In the summer of 2001 I had crossed the Baltic (in the sleeping car of an old Mitropa train, on a ferry) to leave Stockholm and return to Berlin. I had been away from Berlin, but for one or two visits, since 1995, when I’d fled the black diamond city (exasperation) to live in sun-stunned San Diego for a few years. When Dubya was running for Prezertainer I made the grandiose announcement that I would leave the country if the simp was elected and, unlike 99% of the Lefties who said the same thing, I really did it… though, let’s be honest, all I needed was one excuse. Berlin is my natural habitat and San Diego was just an aberration with lazy days by the lolling Ocean, lush primeval gardens, Gay humming birds, amnesia-blue skies and the dumbest bunch of semi-literate Philistines I have ever shared 1,500 immaculate summer days (and three Trader Joes) with. But that’s not the point of this essay.
When I returned to Berlin I was able to stay in a nice house in a queerly charming, fantods-tinged little suburb called E_______, which is also not the point of this essay. The house belonged to the father of a woman who was an old friend and nearly an ex; I say ‘nearly’ because of the time we rolled around on the living room floor, c. 1994, in her wonderful English-language book-stocked flat in Kreuzberg, and I reached under Brigitte’s bright yellow dress and found her panties to be darkly wet as April. All I had to do was gently remove these panties but I suddenly decided I shouldn’t… and I backed out of the Dionysian lip-lock and sort of therefore pissed her off… which is (as you’ve probably guessed) not the point of this essay. Five or six years after that inhumanly disciplined decision, I was in that house in E______ with Brigitte (a dark-haired ringer for Ms. Bardot: picture attached for evidence) and her boyfriend, a Hippie who’d snared Brigitte with the impossibly romantic tale of his years of political imprisonment under the Honecker regime. A nice enough guy, with his short spindly legs and wavy long center-parted hair, he’d converted Brigitte from being a vergingly alcoholic hottie reader of Great Lit to a Hippie who believed in the stupidest Hippie shit you could possibly imagine. (We are now officially getting close to the point of this essay).
I was staying in a smallish bedroom on the second floor, next to theirs, and one very early morning, as they gathered, in the pre-dawn gloom, their dusty wares for the Schöneberg Courthouse’s weekly flea market, Brigitte crept into my smallish bedroom and gathered a pile of their thirdhand clothing. “Good luck at the flea market,” I called, groggily, head under the covers, as they tip-toed down the stairs and out the front door and drove off in the huge old, fume-belching, green-painted Diesel van that Brigitte’s boyfriend had been living in and out of for twenty years, weirdly (eerily, almost) oblivious to the fact that his carbon footprint (not to mention his sulfur dioxide ass-print) was the size of a WW2 cargo plane’s. Which is not… although we are rapidly closing in on… the point.
I should mention, before we start with the part of the essay directly addressing the point, the morning I came downstairs for “breakfast” (such a sad word in a Vegan household; Brigitte was on a seed diet) and found the rapidly-thinning Brigitte reading a glossy niche-market magazine devoted to the topic of Elves and Fairies.
The title of the cover story of that particular issue of the magazine (in German): “What do Fairies wear?”
No, no, really, I am not, I promise, shitting you.
Brigitte was reading this magazine and I peeked over her shoulder to see a page of “artist’s renderings” of little dresses and trousers and hats and all, looking exactly as you might assume they would. This woman, so brilliant that she had once translated several of my longer stories into a deftly fluid, unexpectedly mellifluous German that I almost preferred to the original, was quite seriously reading a magazine about Elves and Fairies and their current fashions.
So when Brigitte and her boyfriend came back from the flea market, and I casually mentioned that one of my black socks was missing, and asked if Brigitte had, you know, possibly, scooped it up by mistake, in the dark, into the load of clothing they’d hauled to the flea market, Brigitte smiled fetchingly but shook her head and said, firmly, “Oh no, that is not possible“. You can imagine what I was thinking. Which was: You fucking believe in fucking Elves and Fairies yet are quite adamantly sure that it’s physically ‘impossible’ that one of my socks got mixed up in with the duds you took to market…? The human mind…! What isn’t it capable of getting wrong?
And that’s the point.
But wait. There’s more: the point on the point. Much more.
I’ve had to explain to quite a few friends, over the years, that the absolute impossibility of “miracles” (defined as benevolent Judeo-Christian super-being interventions in human affairs, which are only noteworthy because they routinely supposedly defy the laws of averages and/or physics), and Time Travel, and beating the House (in Vegas) are categorically, and orders of magnitude, removed from the utter plausibility of accusations that elected officials, beloved or not, occasionally commit self-serving acts of Total Evil. Let’s refine and stabilize our senses of the Likely, Plausible, Conceivable, Implausible and Impossible. Crucial tools of analysis.
Whether or not you “love” HRC, BHO, The Pope or Tom Hanks, it is not beyond the realm of the Conceivable that they, or the institutions they front, are not at all what they seem to the untrained and credulous eye. Any circumstantial evidence that Jennifer Aniston bathes in non-binary Latvian baby brains (to maintain her not-really-youngish appearance) can nevertheless be taken infinitely more seriously than the circumstantial evidence that a birthday party magician with halitosis and a lazy eye (sorry, Thom Yorke) actually pulled that silver dollar out of your nose. In the latter case, you can begin your investigation of the event with the premise that it was a trick, because we can state, with absolute confidence, that it is impossible to pull a silver dollar out of your nose unless there was one already in there. There are no such absolute limits on the possible Goodness or Evil of Jennifer Aniston (or any human); the first step in analyzing the plausibility of purported human actions is to rule out the physically impossible… not the socially “unthinkable”.
Not only would it not have been physically impossible for 9/11 to be an “inside job,” or, likewise, JFK’s assassination to have been, or the “Moon landings” to have been a brilliantly detailed fraud (the Manhattan project of Cold War bluffs/ war by deception)… there’s more than enough creditable circumstantial evidence (and historical precedent) to justify the serious “mainstream” investigations of all three… and you and I can be sure that will not happen. Not for another century or two. So: the most taboo/ unpopular “CT” solutions to these puzzles are neither confirmed nor impossible (in fact, they’re not even implausible, folks)…
…unlike another class of “theory” that is currently floating around, two examples of which I will now name (no matter how cringe-inducing they are; how much relevant material is banned from serious discussion merely because it’s embarrassing? ): A) Flat Earth and B) the Mandela Effect (makes gag-me gestures). Neither of which sprung whole from the fertile brows of Duh retro-medievalist Masses.
Yes, Duh Masses quite naturally believe in “Angels” (can you blame them after they were injected with the cognitive botulism of Judeo-Christian creation myths from birth?) and Astrology (which used to have the power of getting one laid) and Palm Reading (ditto)… but this Flat Earth bullshit came right out of a Cass Sunstein-rubberstamped Think Tank. Every committed Radical with an Internet connection knows who Cass Sunstein is, so I won’t waste pixels defining or explaining him or his famous “crippled epistemology” essay. Neither will I get into the repeal of the Smith-Mundt Act, which (if I recall correctly) was smuggled in via the NDAA and, in essence, makes it legal (not that that was ever a problematic boundary) for US GOV to use propaganda, and propagandistic techniques of “cognitive dissonance” (Sunstein’s words), by infiltrating Social Media, to fuzz, fry and generally undermine Domestic Parapolitical Research and Commentary.
[editor’s note; when I use the word “research” I don’t mean “the binge-watching of EweToob”; one can read books by actual scholars, like the great Dr. Michael Parenti, or William Blum, Howard Zinn, bits of Sherman Skolnick, John Judge, Lerone Bennet’s work on Lincoln, William Pepper’s work on the assassination of MLK; one can look into Marc Lombardi, say, or one can read the well-sourced, thoroughly-reasoned essays at the always-impressive HERE; I could mention a thousand other nugget-stuffed books you’d have to read with a grain of salt and a triangulating eye, too, but the disclaimers attached to each would be lengthy]
So, when, for example, cynical high-IQ types source and aggregate the openly available, “mainstream” information that The Clinton Twins are blood-drenched war criminals to whom, in comparison, The Trumpturd is a tiny rotten potato, what the really clever Sunsteinians do is sprinkle a little Flat Earth across the EweToobs to make anybody who isn’t typing out Normative chit chat look every bit as batshit as the Flat Earthers. Clinton critique neutralized.
“Flat Earth” is not a naturally occurring retro-pre-Copernican “movement”, just as Alex Jones can not possibly be as stupid as he always appeared when they let him loose on the heels of some red hot Social Engineering event. It is his job to look that bad. Merely comparing the way David Duke dissembles, to Alex Jones’ spittle-flecking schtick, provides a scientific standard for differentiating between an old snake in very tall grass and an evil clown with an in-ear prompter: the latter is more than likely on somebody’s payroll. The former was merely born to hurt you.
Now: that Mandela Effect…
What recent meme could require more idiocy on the part of its believers and, yet, have required such genius on the part of its engineers?
“Mandela Effect” gets its name (hold on to your brilliantly crinkly beanie) from the fact that lots of White people seem to think that they remember Nelson Mandela‘s funeral being broadcast during the 1980s. Well: you know: we all look alike. Maybe they’re misremembering Stephen Biko’s death ( as portrayed in the 1987 movie/ video featuring Peter Gabriel’s emotive art song). When Mandela actually died (erm, when was that again? About 5 years ago, wasn’t it?) I was not under the impression it was his second time doing so. But there are, you will be amazed to learn, people out there so profoundly Egocentric that, rather than write off the error as a trivial function of their own fallibility, explain it by warning us that Reality has actually retro-morphed, somehow, and Mandela’s ’80s death has been updated to the 21st century in a Retroactively Editable Universe.
For further “proof” they type things like, “When I was a kid, we always learned that the ‘lamb will lay down with the lion… now it’s the wolf!” or “Didn’t it used to be Sex In the City?” and “Wasn’t it, ‘Luke I am your father!’?” and so forth. One theory has it that CERN’s manipulations of mini-blackholes has catapulted us into an Alternate Timestream… an Alternate Timestream not, luckily, in which Hydrogen will no longer bond with Oxygen… an Alternate Timestream in which Humphrey Bogart says “Play it, Sam,” instead of “Play it Again, Sam!” A media-savvy, hipsterishly Heisenbergian Effect with a penchant for doing retroactive re-writes of Yankee Pop Culture. Yes: varying, inconsistent, unstable and multiply-bastardized texts are always a sign that the whole fucking universe has rebooted (resuming neatly, after the re-boot, exactly where a handful of vigilant human consciousnesses last took note of the effect) in order to introduce variants so minuscule and inconsequential that only nano-dust mites (aka the humans) can even detect them. I mean, there’s a good chance there aren’t books or movies anywhere else in the universe, so, be humbled that the whole thing reinstalled itself to change a word or two, here and there, on our wee planet.
These brand new batshit memes certainly do a good job of making it harder for me to convince my pajamas-wearing, middle-manager college friends that (eg) John Lennon’s death (not unlike Allard K. Lowenstein’s, or Victor Jara’s) was a political assassination. Whenever I say anything like this, now, however reasonably I preface the comment or contextualize it, my Normative Friends probably see a Flat Earth bumper sticker where the idealistic gleam in my wizened eyes once was. Whoever came up with these brand new goddamn batshit memes: take a bow, you evil geniuses (probably Cornell grads). But do all of the mid-meme disseminators count as witting and Evil? Are some merely unwitting and Stupid?
I long ago stumbled across this guy (below) who, nowadays, on the one hand, rightfully lambastes Flat Earthers as retro-pre-Copernican idiots… yet pushes Mandela Effect (ME) theory. Intriguing, no? I mean, isn’t the notion of a disk-shaped Earth at the center of the “solar system” (whatever that would count as, in a Flat Earth system) more or less equivalent, on the Batshit Dumbfuck Motherfucker Scale, with the notion of retroactively editable (with a kooky emphasis on TV, celebrity names and Bible passages) Universe? What unnecessarily nuanced Wordview can’t or won’t accommodate both?
The guy I’m focusing on (the point of the point of this essay) was responding, when he triggered me, in his comment thread, to a woman who posted photographs of passages from a 19th century copy of a Bible (to prove whatever). He wrote, among other things (the bone of contention, specifically, is a passage that uses the term “wine-skins” in some Bibles and “bottles” in others; our plucky Mandela Effect Detective Sage thinks the word “bottle” is so modern a word that it must have been CERN-injected into some old Bibles retroactively, or, uh, something):
Yes, it’s confusing all right. At some ‘point in time’ (or timeline) your AKJV column said ‘wine-skins’ (so did the Revised edition column, but without the note in the margin!) then the AKJV column was ‘magically’ changed to ‘bottles’, which meant that the Revised edition (RSV) added the note without changing the word, since that version has always used ‘wine-skins’.
It’s nuts but seems to indicate that the concept of ‘time lines’ (whatever that means) must be at work here… somehow — as i do not picture a ‘moment in time’ wherein you could theoretically watch the ‘magic change’ taking place. I don’t think that’s the way it could work.
Close up of Revised Standard Edition with ‘wine-skins’.
The ‘bad’ thing is that it appears like there is a malevolent agenda behind at least some of the changes. If it were a random screw up there would not be any recognizable pattern to the changes — like the movie lines always being ‘bad writing’ and the biblical changes having perverse subtext. This is the most worrisome aspect. And I hate to say it but the whole ME adds up to possible evidence that we may be living in a computer simulation. (The ‘moon numbers’ could imply this as well.)
Have you watched Sean Carroll’s video on the Many Worlds Interpretation of quantum physics? Give it a look.
I don’t know if the above is a help or not, in understanding what we’re up against. It’s obvious why some folks get flustered and give up thinking about this and write it off to (other) human’s stupidity; it’s easier on the mind.
One thing I’m sure of is that a biblical scholar, whose life’s work is getting the translation right, would not change wording in a way that makes a passage nonsense: Bottles do not break when filled with wine, new or otherwise.”
Not being able to take it any more (I’ve read this guy, off and on, for eye-rolling amusement, for years and always, before, resisted the temptation to swing in with the roman candle of Logic and comment ) I posted:
March 11, 2019 at 3:51 pm
Your comment is awaiting moderation.
A) I don’t suppose it has occurred to any of the world class researchers hereabouts to dig into the definition/ etymology of “bottle”? Because you all would appear to think the only definition of the word is your modern usage of it.
“bottle (n.) “narrow-necked hollow vessel for holding and carrying liquids,” mid-14c., originally of leather, from Old French boteille (12c., Modern French bouteille), …”
“late Middle English: from Old French boteille, from medieval Latin butticula, diminutive of late Latin buttis ‘cask, wineskin’” (note: no mention of “glass”; the function, not the material design, is the operative description)
So there’s that. But, also…
B) Alan, if the tools by which you detect and reject anomalies in, eg, Space-X footage, are 1) Science 2) Logic… how can you remain consistent with either while also propounding a theory that Time/Space is being retroactively edited to… erm… change specific words in various movie scripts and/or Bibles? It’s one or the other, Alan… either Time/Space are editable at will (I’ll need more proof of this beyond peoples’ egocentric inability to concede that maybe, just maybe, they have misremembered certain trivial pop culture details)… or Space-X is fraudulent because it’s unrealistic. If Reality itself is unrealistic (I somehow doubt this is the case), well, whoops, there goes your Standard by which to judge the plausibility of any possible thing in this universe.
If you’re doing all this on purpose: kudos: you’re making “Conspirsy Thuris” look pretty nuts. If you’re merely genuinely mistaken and somehow not seeing it: take a break, a deep breath. Put the Ego down, maybe? Harassing shills/ not-shills with blazingly illogical theories and pronouncements and fist-pumping as you shout “QED!”, when they inevitably ignore you… is not a good look.
Well, obviously, my comment hasn’t made it through moderation “yet” (wink) but several Batshit Idiot comments leap-frogged right over it. One example (excerpt):
March 11, 2019 at 4:29 pm
Agenda Is Real, It Is Noted, and We Were Warned About it Long Long Ago that “THE DELUSION WOULD BE SO STRONG THAT EVEN THE ELECT WOULD BE DECEIVED” knowing this fact and relying on spirit (oh no, here we go folks) we have been prepared for this time. to make associations, to connect the dots, to see the patterns of, who, what, where, why, and how this was going to take place. we would not know when however we would know the season. The Season is here.
We (me and others)keep pointing the finger at the monster in the forest after people like you Alan chop down a bunch of the individual trees. The Monster is There Lurking in the Shadows. it controls Everything. This Modern World is Its Creation. It is Fully Fallen. Rotten to the Core. The Schemes are 4 dimensional and Hydra like yet we can easily put a name on it, yet if we dare we are Banned Shunned Outcast as crazies reprobates loonies conspiratists, whackadoodles, paranoid, hateful, racists etc etc etc.
Its There, We Know its There, Christ talked who it would be clearly. and all one has to do is look at the body count of the last 2000 years to know who what why and how but not the when- the when is controlled by the Lunar worshiping Stone Temple Pilot Priests it is their NWO their CERN their Big Blue Cray Their Scientists Their Politicians Their Royals Their Judges Their Net Their Web Their Social Media Their Networks Their Platforms Their Security Their Manipulation and control of Humanity and History steering the Ship to Zyon! (and so on…)
Is the guy who writes that “Conspirsy Thuris” blog a Professional Disnformation blogger on an okay secret salary? Are any of his commenters? Or are they all just fucking stupid beyond calculation…*
...the way I was when I refrained from gently removing Brigitte’s infatuation-soaked panties, in 1994, when I had the chance?
In an Alternate Timeline I like to think that I rashly went ahead and did it. An epic mistake that the ME me will always fondly misremember.
When I was young, long before ME, we had Jung’s supposed theory of “Synchronicity” to confuse and befuddle and de-rationalize us; in the spirit of which, I offer this photo, which my wife took and mailed to me around the time I was reading the blog I attack in my essay above… spooky?
*Simple test: if my blog vanishes, he is a Pro. If my comment at his blog merely remains in moderation, he’s a run-of-the-mill Nitwit. Oh, wait, unless he’s such a Pro that he maintains his cover as a Nitwit…
—-To any cussedly Rational Skeptic reading this: I link, upthread, to the 14-part essay, by the late Dave McGowan, deconstructing the Cold War hokum of the Apollo Project. Dave did a thorough, thoroughly readable, and thoroughly persuasive job. When I first began reading it, back in 2009, I did so with a sneer, as duped as anyone else who was only ten when “we landed on the Moon”. By the end of the first page I was deeply shaken and mid-way through the 14 chapters I no longer believed in The Easter Bunny. Please do read it!