He set up his video camera to document the scene, thinking the helicopters either dormant or as yet unactivated -- that is until they all came to life at once!
He set up his video camera to document the scene, thinking the helicopters either dormant or as yet unactivated -- that is until they all came to life at once!
This is strange.
First of all, Terry Pratchett published a novel last year, Nation, that features tree-climbing octopuses and no one thinks to notify me, of all people? I'm hurt! If I wasn't already paranoid, this would put me over the edge.
Well, anyway, I'm in the loop now. I only discovered it last night while looking for more things to put on the media subpage on the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus site. (An aside: What was the deal with 2008? Five books -- that I've discovered so far -- were published with tree octopuses in them, not even counting school text books. And only one of the authors thought to let me know. Thank you, again, Eric E. Olson.)
But here's the weird thing: The cover of the UK edition has a tree-climbing octopus on it, hidden in the shadows. Excellent! But then I looked a little closer at it. It seemed strangely familiar. Here's a lightened and contrasted detail (taken from an extra-large image of the cover found here):
Now where have I seen that tree octopus before? Oh, yeah, here it is:
I applaud the cover designer's desire for technical accuracy by using an image of an actual tree octopus (albeit not O. arbori, as specified by Pratchett), but is it really the smartest thing, from a legal ass-covering perspective, to take an image off of some website and put it on a very notable commercial product? I mean, you're designing the cover for a freaking Terry Pratchett novel, not doing graphics on some penny-ante website in your spare time; someone's going to eventually notice, no matter how much you darken the image.
I can understand if the cover artist left the octopus out, and your boss told you just before the deadline that there had to be a tree-climbing octopus on there, and Google image search is just a few tempting clicks away... but, really? No one around the office can draw an octopus, not even one that would be mostly in silhouette? What are they teaching you people in design school? Drawing octopuses should be part of the fundamentals!
Just so we're clear, I have absolutely no intention of making any sort of drama about this (not that I rightly could... ahem), and everything's cool as far as I'm concerned. Mostly I'm disappointed that more effort wasn't put into having a proper tree-climbing octopus illustration on the cover (and none at all on the North American version, at least that I can see). But whoever's in charge of the cover-design department at Pratchett Heavy Industries needs to give some stern lectures to their underlings lest they get themselves into trouble in the future.
But why had they set out on a journey so strange and so hazardous -- through the land of the tree-octopi and the snake-cats, through that horrible, unearthly fungoid forest, and up and up, up into the caves of utter blackness, across that frightful chasm, up to the Tamahnowis Rocks, into the blaze of the sunshine, out onto the snow and ice on Mount Rainier?
Drome, written and illustrated by John Martin Leahy, is a pulp story about a strange underground world, home to a lost civilization that may be the progenitors of ancient Greek culture. It was originally serialized in the Jan.-May, 1927 issues of Weird Tales, and republished as a book in 1952. I'm reviewing the book, which I believe has some differences from the pulp original (a preface, footnotes, and some casual references in the main text to atom-bombs and television that don't seem particularly 1920s-ish.)
The story has two elements of interest to me: 1) it starts in Cascadia (the entrance to the underworld is on Mt. Rainier) with references to regional history and culture and 2) it mentions Cascadian tree octopuses, albeit of an unusual and deadly subterranean variety. So naturally I had to acquire an original copy for the ZPi library and review it.
As paranoids are well aware, agents of the Belgian Conspiracy are always on the prowl, trying to entice normal people to "come to Belgium" so they can be waylaid en route, plugged into Citizen Pods, and their brains connected to a computer simulation that makes them believe they are Belgians living in Belgium. While the technology involved -- and Disney corp.'s role in housing the brainwashed pseudo-Belgians -- would suggest that this behavior of tricking people into "traveling to" Belgium started in the mid 20th century, in fact it has its roots almost 170 years ago with the so-called Fortsas Bibliohoax.
In 1840 -- just ten years after the Belgian Conspiracy was initiated-- a Conspirator going by the assumed Belgian identity of "Renier Hubert Ghislain Chalon, historian from the insignificant village of Binche," concocted, with the help of other Conspirators, a devious hoax to lure Europe's foremost book collectors "to Belgium."
He invented another fake Belgian named "Jean-Népomucène-Auguste Pichauld, comte de Fortsas," a wealthy nobleman and passionate collector of very rare books. This Count Fortsas, so the story went, would dispose of any book in his collection if he heard someone else had a copy, so that by the time of his death he was left with only 52 books, each absolutely unique. These books were all, of course, nonexistent; their descriptions were psychologically engineered by Chalon to appeal to notable individual bibliophiles of the time, whose specific desires and interests he carefully researched. Chalon then sent the collectors a catalog of these books (a copy of which can be found on Google Books), explaining that Count Fortsas' nonbibliophilic son wished to auction off the collection.
As planned, the collectors were beyond excited about the undiscovered, one-of-a-kind books listed in the catalog and each made the trip to the supposed Belgian village of Binche, where they eventually realized to their chagrin that they'd been had -- there was no rare book collection and no Count Fortsas either.
What they didn't realize was that there was also no Binche; a small village erected by the Conspiracy somewhere on the current French-Dutch border served as Binche for the deception. The Conspiracy was able to pull this off since the well-to-do travelers were reliant on others to see them to their destination: coachmen, ship captains, train engineers, road surveyors -- all were infiltrated by the Conspiracy and could manipulate people's perceptions of distance and place with ease.
Not yet having the facilities to house fake Belgians, and with totally immersive virtual-reality technology still decades away, the Conspiracy didn't kidnap these collectors and turn them into brainwashed "Belgian citizens." Instead, they were left to return home believing they were the victims of a simple literary hoax.
The real goal wasn't to trick a handful of bookish obsessives into looking like fools, but rather to create a paper-trail establishing that there existed a Belgian government, with working institutions and representatives. An element of the hoax that helped sell it to the victims was the presence of one "Baron de Reiffenberg," the supposed director of the "Royal Library of Brussels," who showed up seeking to buy almost the entire collection on behalf of the Belgian government. Reiffenberg and the library were works of fiction, but this made it look as if the Belgium government was similarly duped by Chalon's hoax. The sense of shared victimhood this garnered among the influential book collectors made them more likely to believe in, and convince others to believe in, the existence of the Belgium government.
Since then, the Conspiracy has used this hoax as a template for their attempts to propagate the lie that is Belgium, continuing the tradition of tricking people into visiting their non-existent country. Like with the book collectors, some of these "visitors" return home to tell tales of the brain-implanted sights they saw. But more and more often, they are kept and converted into Belgians -- serving first as props in the Conspiracy's illusion, and eventually as fodder for the ravenous black mold that is steadily eating through Belgium's pod-bound population, putting pressure on the Conspiracy to find replacements.
Whatever incredible tales of rare books, delectable foods, opportunities to hobnob with kings, etc. they may tell you, don't be tricked by fake Belgians into going to Belgium. It could be the last place you ever go.
(Via the dilettantes at Boing Boing, who again miss the most important part of the story.)
There is a misconception among novice paranoids that the so-called "mind-control lasers" control minds directly from their locations in orbit. In reality, these lasers only facilitate conventional psychotronic mind-control coming from either orbiting psychotrons or ground-based stations. But how do the lasers do this?
A recent experiment leaked to the public via Nature Physics -- presumably as part of the continuing strategy of conditioning orthonoids to accept a more conspicuous New World Order, as well as morale-disrupting propaganda aimed at paranoids -- revealed the shocking truth about how these lasers work -- they turn aluminum foil transparent:
[R]esearchers at the FLASH facility in Hamburg, Germany, took a thin piece of aluminium foil and blasted it with an X-ray laser that generated about 10 million gigawatts of power per square centimetre. At standard temperature and pressure, solid aluminium is a lattice of ions surrounded by a sea of free electrons. Each photon in the FLASH beam had enough energy to knock an electron away from an ion, while the photon got absorbed in the process.
Normally in a solid metal, another electron will instantly take the place of the missing one. But FLASH is so powerful that it can rip out one electron from every ion in the foil before other electrons can replace them.
With one electron removed, the remaining electrons around each ion settle into a different configuration, becoming too tightly bound for the laser to remove them. That means the X-ray photons can no longer be easily absorbed, and they fly straight through the material, making the previously opaque aluminium transparent to X-rays
This x-ray transparency allows for a piggy-back psychotronic signal to pass right through a layer of aluminum foil, potentially obsolescing the passive mind-control deflection technology on which the Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie is based. At least that's what the NWO wants paranoids to fear in the hope we'll abandon our beanies and surrender our minds to them in despair. Fortunately, the transparifying process has three major drawbacks that keep it from coming to that:
First, the extreme energy requirements (roughly 9 exawatts per beanie layer) make it difficult for more than a handful of paranoids to be targeted at a time without creating noticeable atmospheric effects -- the sight of which would only increase orthonoid-to-paranoid conversions in the public. In turn, as our numbers increase, the percentage of paranoids affected by beanie transparency will decrease, making the situation even less advantageous for the NWO.
Second, the process creates in foil an unstable state of matter that lasts less than a nanosecond, leaving a narrow window of opportunity for mind controlling. That may be enough time to induce fleeting physio-emotive responses (FEAR, PAIN, ENNUI, etc.), but not enough for complicated behavioral programming, like "GO TO DALLAS; STATION YOURSELF ON THE GRASSY KNOLL; AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS". Much less damage can be done with the former than the latter.
Finally, because of this state-of-matter's instability, as one of the researchers behind the leaked information admitted, "As soon as you make it, the stuff blows up". Of course, this last flaw could be used to the NWO's advantage as a way of neutralizing paranoids through remote beanie detonation, but, since they still have to find you to target the lasers, general improvements in camouflaging techniques can mitigate this risk, which really isn't any more worrying than the many other ways the NWO could neutralize a paranoid once identified and located.
At worst, this revelation merely reaffirms the importance of multiple layers when creating AFDBs. Those paranoids still using single-layer configurations are risking transparification and are advised to update their beanies ASAP.
Below is some rare footage of a tree octopus from 1928:
The scenes were shot by the French experimental filmmaker Jean Painlevé and originally appeared in his surrealist nature film about octopuses, La Pieuvre (The Octopus). The silent short with the scenes in their original context can be found in the recently released Criterion Collection of Painlevé's work, "Science Is Fiction: 23 Films by Jean Painlevé".
(Thanks to Joshua for bringing this to my attention.)
The coin features the motto "Unity in Diversity" on the obverse and a symbolic "Tree of Life" on the reverse. Ostensibly, the Tree represents world unity by combining leaves from trees indigenous to the five continents where the coin will be spent. That is, of course, a lie to cover the real cryptosymbology. If you look closely, you'll notice that the tree design forms both a Pyramid Eye and an owl, the two favorite symbols of the NWO:
The currency is unofficially known as the "Eurodollar"; according to the UFWC's manifesto, they've also used the names "United Money" and "Dollaeur". The official name will be decided via a contest among the world's school children, which is both sappy and creepy at the same time (too bad they don't have a cartoon mascot to go with it).
Whatever they call it, it's a safe bet that the coin -- which was minted by the Royal Mint of Belgium, naturally -- is loaded with the latest in psychotronic circuitry designed to subdue anti-NWO thoughts through passive induction of cellphonic energies. Not that you have much to worry about at this time, since the gold €$1 coin will currently set you back €2,800/US$3,900.
LATE UPDATE: Lest you think the cryptosymbolic owl is just an example of pareidolia and not intentional, consider the Athenian Owls. These coins, with an owl on the reverse, were issued almost unchanged in ancient Greece for over half a millennium. They were the World Currency of their day. The UFWC even mentions them on their site, so they can't claim ignorance. How likely is it that a coin that is supposed to supplant all others to become Humanity's final form of currency would, just by chance, happen to have a hidden owl shape on the back that echoes a famous motif from the dawn of numismatic history?
AFTERTHOUGHT UPDATE (2009-07-20): Here's something relevant that's so well-known to paranoids that it didn't occur to me that some of my orthonoid readers might not be aware of it: there's an owl on the front of the US$1 bill, hidden on the border of the crest around the "1" in the upper right corner. Do you see?
And here's something else that not many orthonoids notice (at least consciously): the national side of Belgian Euro coins all feature a portrait of the fictional King of the fictional Belgians, Albert II, who is depicted as some sort of owl-human hybrid:
Clearly, the owl-worshipping forces of the Cabal move within the Belgian Conspiracy, plotting to subtly inculcate an acceptance of their crypto-strigocracy among any Europeans who happen upon Belgian Euros that have been slipped into their pockets by Conspirators while vacationing at Euro-Disneyland.
Below are a small sample of the numerous videos on YouTube showing cats being trained by their paranoid owners to do battle against the coming Black Helicopter menace.
Here is a selection of illustrated defensive techniques employing a walking-stick, taken from the article "Self-defence With A Walking-stick: The Different Methods of Defending Oneself with a Walking-stick or Umbrella when Attacked under Unequal Conditions" by E. W. Barton-Wright, published in the Jan., 1901 issue of Pearson's Magazine:
No. 1.—The Guard by Distance—How to Avoid any Risk of being Hit on the Fingers, Arm, or Body by Retiring out of the Hitting Range of your Adversary, but at the same time Keeping Him within the Hitting Range of your Own Stick.
Your opponent, encouraged by the apparently exposed position of your left arm, naturally strikes at it, but you, anticipating the attack, withdraw it very quickly, and swing it upwards behind you. This upward sweep of the arm automatically causes you to swing your left foot well behind your right, and to draw in the lower part of your body out of your opponent's reach: at the same time it imparts the initial momentum to your right arm, and assists in bringing your stick down very quickly and heavily upon your adversary's head before he has time to recover his balance after over-reaching himself in trying to hit you.
Students from Mr. Hoover's and Mr. Kaune's fifth grade classes at Montrose Elementary in Bexley, Ohio demonstrated today in front of their school to raise awareness of the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus' plight. The demonstration, while peaceful, included banners, armbands, essays, and fiery speeches on the school news show.
© 2004-2017 Lyle Zapato & ZPi
unless otherwise noted or implied.