Russian government basing its national policies on intel gathered using mind-reading? Of course it is.
Oleg Kashin, in an article for the Russian Free Press (translated to English in The Guardian), shows how Nikolai Patrushev, the secretary of the Russian Security Council, slipped in a bit of psychical intelligence (PSYINT in spook speak) about Madeleine Albright during an interview with Kommersant.
Kashin, being orthanoiac, dismisses PSYINT as "hallucinations" and bemoans the distinct, isolated culture of the Kremlin:
Within their circle they speak a language all their own, their folklore and humour are unknown to us. They believe in things of which we have not the slightest inkling. Their superstitions, horoscopes, saints, fears, hopes, their good, their bad — all these have existed for a long time and mutate in ways foreign to us, the ordinary Russian people.
While all that is certainly true, there's more going on here than Kashin allows. As explained in my analysis of Belyaev's The Lord of the World, Russia has in the past been less than secretive about its, and other's, psychotronic technologies, and Patrushev's indiscretion fits that pattern.
The origin of the Albright PSYINT was explained by retired KGB general Boris Ratnikov in a 2006 interview with the government newspaper Rossiyskaya Gazeta, which includes other behind-the-scenes mind-reading intrigues between the East and West blocs of the New World Order and typical Kremlin humblebragging about their psychotronic abilities. Here's a rough translation (with analysis following):
In 1902, English language newspapers brought word from the Congo, via a rather dubious source, that an unknown freshwater cryptopus with a hankerin' for human thought-meat was prowling the Uele river (from the Sept. 7 San Francisco Call, also reprinted elsewhere):
TERRIBLE OCTOPUS OF THE UELLE RIVER
It Hunts the Natives and Feeds Upon the Brains of Its Human Prey.
A Belgian officer just returned from the Congo Free State reports that in the caverns of the Uelle River there dwells a species of octopus that presents a grave danger to all who navigate the river in small boats.
The strange beasts are called "megwe" by the natives, and are very numerous in the neighborhood of the station of the Amadis, owing to the number of rocks and caves in that region. They attack the native canoes, capsizing them easily with their tentacles and, according to their state of hunger, seizing one or two men.
The octopus drags his human prey to his cavern and there, without inflicting the slightest external wounds, feeds on his victim's brains by inserting the points of his tentacles in his nostrils. He generally keeps his prey fifteen hours, then lets the body float out on the river.
"I was an eye witness to a disaster of this kind," says the Belgian. "A canoe was capsized in the river and one of the three occupants disappeared. When the survivors swam ashore they told us that an octopus had turned their boat over and carried off their companion.
"The next morning about 9 o'clock the body was found floating and no trace of any wound could be found, while the only abnormal appearance was the swollen state of the nostrils. On examination it was found that the brains had been extracted. The natives of the Uelle all dread the 'megwe.' while those of the Itimbri know nothing of its existence."
It turns out this report was over two years old -- the officer hadn't "just" returned (and wasn't "Belgian", but that's another matter). It went viral, 1900s style, because everything old is new again.
However, I'm leading the post with it since it's pithy and things are about to get more wordy, ambiguous, and French.
Was the plot of the original The Fly ripped from the headlines... of 80 years previously?
In 1878 a report from Bombay reached Australia describing an amazing and terrible new invention (reprint from The Brisbane Courier, July 27):
The telephone and the phonograph are no doubt very wonderful examples (says the Melbourne Daily Telegraph) of the purposes to which the power of electricity may be applied, but these novelties begin to sink into insignificance before the still more recent strides of science. The newest contrivance is called a teleport, and is described by a Bombay paper "as an apparatus by which man can be reduced into infinitesimal atoms, transmitted through a wire, and reproduced safe and sound at the other end." The apparatus, according to the Indian paper, consists of a powerful battery, a large metal disc, a bell-shaped glass house, and a large iron funnel connected with the wire. An experiment is described as follows:—"A dog was placed on the metal disc, and a 'powerful current' was applied to it. After a while the animal disappeared, and was found at the other end gnawing a bone, just as it was doing before it was 'transported.' Afterwards a boy was experimented upon. Under the glass house, it is reported, the inventor of the machine placed a Goanese boy, Pedro—who was grinning as if he thought it a good joke—and we suspect it was not the first time he had been in that house. The current was again applied to the under part of the disc, and the same effect was observed as with the dog. The house was instantaneously filled with a vaporous man, whose features and parts were quite distinct until they disappeared. Even the grin was discernible as a mere film of vapour—in fact, it seemed to us that the grin remained even after the body had disappeared. In fifteen seconds Pedro was gone; but they found him also at the end of the wire. It was then attempted to send the boy and the dog along at once, but by an unfortunate accident the 'infinitesimal atoms' of the boy and those of the dog got 'mixed' in transitu, and the result was that they both looked dreadfully unnatural creatures." At least, so says the Bombay paper in its account of the first experiments with the "teleport." It says that by means of the teleport a man will be able to travel from India to England by submarine cable in a few minutes, but unfortunately there is always the danger that the "disintegrated atoms" of one man may become mixed with those of another, as in the case of Pedro and the dog, and for this reason it is feared that the teleport will not supersede the railways—at least, not so far as the passenger traffic is concerned.
Left unanswered, fortunately, was "How does Pedrodog eat?"
Will levitation be a public utility like electricity? Will flying battleships patrol the skies, or sea-borne ones be forced aloft by submarine subterfuge? Will city planners move skyscrapers around like chess pieces, lifting them into the air with ease and plonking them down in better locations? Will famous monuments tour the world for everyone to see? Will we execute criminals by electrically charging them and humanely propelling them into space to a Saganian poetic fate? Will our enemies try to secretly do the same to us against our will?
In 1903, all these possibilities seemed tantalizingly within reach.
© 2004-2016 Lyle Zapato & ZPi
unless otherwise noted or implied.