Who Eats Who And What Is On Third

the devils chessboard cover.png

“We Kennedys eat Rockefellers for breakfast.”

Imagine Robert Kennedy saying that. Imagine the vehemence that could fill the air once those words were published. Imagine the Kennedy and Rockefeller families with a slight twist: they are the Hatfields and the McCoys. Or just just forget all that and go back to third grade (or maybe fifth or sixth or seventh–or, at the least, never graduate above the sophomoric). In a system that has thrived on greed and allure–both being the catalyst for the economics of trickle down–it’s a wonder that more #americants haven’t slaughtered themselves as trickle down withers to zero. But then again, with what’s going on in Oregon these days, maybe there is something out there that might cause a mass wake up. Most certainly the death (slaughter) of the Kennedy family woke no one up. Yet, worst-writer can’t help but question where all this nonsense comes from. Nonsense being best defined through the behaviour of people, the behaviour of a nation. It is said that a persons true character comes through in a time of crisis. Does the same apply to a nation? But I digress. §I came across the book The Devil’s Chessboard through an interview I watched with the author here back in October. Recent travel meant I had to fill my Kindle and this book made the list. Of course, I was skeptical about buying it but something did stand out based on the above referenced interview. The interview did give off a hint of conspiracy-theory but David Talbot was able to convince me that this piece of work had something more to it. In my quest to maintain as rational a mind as possible, it’s hard at times to sift through the nonsense that is #americant without falling prey to conspiracy theory. The advent of faux newz on the one hand and the long standing mindlessness of conspiracy-theory on the other, it’s a wonder that the country hasn’t fallen prey to some blonde blue-eyed dictator. Or has it? I, for one, never thought much about the conspiracy to kill JFK but the Warren Report didn’t make much of an impression either. Yet the movie by Oliver Stone changed all that. Now don’t get me wrong. The JFK assassination isn’t the same conspiracy-theory as the moon landing. The Zapruder film saw to that. But there is something about all the unanswered questions regarding JFK that the government covered up. I mean, “cover-up” is really the only thing we know that happened. Or? Nomatter. §David Talbot does something different. He’s actually explaining a mindset in this book. He takes a new angle on trying to explain a mindset, a rationale, of how certain people within the upper echelons of government and (big) business actually think. That such a way of thinking could lead to the assassination of Kennedy is a bit far-fetched–and Talbot doesn’t make that direct link. But what he does make clear is that JFK did represent a new way of thinking in America. And that way of thinking was counter to how a few other people thought. Is that then the reason he was killed? What exactly was JFK’s way of thinking? §Enter Allen Dulles, the CIA and a bunch of old, conniving white men who are stuck in the mind of a ten year old that has Howitzers sticking out of every orifice. What to do with those Howitzers, eh? I guess–so goes their rationale–one has to put them to some kind of use otherwise they’d just be a waste. And so. The mindset of adult-children with cannons sticking out of their arses has taken over a once great nation-state. Which means all we can say now is: it was fun while it lasted. Or? Indeed. The Devil’s Chessboard is a bit of a bore to read–if you know anything about American history and American foreign policy. Yet I stayed in the book because of how the author was able to weave a single thread through it from beginning to end. That thread is the idea that a certain way of thinking is what rules the show. It’s not so much about politics, parties or individuals running things. America is run by a way of thinking. And not only is there one way of thinking but a different way of thinking will not be tolerated. This is how the system conspires, how it perpetuates. And since most Americans have fallen for the lie of trickle-down no other way of thinking can prevail. Which brings me to #americant. If anything is true/real about David Talbot’s book, it’s the fact that America still has a chance. It has a chance to break free from the singularity that rules it today. And even though Talbot doesn’t go anywhere near trying to explain that, he does masterfully explain the mindset of one of the rulers, one of the powers-that-be, a man who’s way of thinking is the reason there is so much demagoguery, right-wing batshit, faux newz, and/or militiamen fighting for “rights” they never had in the first place. Or maybe not. Rant on. -Tommi

Flop Analyzation

high jump before 1968
Source: google search for “high jump before 1968”. Email me worstwriter (youknow) worstwriter (dotthing) com and I’ll remove it if I’m abusing copyright. I guess.

A confusing, profound and somewhat twisted story where the heart of the matter is lost. This story is the/a perfect metaphor for explaining the goings on of recent clown show. I’m worst-referring to the phenomenon that is The Donald. Indeed, dear worst-reader. The more and more I read about The Donald and his recent faux newz Q&A session (it was in no way a “debate”) the more curious I get. Not to mention the difficulty I’m having trying to explain it to Eurowastelanders, let alone trying to explain the American presidential primary system to them, as well.

Let’s begin with a story. Dick Fosbury won the 1968 gold medal in the high-jump. He did it by changing the jumping technique. His method is called the Fosbury Flop–and it is the way we see high-jumpers perform today. A jumper runs to the bar but instead of trying to leap or straddle over it, the athlete jumps over it backwards throwing his/her body into the air and thereby utilising a more conducive, gravity-centred motion to aide in achieving height. Since the introduction of the flop athletes have never been able to top records with the old method. And now the twist. Credit for athletes being able to achieve in this discipline always goes to the jumping technique. Yet there is one other element, without which, the flop would not be possible. When leaping or straddling the high-bar the athletes landed in a pile of sand where they could use their limbs to absorb the fall. The Fosbury-Flop, though, requires the athlete to land on his/her back–hence the word ‘flop’. When free falling from two meters, a pile of sand does not make for a very soft landing, not to mention the potential for injury.

Here we are, dear worst-reader. We are at a chicken and egg and which came first conundrum, or the like. While the Fosbury-Flop did provide track & field a more dramatic event–not only for the record setting potential but also for the elegant and poetic form of the technique–we have forgotten what is the true reason behind its success. Which brings me back to the word flop and–The Donald. Without the cushion or mat upon which the athlete lands, this technique would not be possible. Yet we don’t even consider the mat or a pile of sand, for that matter. All we think about is the athlete, what the females wear–not unlike The Donald’s hair–and, of course, the record setting jump.

Oh the American way! How brilliant is it to be an American? If only I could tell you. But why tell you? All one has to do is witness it. And then try to figure out: Is Donald Trump, in his quest to be the next president of the united mistakes of #americant, the change in jumping technique or the difference between landing on a soft mat or a not so soft pile of sand? (Un)fortunately, I’m not sure. But I will leave this post with one other worst-conspiratorial thought.

After reading up on the issue a bit I couldn’t help but imagine/see Donald Trump–who actually met with Bill Clinton just before his presidential run announcement in June–being given a Ross Perot welcome to the game by the former president. In fact, what I see/imagine goes even further, especially after thinking a bit more about The Donald’s seething, belligerent and full of contempt (towards republicans) performance at the Q&A session on August 6. Has he been picked to try and (finally) get a hold of what has become of the republican party–a party of dimwits, nutbags and snake oil sellers whose achievement post Ronald Reagan is #americant? Is there a (elite) political class in America that has had enough with what Limbaugh and faux (fake) newz have done? Boy! I hope so. For your sake, I hope The Donald puts all the bedwetters on that stage the other night in their place.

Go Trump! And. Good luck suckers. Oh!

Rant on. -t

Links that motivated this post:

Moon Landing Cap'n Crunch

Update: For those interested in skipping all the worstwriting and getting right to my debunking of conspiracy theories, just scroll down to “Debunking”. Also. Since posting this I’ve come across a wonderful YouTube video by someone who debunks much better than moi. It’s at the end of this post. Thank you for your patience.

One thing I’ll never forget from this worst-writer journey, dear worst-reader, are the crazies. I’m referring, of course, to the people of this world who, although they seem normal, are really on the brink of mental and emotional collapse. As far as I can tell there are two types among these worldly crazies. There are those willing AND unwilling to play the game. Then there are those who substitute belief and faith for choice and free will and think they are somehow either not playing the game or they are outside the game watching/judging those in the game. There are so many of these people in the world that it’s no wonder the new-world-order ethos is nothing more than a über-candied, colorfully boxed breakfast cereal along side an unfinished bowl of the same stuff.

Facetiousness aside, there is no need to blame Trix or Tony The Tiger for all the craziness of this world. But then again, there are two generations of sheople–post baby boomers–unable to break from the past, hence, the popularity of conspiracy theories. For me, conspiracy theory started with a small paperback titled “Subliminal Seduction” which detailed how the powers-that-be manipulated a population of gullible consumers. Then came the fluoride in drinking water thing, which to this day I still don’t get. And don’t forget the various and vast conspiracies behind inoculations? Oh, and here’s the über conspiracy of them all. Anyone remember the United States government crashing a <fill in your mass destruction device here> into the world trade center in lower Manhattan? I mean, come on, seriously, governments and SPECTRE have time for all this stuff, right? Evil bureaucrats and mouth foaming capitalists are at this moment trying to figure out ways to pump our bodies full of stuff in order to control us (for what ends doesn’t really matter). They are also hard at work creating all the krapp we watch (TV), listen to (radio) and masturbate to (The Internets). Is there a grand conspiracy behind all this? Indeed there is. Or. Could there be some truth to the conspiracy that someone tainted the Fruit Loops?

I ate way too much Cap’n Crunch growing up and to this day I suffer from chronic crunch mouth. With that bit of info, thank goodness I question blind authority as much as I question conspiracy theorists run amok. And my questioning has lead to one conclusion only: human nature is a real bitch.

Obviously, for me, gorging my body from pre-teen thru adolescence on industrial cereals wasn’t such a bad thing. But that only proves some physiologies (and mindsets) are less susceptible to environmental and biological manipulation than others. Also, we must not forget, my profession is that of being a dropout who is still tuned-in. One of the peeves of my career is that I am up for at least two honorary PHDs as Worst-de-Facto Observer. That is, I am a chronicler for the rational minds of the future (may those minds come to be). So when I started to meet the crazies that weren’t as lucky as I, who have long since given-in (and tuned-out) to the effects of Cap’n Crunch, fluoride, Happy Days, Rush Limbaugh, Building #7, etc., I was humbled. Not everyone can be granted a license to rant about truth. For the truth is the only constant in this universe–even though there are those who would think/imagine otherwise.

And so, 1.

Having found the glue that binds all crazies to this plain of our (meta)physical universe, it is only right that I expose the grandfather of all crazy conspiracies here with no further adieu. It goes like this: There are people who really believe that no man has ever set foot on the surface of the moon. (Un)Fortunately it’s hard to differentiate the crazies from the stupid. The thing that has shocked me with all the non-empirical research I’ve been doing (as worst-chronicler), is how many crazies there actually are who believe this krapp. Indeed, the significance of this new-world-order of denialists and conspiracy theorists is that they draw a lot of mindless sympathy because they sound as though they are, somehow, anti-establishment and freshly crowned grand questioners of the status quo. Oh, how acceptance reeks of mob rule with tongues waiting to be licked and credit cards waiting for their next approval code.

And so, 2. 

When Neil Armstrong died in August of 2012 all the crazy stuff that I’ve been hearing sporadically for the past twenty-plus years started churning again. For those already laughing because you still believe in all this conspiracy/denial nonsense regarding the moon landings–and I haven’t provided enough evidence yet to turn you back to reality–just give me a few more worst-words to show you some truth.

Queue violins, oboes and other sad sounding devices.

It took a while but eventually the consequence(s) of subjecting myself to being a foreigner and an immigrant set in. Combined with a variety of expats–some befriended, some not–from various parts of Eurowasteland and Assasia, a world opened up to me not only of other cultures, but also a mindset beyond consume-to-survive suburban-hell that is my beloved America. This, combined with being a skeptic and unbeliever reared in a militaristic and authoritarian 20th century, I thought that other horizons would at least be entertaining if not greener. I even thought those horizons would be a bit rejuvenating. Oh, how wrong I was.

A bit of context now–and excuse me if I rehash how I became worst-writer. 

The only problem with my expatriation was the fact that I went in the wrong friggin’ direction. I went east when I should have gone über-wester. I chose regression as opposed to progression. I picked the lesser of two evils when I should have chosen eviler anew. But I reckon that’s what happens when youth is allowed to run wild–or when youth is left so few choices because “opportunity” has been turned into a commodity that is held imprisoned within geographical cages.

For the longest time I thought I was doing a pretty good job of dealing with my expatriation. Eurowasteland and its megalomania was kind of fun, especially the Fräuleins and the Bier. In hindsight, I had two advantages over others trying to do the same thing. Born of a Prussian mother I was able to quickly embrace the Germanic part of Eurowasteland culture. The second advantage was that there was no turning back. Considering where I came from, especially including the parenting we all cannot pick and choose, I took a life gamble and lost. But I wasn’t about to renege on my commitment. Suffer if you have to, redneck nomad, but man-up nomatter what happens.

Enough about me (almost). 

I watched other expats who did not fare as well in their travels. For example, a lovely Korean named Su fought an intense internal battle with the reality of having to live with potatoes, meat, sauerkraut and Germans. I watched Turks growl earnestly while facing Euro-Christians and their fear based bigotry and intolerances. I even watched a few Americans lose their cool over Germanic obedience and misconstrued Ordnung. But the cream of all this expatriation confusion came in the form of Russians.

It is important to note that my expatriation began a few months before cultural and political hell broke loose in the world. I left America as Glasnost and Perestroika were in full bloom. I arrived in the Eurowasteland section known as Germanland in the summer of 1989. That fall the German Wall separating east and west came down. I was right in the middle of Euro euphoria excess and fear. As everything started to unfold, from the opening of West German embassies in the east, to East German guards refusing to shoot people at the behest of Erich Mielke, the proverbial shit was hitting the fan. For weeks no one knew from one-second to the next morning what the hell was going to come of all this. But I suppose, if one wishes to figure out what oiled up the transformation, my guess is it had something to do with West Germans giving East Germans the world’s most stable currency at a 1:1 trade. Yeah, baby. Wanna keep the plebeian from freaking out because the overlords are too stupid to govern in the name of the people? Don’t give them cake (those days are gone). Instead, entice them to go shopping at KaDeWe.

Seriously. 1 West German Deutsche Mark that was part of turning Mercedes Benz into one of the world’s most well known and respected cars was, with the flip of a switch, worth 1 East German Deutsche Mark that couldn’t give its people those shitty two stroke cars that felt like they were made out of used tunafish cans? You’ve got to be kidding me.

With that bit of ranting behind me, I must give credit where credit is due. Eurowasteland, at least as we end the beginning of the 21st century, is the new cultural melting pot of the world. The fall of communism has not only brought peoples of different political ideologies together but it is also mixing and churning the rich and poor, north and south (as in hemispheres) and ethnicities and creeds like never before–and like no other place on this earth. Not only do people here jostle lives and beliefs and mindsets and a whole bunch of tainted egos, but for the first time they actually are living together without the slaughter that gave us the great wars. That really says a lot for a land mass on this earth that literally is the womb from which the dirty, greedy, bureaucratic, arrogant and selfish West was born. But enough about that chestnut, eh, dear worst-reader.

Switch to blues music and appropriate devices, please. Let’s get back to conspiracy theories and the age of entertained enlightenment. Oh, and space travel. 

Yeah. Of all the people I got to know during my expat travels, the Russians are the ones I will never forget. It was a night of drinking vodka out of large wine glasses and smoking Marlboro reds with the butts broken off that I realized something significant. It was simple. These people are crazy. I was the only American at the party and after talking about Russian literature and Trotsky and eating stuffed noodles dipped in vinegar, the subject of the moon landings came up. Remember, even though it was the Russkies that put the first man in space, it was the Americans that took space flight to the next level. I fought off the nostalgic silliness as best I could. And during that night, after a kind of re-enactment of our cold war lusts, I out spent my Russian brethren, I got the lovely daughter of Leningrad in my sleeping bag, and I left the next morning knowing that the world is in for a lot of shit if these people, these new and capitalist improved Russians, get any of the international power that the Soviet Union once had. A few days later enter Yeltsin, who we all know paved the way to Putin. But at least these lovely but naive people introduced me to conspiracy-theory madness galore and their denial that Armstrong ever set foot on the moon. Oh, how the bitterness of losing the space race runs deep and I wonder each day how much that bitterness comes out of the reality that such a fun loving people are doomed to be ruled by under achieving wannabe dictators.

Anywho. Back to the present and Cap’n Crunch deliciousness.

When Armstrong died I said one of my non-theist prayers while humming the melody of “Anchors Aweigh,” the US Navy song. Then I read through some news and closed my morning by listening to TWIT #368. And what do I hear on this podcast that’s supposed to be about the week in tech news? Podcaster extraordinaire, Adam Curry, is babbling just like those Russians twenty years ago. When asked if he believed Armstrong set foot on the moon, he replies, calmly, focusing on the microphone in front of his lips, “No.”

Well, there you have it. Everyone’s entitled to their opine-yon. And the conspiracy to lie to the human race must be true. If you try to follow up where these people get the facts that each and every crackpot has ownership rights to, I’m sure the Internets won’t confuse you. Heck, even wiki has a huge page detailing  moon landing conspiracies. But do I fall for this krapp even now after the great podcaster Adam curry flaunts it? Hell no! Didn’t fall for it twenty years ago and I’m not about to now. And here’s why.

History will show that instead of celebrating human freedom and achievement after winning cold wars and space races that proved that progress is good, America chose the opposite. It’s no wonder that the conservative repeal of laws governing fair play on radio and TV, that only serve the profits of the owners of networks, lead to the national bitterness and patriotic loathing that so easily coincided with the death of the American dream. By the time the likes of George W. Bush assumed the reign of the new-world-order bent on destruction and oil sucking, it was too late. Not only were American’s drunk on conservative talk but also everyone seemed appeased by this new lifestyle of boredom, monotony, nothingness and conspiracy.

I had the privilege of witnessing America’s greatness on a black & white TV. I was home from school watching Apollo 14 (1971). Each time NASA shot one of those massive exploding things into space, I was in awe. But the awe was quickly tamed. What was happening to America when I was a young man was so repellent that I had to move away. I have no qualms saying that what I ran from was the ugly conservatism introduced by Ronald Reagan in the 80s. But the worst of it is what Reagan really turned lose on an unsuspecting and gullible nation. Indeed, there is a story to be told about a nation losing its way.

Debunking.

Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. Here’s the proof: Americans have willingly exchanged intellect and knowledge for brands and status. Americans gave-in to the idears of supply-side economics, the lie of “small government” and the looting of the treasury to fight wars of choice that have only served to enrich the military industrial complex, etc. Americans have been dumbed-down by the life-style choices of grievance, sentiment and belonging (which is what conservatives and mostly republican politicians have been selling Americans so successfully since Reagan). So you see. There is no need to argue over moon photo lighting and angles and shadows or if Stanley Kubrick* filmed most of the lunar missions in a secret NASA studio. All the stuff listed above are the makings of an apathetic society living off laurels. Add to that the boomer generation that thinks it can keep everything for itself… Nuff worst-said, eh. Of course, I am sympathetic to the dumb-downed. For there is still hope that America can continue with “one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind”. Until then, go out and buy something and afterward find solace in your conspiracy galore. And don’t forget to have a bowl of Cap’n Crunch–it’ll help the nerves.

Update: Here’s a wonderful video debunking much better than worstwriting. Hope the link works: http://youtu.be/sGXTF6bs1IU

God speed, Neil Armstrong.

Links:

 

Rant on.

-tgs-

PS For advice on how to get some awe inspiring crunch mouth, go here. And good luck.

*My favorite of all conspiracy theories about the moon landings is the one involving Stanley Kubrick. The story goes something like this: Nixon wanted something to show the people in case the astronauts couldn’t make it back from the moon. Supposedly getting to the moon was the easy part. It was getting back to earth that was extremely difficult. The biggest hurdle of the mission was taking off from the lunar surface, reuniting with the command module and then getting out of the Moon’s orbit and navigating back to earth. Nixon is supposed to have called Kubrick personally after seeing 2001 Space Odyssey. Nixon believed that some of the movie was actually shot in space. (Go figure, he was a republican.) Kubrick initially refused the j0b offer. But then one of Kubrick’s camera men mentioned that the US government had a new-fangled camera lens that Kubrick could use in order to shoot low light scenes. Kubrick then said he would make the film if he got to keep the equipment. NASA and the US government agreed. The problem was that the US government could not work with the Diva film maker. There was so much conflict and belligerence on the side of Kubrick that the government eventually gave up on the project. And so… The juice of this conspiracy is in the special lens that Kubrick was allowed to keep after fulfilling his obligation to the government–which means that Kubrick delivered the film(s) of the moon landing(s). The conspiracy keeps rolling after it was revealed that the special lens Kubrick got to keep was used to shoot low light scenes in the film Barry Lyndon.

Holy Blood, Holy Grail

Thoughts on: Holy Blood, Holy Grail

Finding religion? Some find it in the perfect rumbling/tuned V-8. Others the clearest shot at a buck following at least seven doe. What about that perfect female in a bikini that you just gotta have? And then there’s the American’t Pauline evangelical that has been inscribed (indoctrinated) in us all and it itches just like that beach chick. Oh well. As the saying goes. The journey is the reward. Or something like that.

Ever since leaving the nest I was somewhat obsessed with The Jesus. This had to do with  not so much growing up in a strict religious household, but growing up in a country obsessed with religion. So even though I knew early on that it was all a smoke screen for something economic, I still liked the whole idear of The Jesus. There was something about Jesus H. Christ that just clicked with me. You see, being the product of the broken American dream, as a child I thought The Jesus was a pretty cool dude because we had something in common. Wasn’t he also a child of misconstrued parenthood? I mean. Come on. Even I could figure out by the time I was twelve that that whole virgin birth thing just couldn’t be real – no matter how passionately Father Scobalsky tried to explain it or how painful Sister Galic tried to embed it (the belief) on the top of my right hand with her ruler.

The perspective offered me of religion and The Jesus was through two lenses. I was baptised protestant but raised, via second marriage of my mother, Catholic. I have to admit, I like the Catholic side. But I’m also – and this is most likely from my mother’s German side – a bit masochistic. Although they can be easy-going, I found Protestants to be more tyrannical, albeit less painful as the Catholics which, at times, equaled back-of-hand-whipping with plastic rulers, wooden spoons and aerodynamically designed paddles. (Yes. I attended exactly four Sunday school sessions before I was thirteen. And that was the end of that.)

As I got older religion became nothing more than selling snake oil. As usual, American’ts took something and branded it, (re)packaged it, (re)distributed it and then ran it through the gauntlet of hot-air statistics, quarterly revenue devices and televised commercials. For a while there I was so put off by the Pauline Evangelicals that I ran out of their way. Literally. If I saw one coming down the street – for they are easy to spot with that stupid grin on their face and short sleeve dress shirts with ties – I would cross to the other side. But they spread like wild-fire. Relief came only in the form of sin and expatriation. The sin? I took to fornicatin’ w/ bimbo evangelical daughters. Expatriation? I moved to Eurowasteland where religion was where it belonged: in people and in(side) churches. Of course, there were the few by-standers distributing booklets at train stations but I never once heard an evangelical in-your-face request about whether or not Jesus was in my heart after I moved to Eurowasteland. Oh, kinda on a side note: the fornicatin’ in Eurowasteland was/is easier, too.

For the first few years of my expatriation in Eurowasteland I spent Xmas alone. In this loneliness I found god (note the small case, please). I did so by picking up my melancholy and an old bible that was at the bottom of one of my stacks of books. It was a great time because I was able to focus on reading it. What also helped reading such a book was the post fornicatin’ with chicks for-hire – even though they cost extra during Xmas holiday season. Of course I had dabbled in the bible before but the early 90s is the period in my life that I finally put all my effort into completely reading it. And what an interesting read it was. Although I must add this about it: Don’t read it from beginning to end. It’s an obnoxious effort. Pick parts out and read them randomly. But use a some form of note taking to mark what you have read. In other words. Read the bible chaotically but be systematic about absorbing it. I should also add that the Koran, Lao Tse, and Asterix and Obelix comics are also great reads during the boredom of Xmas.

But the questions followed me. And I never found any answers to these question in the bible.

  • What was Christ like as a child?
  • What kind of mischief was he up to as a teenager?
  • How much money or worth did those three kings actually give him when he was born?
  • What happened to his “father” Joseph?
  • What is a crucifixion and how does it actually kill you?
  • Who are all the Mary’s mentioned in the bible?
  • Is there an explanation for the so-called miracles, e.g. walking on water, turning water to wine, rivers turning to blood, etc.?
  • Was there also a last dessert? Etc., etc.

Like so many others born into the humdrum of middle class I have been waddling through life wanting some meaning beyond what I could purchase, religious or not. I continued asking questions between the hectic of modern work-stress and keeping my head above the lie that is trickle down economics. Then, some time after that very odd day in September in 2001, all of the questions I had been asking regarding religion started to intertwine and brew. For example. What do Muslims mean when they refer to a fight against Zion?

While on a trip to my beloved united mistakes I went into a bookstore in St. Petersburg, FL. to find something to read. In front of me was a pile of the last series of hardbacks of Dan Brown’s infamous pop novel. Of course I had heard about it. At that time it had sold something like three hundred and a quarter billion copies. But having read about it and having promised myself life was too short for pop novels, I thought maybe I should give this one a shot. So. I grabbed one of the copies and started reading right there in front of the pile. I knew for a book to sell so many copies it could only be written at a third-grade level. Killing twenty pages in a few minutes would be a no brainer. Ok, then. Chapter one. Woo me.

I got through twenty pages when an elderly British born man working part-time at the store came by to offer me a handkerchief.

“You ok, sonny-boy,” he asked.

“This is awful,” I said, holding up Brown’s book.

“Indeed. But it is naught worth the tears. May I suggest you read this.”

The old man pointed to a much smaller pile of books nearby that I later realized were strategically placed for those who could see through the show-time and well formatted pile of krapp published by Dan Brown. The old gentleman handed me what he called the source of Brown’s story. It was a thick paperback, umpteen thousands of pages, titled Holy Blood, Holy Grail. He told me to take it with a grain of salt but at the least it was a more interesting read. He then added that the stuff Brown wrote about has been done many, many times before. So I wiped my eyes dry from tears of boredom, paid for the recommended book, read it in three days and have been cursing Dan Brown ever since.

Holy Blood, Holy Grail knocked my socks off. It didn’t do so because of its entertainment value or because of its conspiracy-theory par excellence. I really fell for this book because the authors, Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln, asked and tried to answer many of the question I had been asking most of my life about The Jesus. The essence of this book is very simple: the truth is out there and you just have to put some effort into finding it. With that in mind, is HBHG truth? I do not know. In publishing circles it’s called “A Pseudo-History”. That should say enough. But I don’t care. In all of my years I’ve concluded three things must come from books:

  1. Good writing. (Except for my own!)
  2. Teach me something.
  3. Entertainment value should NOT exceed 1 and 2.

Subsequently HBHG led to many other books that widened my horizons. E.g.

  • The Messianic Legacy (the sequel by same authors)
  • The Woman with the Alabaster Jar (Margaret Starbird)
  • The Gospel According to the Son (Norman Mailer)
  • Foucaults Pendulum (Umberto Eco.)
  • The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz (Author unknown)
  • The Gnostic Gospels (Elaine Pagels)

Dan Brown begins his abundantly sold and very profitable novel (that should somehow be categorized as a “Psuedo-Novel”) by stating that what he is writing is based on fact? But he is a liar. Dan Brown’s novel is, in reality, based on plagiarism. At least the authors of HBHG are avid in admitting that what they have written could be complete nonsense – but at least they did all the research for their work. And one can only give the authors respect because HBHG really does contain a lot of stuff that I’m sure makes a few historians cringe. Yet throughout the book there is effort in clarifying their position and how they came to it. What HBHG is not is a book that attempts to intertwine you in a silly interpretation of a somewhat larger and more historical story albeit fit for three year old brains.

Ka-ching.

Good luck finding truth in the world yet to come.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Sion Conspiracy Craze

24 11 04

Shipped yesterday. Shipping a lot lately. Never quite know where I might fall or if the ground is hard or not. The reason for it is obvious. My mouth. She runs on at times. It’s very difficult keeping pace, you know. It came especially fast last night–pushed on by too much wine. Couch potato philosophy which is the only thing I’m good at. Took the moment. I was trying to address the issue of meaning in a meaningless world. In doing so mentioned a woman with child. This was immediately misunderstood. A woman does not have to have child for meaning but if she has nothing else then there is no wonder why so many idiots are born. Her meaning cannot be passed on the child. Of course the context of the discussion should be addressed. Yes, the great contrast among content and context. Oh, that issue of meaning.

Worst-writing of which…

Who is waiting for the Merovingian descendent? Those waiting for the first or second coming? How ’bout the third? Oh yeah. The whole thing will be a shing-ding. And the whole of America is caught in its bahn. How do you fool an entire nation? How do you hide the greatest kept secret in history only to wipe it out at the right moment?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Pun.

What if it turns out that the family of the president of the USA is actually the descendent of King David? What if this family was/is about to reveal a secret that would prove for the Jews the first, for the christians the second coming. Oh boy. The knüller of the story though is the protagonist and audience think the president and his very influential family are the embodiment of the coming. But this is not the case. In fact the president is only a messenger. Like John the Baptist. For whatever reason he is only the messenger–which it turns out he didn’t know anything about. And what about that John fellow? Where does he fit in here? At least I feel comfortable that such an idear could compete with TV. How does the Prieure du Sion fit in here? Is Bush senior the head of it now? Oh, I mean the father of the president. This is all NOT about the best kept secret in history but instead the most perfect lie ever told. Characters? Verarsch. Make fun of the crazed interest in sons of sons of gods. Who are the characters? Luke, Mat(hew), Mark and the unknown John. But there’s others too? The two Mary’s, one of which is called the great widow or the widow from across the sea? Just remember! The meek are the ones who have nothing to lose. The powerful have to spend too much time protecting their power. And then there’s the… secret society thing–that which makes the world go ’round.

Oh, I ask, what is as silly as a man smoking menthol cigs and NOT knowing what they are?

Rant on.

Tommi