See the whole Newsonic Story at: http://cosmicastronomy.com/newsonic.htm INTERRUPTION - Strike From The Dark Side ----------------------------- July 14, 1995, 9:00 AM. Friday morning. Hmmmm, ooops. The sonic experiment is temporarily off the air. Last night sometime between 3 and 7 AM, someone came in through the patio door and stole the TV converter. Channel 51 is gone ! Sob ! It came as a bit of a surprise, because last evening finishing at 2:30 AM, was a Lou Gehrig biography movie 'Pride of the Yankees' starring Gary Cooper, from 1942, which being obviously filmed in mono, nonetheless had a sound track in the living room that was resplendently stereo, with bands playing in street scenes, and dance orchestras, all playing with 'breathing' and 'hang' and long distance echoes continuing to the end of their time, and ball park scenes had R E A L D E E P throaty roars and P O W E R echoing around the gaint stadiums in this movie. Actor's voices all clear and natural etc., etc. Well, at last, I have arrived, thought I, listening to this during the movie and feeling very pleased, almost proud. Albiet, it came and went. The best goodstuff was not stable, at times female voices were back up there in high pitch, and at times the ball park stadium backgrounds sounded like frying bacon. Otherwise, when the real goodstuff moved back in, it coming and going during random household living during the course of the movie, I had to gloat to myself somewhat, that at last it seems I have arrived, sitting there looking at the sticks radiating in a 6 arm star from the center point of the array, suspended 6 inches in the air above the living room floor, each of the 1/4 inch square sticks carefully turned by 45 degrees to be parked on edge one above the other, a deft act of balance. Yes, I thought. Yes. Hm hm. Yes. It works. The landlord phoned this morning at 8 AM to pick up some rent money. I put on the coffee - the morning's daily firestarter - and went into the living room to sit down, read the paper, wait, and soon became aware of an anomaly, a gap and bare space on the living room floor, with cable ends lying there, where the converter used to be sitting in a hot spot on the carpet beside the TV. What is this? is a thought that gradually opened up in the mind. Sure enough, what it was is the converter from Roger's Cablevision is gone, along with 40 bucks from a kitchen shelf, and a small quartz clock in the front office used to time the speed of computer programs. Nothing else. Not a thing seems to be missing or disturbed. Someone came in through the patio door it seems. Both side gate and back gate in the back yard were wide open. The little brown dog named Quasar was asleep upstairs during the night so his gold watch is going to be taken away. Oops, the 3-D camera, it takes pictures that are especially processed into genuine 3-D snapshots, it too is gone from its place of rest on a utility shelf in the hall closet. Oddly enough, the most critical aspects of the environment, the very fragile hand made sonic starflakes (8 of them) stationed in accute hot spots on the table in the living room, were still in place. And the slinky array on the living room floor, now with spruce 1/4 inch strips in 4 foot lengths criss-crossed through the slinkies, was completely undisturbed, even though the stealth who stole the converter had to step VERY CAREFULLY in amongst slinky arms to detatch the converter from the TV. That was done with extreme care not to disturb the array. It makes you wonder. It sure indeed does. Good soul bad soul stealthing through the environment the night after a very important day. It sure makes you wonder. I have on hand a 39 channel Jerrard converter picked up three years ago from the flea market, to use until a proper cablevision new converter can be afforded, who knows when. .... And now, sob, to add insult to injury, the old 39 channel converter doesn't work. It wintered in the garage, and took a couple of falls to the concrete floor. And now, there is nothing whatsoever passing through it, not even power for the TV when the TV is plugged into its back. The converter is in the garbage. The cable signal straight into the TV is met with just words on a blank screen 'SIGNAL UNUSABLE'. I am officially OFF THE AIR ! Knocked off in mid stride at a critical turning point in the experiments, by a strike from the negative. It sure makes you wonder. - Finis - INTERVALS -------------------------------------------------------------- July 15, 1995, 11:40 AM. Saturday morning. The TV set is back on line, partly. Later yesterday afternoon, an associate figured out that the cable from Cablevision could couple directly to the connector on the back of the TV, a different way to connect than the one I tried trying to clip two cable ends together by a female/male coupler. Hence, channels 2 to 39 are back on the air. Unfortunately, in order to hook up the TV, it had to be moved, moving it off its point ie., moving it out of the precise point of focus to which the entire sound stream in the living room has been enhanced by all of the sonic tuning means currently erected in the living room. This includes the gathering of 4 large Snowflakes and 3 giant Starflakes plus Bird Cage and Ferris Wheel on the table in the living room, each focused edge on in the same direction toward the TV, plus the flow tube of 4 standups also on the table. These two assemblies on the table can be easily refocused by discretely turning the shelf upon which sits the above described collection. And the same for the flow tube easily refocused just by rotating the strip of balsa wood upon which it sits. The hexagon slinky array on the living room floor is a different matter. Since each stretch was carefully made, by listening accutely to sound from a constant sitting TV, it is now out of whack. So either the solution is to try to re-adjust the TV back into a precise accord position on the glass top table, or if this fails, to reconstruct the slinky array, not an enjoyable option. The fact of the matter is that at this moment the great baseball and social night life sounds reported day before yesterday (June 13), are simply not there. At this moment even a STEREO source sounds dull flat and muffled. The high end is back to weak stridencies and extreme off colors, and there are no bass resonances of any kind reverberating around the sonic enviroment. Let's put this another way, there is no bass. The 'Airframe' is practically non existent. And so on. Major problems are back in the picture. All of this, because the TV had to be moved out of point to connect a temporary cable because a negative stealthed into the middle of an extremely delicate setup and obeying 'Murphy's Law' 100 percent, took the physical device most necessary to the who of the tests. Worse harm could have happened had any of the sonic tuning devices been ripped off, or the TV set, but given the good news (they weren't) that which could most disrupt the immediate ongoings of the experiment was that which was tapped by a negative, right on target. ... One moment please ... I took another crack at it, cranking the volume and trying to re-sit the TV, with some success. I remembered that the main central slinky had a slight jog to go under the glass top table directly between the TV's two stereo speakers. By jogging the glass top around, and the TV, so as to get some overhang into the air of the right hand speaker so as to quell some hiss and high pitched rattling, I finally gained a new hot spot in the way the TV sits that regained some resonances that served to cure major artificialities in the sound, plus back in came bass resonances, and stereophonics returned to a point in the sound picture. Albiet this is a stereo broadcast. Before I started there were no stereophonics in the sound picture as of yesterday and this morning. The TV set was off all day yesterday until dinner time. So, at least, some of what was lost by a negative strike is back. Which brings to mind another aspect of such experiments, something about modern day life that is taken for granted. Last evening at 10:30 PM the hydro went out. It dimmed by about half, a moment later browned, then suddenly poof the whole was gone. The house was pitch black, motor sounds of the air conditioner grated to a halt and fell silent, the fridge, the two computers, the constantly blowing furnace, and the TV. The entire upper area of Orleans was out, except for a pocket of about 6 street lamps at an intersection two blocks away, and the central strip of Orleans along St. Joseph Blvd., it was fully lit up and all late night stores going at 110%, but the Queensway (main divided expressway into Ottawa) was completely out including street and traffic lights, and everything below the Queensway down to the Ottawa River, all pitch black. In 3/4 of an hour the power came back on instantly, 15 minutes later it was off again for 15 minutes, was back on again for 15 minutes, was off again for 15 minutes, then came back on again to stay. What to do, with everything off and the house pitch black except for a flourescent tube flashlight, the heat rapidly building up into the low 30 degree celsius range, water running out on the kitchen floor from under the fridge, traffic poking their noses gingerly into the main intersection a block and a half from here, gingerly seeing if its their turn to cross or turn. I took a chance, got in the car and drove down to the Queensway to see if I could tell how wide spread the outage was, and was suddenly brought to a new state of awareness when coming to that intersection and realized that every car in this crowded intersection was politely and gingerly taking their turn, a mutual regard for everyone else, no one risking other people's lives, crossing, and turning, in the black without a single red or green traffic light to quide a soul. And that was just one cross. We are, very committed, to a dependence on hydro, at this time in the century. Speaking about changes, yesterday afternoon I drove to a 146 acre parcel of land part owned by my land lord, about 8 kilometers east of here, just to look around to see what is happening in the countryside. What was happening is there was not a single insect to be seen, not a grasshopper, not a butterfly, not a dragon fly, there were NONE. Few birds in the bushes and small trees also, only a few could be heard. A few red winged blackbirds also called forth their piercing whistles out in the fields of weeds and hay which comprises 98 acres of this parcel of land. There has been a prolonged draught in the region. The ground is bone dry and rock hard to at least six feet down according to the region's grounds keepers. The UV (ultraviolet light index) is at a record high, and for the last two days smog in the entire area is also at an all time record high, with poisonous Ozone in the low atmophere and at ground level a major concern. But, where are the insects. Even mosquitoes have been nearly a vanished species, so far this year. No buzz bomb attacks that just won't quite. Speaking of which, how can a mosquito come in the back patio door, snake its way through the living room and up the long hall, up the stairs, and back down the long hall, into your bedroom, and aim directly for your ear drum, when you are trying to fall asleep. A half dozen or more mosquitoes have to be trapped in mid air before the ear drum falls silent, even the dog helping, every so often a loud CLACK suddenly striking the dark of the room when the little brown dog named Quasar gets one. There are none these days but earlier this summer mosquitoes did penetrate the dark of night following the glow of body trying to sleep. .... It is 20 minutes past two and I thought I should report on one more thing. I have just done a quick round of micro measure tunings and have more than doubled the rest state volume (more volume without touching the volume control). Further, a tympani in the sound track of part 8 of an 8 part TV 1 hour specials on MGM Motion Picture's history, was resonant, with the reverbs all echoing to the end of their time. Most of the sounds and sonics lost to yesterday, are back. It was done by touch tuning the node supports holding the slinky array up in the air, by touch tuning the balsa wood supporting the flow tube on the table, and by touch tuning the facet in the kitchen sink, for instance changing its position slighty, and turning ON the tap for the water filter attached to the tap. Just these small tunings opened up the sound back into a final stage of reverbs and resonances, deep bass tones, and 'breathing' stereophonics that 'hang'. Plus of course the major gain in volume. This occurred at six clicks back from maximum on the volume control. One advantage of using this MGM TV special for sound is that the sound stream switches back and forth between Stereo and Mono during different passages and film clips. At this moment, all of the tracks sound stereophonic. Like I say, I am back in business. ... It is 9 PM and Paradise in Thunder Alley has just finished. I took the opportunity to do some more ultra fine tuning of the slinky array on the living room floor, plus the assembly of objects on the table. Fine tuning the assembly on the table brought in more sonic effects in discrete ways. However it was taking the slinky assembly to task that has produced the best results. Specifically, three of the arms, plus the single invisible Star of David cross beam, were shifted by about 2 degrees counter clockwise in order to accomodate the new hot horking position of the TV on the glass top table. The uniform shift has brought back into the sound stream deep long distance reverberations which continue to echo to the end of their time, explosions from the special effects do now sound like they were recorded live, and has pulled down the female sound of voices into a complete lower octave. No more high pitched piss in their voices. And lisp, effecting male voices, making you wonder, has been banished. No lies, though. The sound as of this moment is extremely head in the vice. Just the slightest movement, such as repositioning of a hand or finger, can cause the best stuff to disappear and in some cases all convert to not even good stuff. So, the system as of this moment is very unstable. Nevertheless, the system IS in FACT horking forth the goodstuff when listening position is perfect, sitting, or standing. Good enough for now. The next jobbie is to raise the slinkies into the air as a platform spread out 15 1/4 inches in a single wide spread layer in the air. Until we meet again. Goodbye. - Finis - GETTING READY ---------------------------------------------------------- July 17, 1995, 10:15 AM. Monday morning. Well, we won't have to worry about RAIN for awhile. Last night and this morning it has been raining steadily, off and on, light, medium, light, exactly the kind of consistent rain needed to penetrate the 6 feet to the bottom layer of bone dry rock hard clay soils in the area. Some nearby yard plants are already looking as green as Ireland, as a result of the rains. I was watering twice a day everything except the grass itself so had no problems with spoilage, but did have to attend grass, in just the most obvious brown spots. The problem here in Orleans is that all of the water is metered. So an ordinary household of 4, two adults and 2 kids or teenagers, can run a bill of 250 dollars every two month billing period without watering the yard, that would add extra. The bill at this house which has the 'experiment' is about 100 dollars less, including squirting the hose at the greens of the yard daily. I decided one day last summer that the fire hydrant sticking up in the middle of the front yard was a real eyesore, despite being painted bright yellow and blue, so went out in the car and found a number of wild varieties which I transplanted around the base of the fire hydrant, including (as it turned out) some poison oak which I did not know about but which fortunately kicked the bucket, and some wild morning glory, which produced about two weeks of blooms then pettered out due to dog hits. This year a surge of new wild morning glory sprang forth, along with wild grape, so by last week the hydrant was starting to look ornate rather than eyesore, including a brief first blooming of the wild morning glory. Then the other morning I came out and the entire hydrant was painted in undercoat white right to the base, but, every piece of greenery had been CAREFULLY pulled free and laid back on the ground surrounding the hydrant so that not a single leaf had been damaged by the workers who took this care. Thanks to them. Next will be all the hydrants in Orleans painted in new bright colors, then I can resurrect the greenery wrapped back around the hydrant. Which brings us to today's report. It turns out with cable plugged directly into the back of the TV no converter that channel 22 is playing the same tapes as channel 51, except channel 22 is STEREO. So this is now turned on, ready for the next round of new tests. The slinky array on the living room floor was by this time beginning again to look quite beat up, so I dissolved it in stages, yeilding some things to report. First to come out were the 4 wooden 4 foot rods. They were by this time lying flat and off their supports one of them against the floor, and so had become spoilers. Just as I was ready to start dismantling, a transient chaotic distorting had entered the sound stream after making a micro measure small adjust to a cutout standup on the BBS and InterNet computer's table in the dining room. When in the general area of the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, the sound stream would break up into piss, rattle, and blatting all at the same time, so I turned down the volume and proceeded to disassemble the slinky array. Better fidelics came back into the picture as each wooden rod was removed, except for one. Then the slinkies were untangled, and uncoupled from their pinions by straight pins in the carpeted floor. Here is where a major change in the sound stream occurred. The stream became very artificial sounding after the slinkies were removed. Turning up the volume resulted in no chaos but nowhere near the same volume. Yes, in the overall the sound again has a kind of squeezed and twisted partial missing tonal quality, for instance cymbols sound as if hard small pieces of brass are being struck, there is no more RING or SIZZLE. Voices are very loud, but muffled. You have trouble hearing the words, even though you can hear the volume. And all pianos sound like the keyboards of crazed rock and rollers; bright, hard, the piano reverbs carrying the artificial nature, no gutsy or sweet resonances that are real in the pianos. The intention is to re-adjust the naked TV to its best sitting on the glass top table, then to re-create the slinky array, this time with each strip raised to 15 1/4 inches in the air. I will use stands made to hold the ends of the wooden rods in direct vertical support. Here goes .... Success. I have found an adjusted position and the bass from the TV has become clear again, not strong, but it got rid of the aweful noise that was supposed to be bass, and has re-fidelicized the rest of the sound range. The TV has been turned by about 15 degrees toward the kitchen doorway to get this. Well .... there goes channel 22. First, the Canadian national anthem by the RCMP band and extras plus ten thousand singing voices raised to patriotic bellow, then on comes ADS for Rogers Cable TV. What an imposition. The best thing Rogers can do is lower their rates, and start showing something better on all of the commercial stations and TV channels Rogers owns, instead of doing everything possible to force more people into the chain of video stores owned by Rogers. For instance the latest plow at money grabs is to take any movie that runs longer than 2 hours and split it into two, 2 hours showings. 'Part 2 Continued next evening at the same time'. It means that all of the extra time for the four hour showing is made up in commercial scams. I did a quick mental calculate of extra revenues a station can get by splitting a two hour oft shown mediocre movie into a new 'special' 2-parter of two hours each. It comes to about 340 percent more revenue in ad times, if the station induces more advertisers by lower rates, for instance, say, 30 percent less, during the special, two, 2-hour specials, for a 2 hour movie. And what the hell, most of the new ads are sex hot lines, and psychic connections, the kind of connections that will change your life the moment you take the courage and MAKE THE CALL! The thing about these psychic hot lines is that they are all openly competing against each other. There is only ONE psychic hot line which is genuine at this moment, and won't you be surprised, the only one which is GENUINE! happens to be the very ONE which is advertising this VERY MINUTE!. Yes, something is happening to the mass consciousness, brain waves and synapses are being inexorably destroyed, one by one, by the billions. The mass consciousness is becoming more and more controlled by the negative. Incidentally, have you taken a look at those psychics, some of them look like animals. Talk about poisons polluting the egos, instead of purifying the inner higher consciousness. ... How about that! channel 23 is now broadcasting good music, in stereo. At least I have something to work with. Here goes. First, I have just done a quick test holding a 4 foot wooden rod into the sound stream from the front edge of the TV and glass top table on which it stands, and have learned that: The sound is more energetic at the 15 1/4 inch height, the height from floor to top surface of the glass top table, but is more pure an inch higher - the height at which the centers of the TV's two tiny speakers are generating the sound stream. This is good, because in order to re-create the slinky array, using the wooden rods, the top layer of the array, the upper rod, will be about 1 inch higher than the bottom rod. Let's have some fun. Time to make the supports and create the new array. Here goes .... Hearing can get really accute. I have just laid out the first arm for the new slinky array. This one a central cross piece, one of the two that will pass in front of the TV instead of under it. I held the slinky dangling like an Austrailian earth worm in the air, as much of it stretched as I could manage between two outstretched arms, and at a height of roughly 15 1/4 inches in the air, heard what seemed to be unmistakable improved good stuff in the sound stream, the music for this the new ultra modern 4 bar beat rendering of Dave Brubek's 'Take Five' currently in use as the theme song for 'The Secret Life Of Machines' from Great Britain. It is on one of the good listening background music tapes which used to come on daily on channel 51 before the converter (with scrambler for the extra channels) was stolen. The new position for this arm was rotated counterclockwise by what looked by eyeball (after the fact) to be about 15 degrees. Since the original pin used to pinion this arm to the floor near the wall was still in place, I was able to measure, using the giant 10 inch protractor, the counterclockwise shift in the angle. It turns out, to all extents and purposes, to be in fact 15 degrees, an angle 100 percent conducive to fractal geometry 6 sided harmonics. Thought I should mention it. I have just pinned the first slinky into place, and already there is more ring and sizzle in the cymbol being used for a big band orchestration of the Moody Blues 'Knights in White Satin'. The center node, where criss cross of the three slinky arms will occur, is already raised to 6 inches by one of the six sided ornate vinegar bottles. It was the raising of the center node which restored some of the sizzling vigor to the cymbols. And the bass is starting to resonate again, revererating with a trace of long distance gusty echoes. Just thought you should know. .... The fucken stands won't support the wooden rod! No way. The two just bend and fall over! No way! What a bummer! Thought I had it aced. No way. They just keel over like long strands of stiff looking rope. Yes ziltch. These stands are pointless. So back to square two. What to use to raise the slinky array high in the air. Any ideas. I don't have any, except to go to the real extreme of making stands which look like radio transmission towers, guy wires stream down to the floor to hold the thing in upright but even then no guarantee that the verticle wire shaft itself won't bend from the weight. I am going to go for a chinese smorgasborg lunch, and think about it, since a few bucks happen to be sitting around left over from the weekend. .... This is not one of my better days. I went out and got into the car, backed down the driveway. When shifting the automatic to go forward the engine coughed and quit. That was a half hour ago. At the moment the car is sitting two feet out from the curb, on the wrong side of the street, in front of a fire hydrant. I have a fake note in the windshield saying it quit due to getting wet from the rain, just in case coppers happen by wondering who abandoned the car and what they were fleeing from. It was just little old me, with an engine that just won't quit, wrong, the opposite, not even a single fart in the past half hour. However, I did walk across to the White Rose Nursury (my original intended first destination) and have found they have a good supply of steel wire tripod stands used for supporting memorial wreaths. These will work as a temporary measure to raise the slinky array high into the air. The only problem is cost. 6 tripods will be needed, at a cost of 2.48 dollars each, plus GST and taxes. Quite the day. Completely stuck in the mud when wanting to go one step forward. This is now day three of adversities, starting overnight, between July 13 and 14, when the converter was ripped off by prowlers. A neighbor turned up the next afternoon with a few goods found stashed behind her fence next to the park. Amongst the goods was a computer disk with my name on it so she knew where to bring the stuff her kids found stashed behind her fence. I did not know that amongst the grab was an overnight duffle stuffed in the front hall closet which had a few goods, including two disks with physics I had written to give to a fundamental particle physicist from the National Research Council. We did not meet at the sports complex so the disks were not handed over and had remained in the case in the hall closet since mid March. Now, my neighbor was handing them back to me at the front door. She reported having observed two prowlers scooting between her house in the middle of the night, which is why we now know there were two teenagers in on the caper. But, I digress. That fabulous sound that had occurred on the evening of July 13, with the new use of wooden rods of 4 foot lengths to raise the slinky array 6 inches into the air, is long gone. And it looks like it is going to stay gone for awhile yet, can't afford the cost of the tripods at this moment. Hmmm, perhaps there was something in that fabulous sound reported for the evening of July 13, that was just too close to the core for the negative to appreciate. The problem being that the worse the sound of modern day reproduction systems, the worse the aweful noise that can be passed off as modern music, expecially rock and roll, heavy metal, and rap, these musics all have low frequency carnal inducing ingredients, and when heard clearly, are intolerable, but not when heard in junk systems that somehow make these aweful rackets pleasurable in a very perverse way to those types of souls who just do not listen to what is happening within themselves. To add insult to injury, this is the first time in four years a car has failed to start for me. No lunch for a reward today. ... How about that! Channel 23 is now broadcasting a French talk show. Now I have nothing to work with, and no car. Like I say, this day is starting off rough. At 1:45 PM an associate dropped in, very concerned about the look of the car abandoned facing the wrong way in front of the fire hydrant on the street, wondering what cops would think of 'THIS' situation, if passing by. So the two of us, grunting and wheezing for breath, were able to push the thing back up the slight slope into the driveway to leave the car sitting looking like it should, parked on a driveway. - Finis - CHECKIN' IT OUT -------------------------------------------------------- July 18, 1995, 12:50 PM. Tuesday afternoon. So, yesterday turned out to be the coldest July 17 on record in this region, according to a late afternoon news broadcast. Today, there have been intermittant sun showers of very warm, heavily polluted water, off and on. But, the temperature is much higher. It seems the stalled car, sitting demurely in the driveway, is not getting spark. It is getting lots of gas but an attempt to start it again this morning led to not even a single cough, and holding a spark plug cap over the spark plug gap, which should have resulted in a spark shooting into the plug when the engine cranked, resulted in nothing whatever. Unfortunate, because costs are going to escallate in this, before the car is running again, first but not least a tow to a garage. And then garage persons coming to a consensus as to how expensive the fix will be. Quite a whollop when there IS NO MONEY to play with. I am getting tired of being poor, really poor. The disadvantages are just too numerous. The main problem is there is not much a human can do that is in 100 percent accord with humanitarian law that can earn income without contributing in some way to the negative, the options a pure soul can do on this planet are not many, when it comes to earning daily bread. The first tripod apparatus is erected in the living room, and is working much better than expected. Two memorial wreath wire tripods, which stand to 24 inches, have proven more than suitable to raise a hexagon slinky in the air to 15 1/4 inches. Thin brass jewellry wire was used to create slings for supporting the two ends of a wooden rod (4 feet long) running through a slinky, with two straight pins at either end where the stretched slinky ends were pulled down to the floor, to pin the slinkies in stretch along the wooden rod. This apparatus can be easily moved around and at the moment is in an extreme hot alignment as a lateral arm bridge on the floor and out from the TV, (picture a rudinemtary sky crane used for constructing tall buildings). The last step was to stretch the two slinky ends out from the ends of the rod, at an angle, to the floor. The result has been better stuff all the way around in the sound stream, top to bottom. More bass reverbs, long distance echoes, high end discernment, and fidelity throughout. Not bad. Not bad at all, for the first raised hexagon slinky. The new situation is still very fragile. The sling apparatus had to be coaxed and fine tuned into a proper setup for kicking the sound stream with major goodstuff. And slight disturbances to the enviroment can cost in the form of micromeasure chaoses which expand into major distortions. However, all in all, it can be said that in the overall this new setup is quite stable. For one thing, it is no longer crisp crazy as a 'head in the vice' catastrophe. Moving around can result in minor gains and drops in the sound for the living room. But for the time being gone is the environment which wobbled like a sonic washboard, as you moved a foot at a time through the room. - Finis - TIME OUT -------------------------------------------------------- July 19, 1995, 11:45 AM. Wednesday morning. The last day, starting the evening of July 16, has been spent dedicated to the task of producing an interrum update and revision of our program named Virus ALERT. Since I was reponsible for the color and push button ingenuities of this well known program, all of the source codes for the entirety of Virus ALERT's menus and support programs are here in this computer. A new version is in the works. Three programmers and a designer are handling the whole thing, so I am out of the loop. At last. But since the new version is being written in C Language and Assembly, progress is a mite slow. So, in the meantime, a temporary version is intended infusing the existing ALERT menus and structures with the new version, using the existing ALERT to drive the new modules. Which is where I come in. The whole of ALERT was constructed upon a jerry rigged adaptation of a psuedo C Language program which used Batch file syntax, and I was able to find numerous undocumented features and codes within this compiling system, which came from New York State, to advance the ALERT menu almost to standards typically concidered entirely in a C Language. Unfortunately, it seems I am the only one who can handle this jerry rigged coding and compiling system currently in use for ALERT. So it is up to me to perform at 120 percent and cook up new codes and modifications to drive the brand new version of ALERT for a short while, until the main new C Language drivers are ready from the programmers. Fortunately it does not take me long to completely modify menu displays, and to recode push buttons, etc. I am being fed the new menus one by one by the principle designer, and just, patch them in, using my own coding techniques after being given the facts of what is needed in results. It should only take another two to three days to finish this tasking, and then it will be back on the ball full time with the sonic experiments. In the meantime I should have some free time, off and on, to do further tests, and will report as they occur. The one thing to announce is that the defunct car has been towed to the garage and the good news is it was easily fixed, the bad news being the cost is over 250 dollars, for a complete re-wiring including plugs, major tune-up, etc. This is not all that unexpected since this car has been running daily for 3 1/2 years and only in the past 3 weeks was retired to second car status, but during that whole time never had a tune-up. Apparently, rain got under the hood and did the final deeds to render the car off line. I am not sure that RAIN could do major misdeeds to the car, but do know that luck has been with this car for some time regards keeping it on the road without under the hood repairs. It is nine years old. And has clocked over 295,000 kilometers. The next thing is to wait until bucks are coaxed out of the wall to pay for this. It is 1:15 PM. What is on is 'Like Glands Through The Hourglass, So Are The Days Of Our Lives', on CBC, Canada's nationally funded, federally owned, television network. Heady stuff, for those who don't pay attention to their own inner thoughts, emotions, or feelingss, those who let it all be given to them by the police state that hates Christ Energies. Now, let's not go wonky. This is not going to degenerate into a mindless rant about matters irrational. It only happens that when opportunity allows, it is a responsibility to point out alternatives in religeous cum political points of view. You have been reading a few of mine, is all. I don't believe in police states as having anything of value to contribute to human kind. And see no relief in religions that can't take anyone by the hand and lead them straight back into the realms of First Cause and Reality. So, let me state a poke or two against the negative, when mood and confidence permits. Thank you. Otherwise, I am just biding a bit of time, waiting for some more work to do to finish updating my share of the ALERT program. P.S. finally got to the Chinese smorgasborg, for lunch, today, just got back in fact. .... Well it is 4:40 PM and there has been some time off this afternoon, so I took the opportunity to play a bit with the tripods and now to report the result. At this moment I have high end fidelity, low end resonances, clarity thoughout the sound range, and 'Airframing' all the way to the front of the house. The only thing I do not have is deep bass reverbs, and so of course no Bottom Bass. Otherwise, woowie. What brought this about was by moving the existing tripod apparatus supporting a 4 foot wooden rod, and slinky, into alignment straight out from the front of the TV. Once a radiant alignment was found, I then very carefully raised each end of the wooden rod until the purest sound was heard. To my surprise this did not raise the stick to the height mid center for the TV's two tiny speakers. Instead, it raised the bottom of the wooden rod to be in a horizontal line straight to the top surface of the glass top table. The wooden rod is rotated by 45 degrees so it is the lower square facet of the rod that is perfectly heighted to the surface of the glass tabletop, to miracle height of exactly 15 1/4 inches. I am going to have to cut the lower portions of the three thin steel legs of one of the tripods to use it directly in front of the TV. At the moment the tripod there juts up a few inches into the view of the screen. Trouble is the metal tripods are made of STEEL and I don't have anything to cut with at the moment the hacksaws are somewhere in the garage under a ton of boxes. What is playing right now are TNN's Top Ten western video hits. The broadcast is of course in Stereo. So this is the first time I get to report that fidelity is really good, in fact superb, in a Stereo broadcast. In fact I guess without stretching the mantles that this is the best sound ever, so far coaxed from these tests. The sound had to be coaxed with a few last minute VERY minute micro measure tunings of about half a dozen random objects, including the facet in the sink in the kitchen. The sound stream is very very fragile to any kind of chaotic disturbance, so this great sound will not last for more than a short while before it deteriorates. - Finis - EDITORIAL ------------------------------------------------------- July 20, 1995, 10:50 AM. Thursday morning. I have just done a few minutes of tests, and have learned nothing new, but have re-affirmed a couple of opinions. First, it seems there is a major dominant six sided fractal geometry pattern within the whole moire pattern of sonics dominating the sound stream in a room. This is been suspected, but this morning has seemed to have been confirmed, in an easily described way. This morning I set about to erect a second tripod apparatus with wooden rod running through a stretched hexagonal slinky. The project only got so far as to position the two new tripod stands, with results worth reporting. I simply took one of the steel wire tripods and moved it around in a general area where I thought it should go, and heard better discernment in the sound stream in a certain position, and dropped it there, stood on the carpet. The same was done for the second tripod, on the other side of the existing erection which runs straight out from the TV in an alignment that aims directly to the center of the TV to between its two tiny stereo speakers. The second new tripod also passed through a small area of attenuated performance when being dangled in the air from finger tips, so was also dropped into this new hot spot location. To all extents and purposes the alignment of the two new tripods crosses the central erection at a 30 degree angle. I then took one of the ornimental 6 sided vinegar bottles and ran it back and forth along the wooden rod of the current erection and with eyes closed, heard an attenuation toward better good stuff in the sound stream at a certain location, and placed the bottle to the floor at that point, and opened my eyes, to find no surprise, the bottle was right at the node where the alignment of the two new tripods crosses the existing erection. In other words, the size and scale of the existing erection has created an artifact that is large, twelve sided, and fractal, in the sound stream, and simple listening tests adding new apparatus in to the erection, can bring into visual manifestation aspects of the sonic 12 sided moire pattern artifact. What I mean is, that I just did exactly that, let listening be the bottom line arbitrator, and listening led to the placement of three new objects that fell into place in a true and perfect accord with a presence in the sonic sound stream, a presence that is a dominant 12 sided geometry. (12 sided figures comprising 30 degree angles, are inherent within the basics of any 6 sided matrix. In fact, 144,000 give or take a few, are the actual number of facets that can be manifested from a simple 6 sided embodiment, such as the Cube and Sphere of the Supreme Creators who at the present time are to be known as Alpha and Omega). That takes care of the first 'EDITORIAL'. The second is an opinion. I am coming more and more to the opinion that a MONO sound source produces a better stereophonic reproduction. The main gain is in the sonic presence of 'space' in and around sonic images, which can be clearly sensed in mono sourced re-creations of stereophonic images, but is not seeming present in full two speaker stereophonic reproductions. At the moment the sound stream (from channel 5, broadcasting good listening music in Stereo) is fidelic and so on, but lacks the SONICS, the ambiant live sound stereo presence I have mentioned so often in tests throughout the past month and a half. There is little depth perception present in the current sound stream. All of the sound is obviously heard to eminate from a region surrounding the TV set, but there seems to be little in the way of long distance depth deep into the far background behind the TV, and further, there is nothing in the way of a kind of surround sound echo which denotes 'live'. This is absent, in this stereo broadcast. This 'liveness' has been absent from any stereo broadcasting tested with this TV set. One other major fact concurrently pointing out the lack of 'live' presence is that all hand claps so far heard in stereo broadcast do not have intrinsic long distance delay. In other words all handclaps are on the beat, rather than a half a beat behind. Whereas, in Mono broadcasts, hand claps are intrinsically half a beat behind the music when stereo sonics are properly in focus. In a club setting with hand claps surrounding a performer these can pulsate with secondary echoes, in a properly attuned Mono sound source. In the main, the 'Hang' and 'Second City' delayed reverberations are also missing from stereo broadcast sound sources. It is a combination of all of these ingredients which make the stereo broadcasts seem impure, compared to mono, even though the stereo broadcasts can be very fidelic in terms of natural sounds, and so on. It comes back to the fact that two-mike two-speaker artifacts are arbitrary implimentations. In fact, one mike recorder of sound patterns regenerated as a sound stream coming from just one speaker, into an artificial environment, can recreate echo reflections and reverberations which are picked up by the 'two' ears of humans to re-manifest stereophonic sound. Two mikes, and two speakers, are not needed, to re-manifest stereo. In all of the tests, and subtle re-tunings, done since the TV converter was ripped off, cancelling access to channel 51, I have not been able to crack open the sound stream into having the ingredient I have all along being calling 'sonics'. The 'sonics' are a particular kind of presence, which is missing in the sound stream from full stereo broadcast sources at this time. I have had 'sonics' to play with in brief occurrences in movie and TV episode reruns that were originally recorded in Mono, in the past several days, unfortunately nothing that I can play with all day. And, now, duty calls, I have to get back to work updating and re-writing codes for the new temporary version of the Virus ALERT computer antivirus program. Goodby. - Finis - HMMMMM ------------------------------------------------------- July 21, 1995, 9:25 AM. Friday morning. This seems to be a period of diminishing returns. Yesterday afternoon, when the front door was open, a gust of wind from a passing small thunderstorm blew through the house taking one of the giant starflakes perched picariously on a glass soda dish, on the shelf on the table in the living room, onto the table, smashing it to smithereens. It exists now as a tangle of brass jewellry wires holding together still glued fragments of the original giant star. It is in 7 separate pieces, held together in a meaningless tangle by its wires, which originally formed hexagon frames around circumpherences of this giant starflake. Then this morning, a few minutes ago, while taking a few seconds to carefully adjust a starflake raised to 15 1/4 inches in the air above the shelf, another starflake toppled, causing a cascade through the array on the shelf. I managed to grab the two remaining fragile and vital giant starflakes in mid air, saving them. Five objects in total toppled, including the ultra fragile 'Bird Cage' which got messed up a bit. But only one object, a large snowflake, suffered damage with one of its cartwheels snapped off. However, the array on the shelf, which took the weeks to gradually focus into micro measure hot spots, no longer exists the way it was. As I just said, this seems to be a period of diminishing returns. I will deal with the situation later. In the meantime, back to work. At this moment I am working on the revised INSTALLATION routine for the new temporary version of the Virus ALERT computer program. - Finis - HMMMMM AGAIN ------------------------------------------------ July 25, 1995, 12:20 PM. Tuesday afternoon. I forgot to mention that the steel wire tripods (six of them, two per square wooden rod) have three sides, with legs that extend down at close enough to 30 degrees that any difference is not worth arguing. As luck would have it, the tripods have been made in the Orient with the right kind of angles. It has been quiet around here the last few days. The updating of the program has been in fits and starts rather than one all out assult. There is still a bit to do later today, but yesterday nothing was done, and only a few minutes were spent updating on Saturday. The weather has been hot and muggy (very humid) and cool and muggy, the temperature shifting back and forth irregularly. Over the past several days, the sound stream was inexorably sounding more and more strident and sour, particularly in the increasingly feeble high end, and fractionalized, plus hardly anything more than muffled indications with an occasional reverberation in the bass range. One thing noticed is that the fidelity quality at times seemed better in a Mono broadcast, but at other times the mono sounds seemed as if only half there, twisted sideways (if that can be an image) you could hear a sound start than vanish before finishing its simple time, and no long distance reverbs echoing to the end of their time. Stereo too was lacking long distance systaining power. Very noticable lacks. A mystery was solved late yesterday afternoon with the discovery that all paper cutout sonic objects which had small metal slinkies stretched across them, had warped, due to the humidity. Pulling all of these out of the picture, (disassemblying them), and tossing the parts in a banker's box, resulted in the sour sounds vanishing. But there was still no real grunts to the fidelities. A couple of the warped paper pieces had folded almost in half by the tension of the metal slinkies. And so, all of these damaged devices have been removed from the sound stream. This includes all of the platforms originally used to produce long distance 'Airframing' from a controlled means a few weeks back. These platforms had been standing around on their 'Indian Rope Trick' support stands up at the front of the hall, and in the front office. Now, all of them have been removed from the sonic picture. Today a new experiment was done that has regained fidelities. It started with brief tests over the past couple of days with the raised star array on the living room floor in front of the TV, raised with the handy assist of 6 steel wire tripods got from the White Rose Nursury super store. It was found that the sound hardened if any of the wooden square shaped rods touched each other at the center node where the three rods criss crossed. So each rod was raised to be just slightly above the other. However, the effect was not as expected. There was no explosion of wide open new sound, nor any major impact into new ranges of fidelity. In fact many of the usual problems still seemed to be plaguing the sound stream, just more amplified. Micro measure tuning was needed throughout the environment to coax any goodstuff into the sound stream, and micro measure tunings at a long distance away, for instance in the dining room, or up the hall, were needed to get any usuable sound. However, the mind never stops working, even if slowly. Today it was decided to try raising the wooden rods high enough in the air so that none of the hexagram plastic slinkies made contact with each other at the center node criss cross. And this has worked. The upper two wooden rods were raised by about 3 inches each above the other, with the bottom wooden rod still staying horizontally above the floor at 15 1/4 inches to be parallel to the surface of the glass top table on which sits the TV. At once the sound stream became more open and roomy, and just a few adjustments to the array, in particular stretching the end pieces of the hexagram slinkies further out to be pinned to the carpet floor with straight pins, has brought back the goodstuff, plenty to play with, a more natural sound, more fidelity (less distortion), clear high end dropped into a lower register to be more philharmonic, and bass enough to start re-producing reverbing long distance echoes, though, as yet, no mighty bass impacts of the kind that can cause the materials of your clothing to vibrate. 'Airframe' is excellent. There was good listening music playing in stereo when I started typing this update, but now, at the moment, is a French thing, with actors saying preposterous sounding noises in French, on a stage, and dressed as puppets. The echoing sounds of the voices on the stage sound like, from here in the dining room, that the stage is actually around the corner through the kitchen and back to the further corner of the living room. The quality in the sonics that makes sound seem to be from an 'alive' real time source, is back. Although, in truth, the sound is slightly tinny, as if you were hearing the voices through a large metal duct rather than directly in front of the stage. Nevertheless, there is nothing of mere ordinary 'broadcast' in the nature of this sound. So, back to another experiment, started yesterday, then temporarily abandoned. Yesterday, the old 1940's style wooden portable Philips test tube radio was taken from the top shelf of the bookcase in the living room, and hung by its leather strap handle from a laboratory stand in the living room, and NOISE was the result. I do not know why, but 60 cycle buzz permeated the whole of its sound, and only two stations could be tuned in on the AM dial enough to be listened too. After about half an hour of fruitless attempts at fine tuning of sonic devices, and other micro measure alterations, it was found that placing of those small hexagon shaped extenders for coupling computer cables and devices to the backs of computers, when placed in strategic hot spots on the radio, and on the base of the stand under the hanging radio, helped to both diminish the buzz, and increase the volume of the radio, and improve its fidelity somewhat, but did little to increase the radio's range. The sound stream was more or less bereft of any low bass. It was found that three of the pulsed-second clock disrupters placed on the floor in close vacinity to the radio, caused the bass range to finally open up. Some micro measure fine tuning did the rest. The pulsed disrupters have small paper tripods taped to the second hands so the tripods steadily twirl around in the air in circles taking one minute per revolution, staggered second by second .... .... to the point where sonics and sterephonics indeed came in to the sound picture, if you listened for it. What was mainly in the sound stream was two sounds, one from the radio itself, and the other from room tuned sonic resonances. The radio sound still was rift with buzz and rattle, whereas the room resonating sonics and stereo was very thin and fragile, at times you could hear something, such as a background effect in a commercial recorded live in a shopping mall, and seconds later the background effect was completely gone, and seconds later you could just barely hear it again, and then hear it clearly, and then it was gone again. The test tube radio was shut off. The next test on tap is to try the radio in a different position in the living room. It might be better now, for instance, since the whole of the sound stream has now been improved by the vertical rise changes put in place in the slinky star array shortly before noon. I will give an AM radio report when ready. Goodby. .... Okay. First thing is I got rid of most of the static. It is now 1:10 PM. Yesterday, with the Philips radio hanging from a lab stand positioned in the middle of the back wall of the living room, between the TV in the corner, and the end of the four tiered book shelf, that static increased to raw racket if I touched the aerial lead. Hooking the end of the roll of thin brass jewellry wire to the aerial lead and placing the roll of wire on the top shelf of the bookcase helped by diminishing the static but not hardly clearing it, in fact . And there was a persistent 60 cycle buzz which was mostly diminished by use of several carefully placed tiny hexagram extenders, and the three mentioned pulsed-second clock drivers. Today, in its new position alongside the fire place and sitting out by about a foot from the wall, the faint buzz that first came in was completely eliminated by moving one of the pulsed-second clock drivers to nearly under the radio, and it was noticed that the thin brass jewellry wire had little effect as an aerial but if I held the aerial lead, the static would vanish completely. Don't forget, this old wooden portable radio is about 50 years old, circ. the late 1940's. It is 100% Mono. It has one speaker. And its one dial is AM. So I got from a shelf in the hall closet a wound up length of electrical appliance wire which when tried yesterday, made the static worse. Today, it took my place, it now hooked to the aerial lead, has more or less irradicated the static and boosted the AM radio's volume. There is still a trace of a 60 cycle static, but no 60 cycle buzz. .... If the radio is slowly rotated back and forth sweeping, say, a 30 degree arc through the air, the whole fidelity of the system noticably improves by a factor of about twice. In other words, MAJOR fidelity, compared to the rest state sound stream, results when the radio is intermittantly moved in a constant way. P.S. I have bass drum. Yes, I have bass drum in the sound stream. Lets be honest, this is weak bass drum, but it is of the reverating kind, not a pok or a thump, it has TONE. Quite an improvement over a radio that on its own produces nothing but high pitched mantle radio qualities, with 60 cycle buzz, and sound that crashes in meaningless distortion whenever the volume is cranked. I have the volume cranked right now, and no crash. In fact, it is cranked right to the top of the wooden volume wheel. .... It is 1:45 PM. Here is an example of which kind of sonics are being coaxed from a sound source, such as this old wooden portable mantle test tube AM radio. On at the moment is a talk show featuring 'Dr. Laura'. A male caller phoned in from a phone booth. As he was talking the usual non entity nonsense, I did a bit of discrete retuning of the three pulsed clock drivers on the floor in a small equalateral array in front of the radio, and low and behold coaxed SOUND out of the background low volume static. The SOUND was background noises, coming over the pay phone. At first, there was nothing there but the male voice, and then presto the long distance background sounds being picked up by the mouth reciever of the telephone. Many voices, etc. Who would have thought such sounds would be coming over the AM radio. I would like to be able to wave this radio back and forth slowly through the air due to the degree to which fidelity improves, and lower toned sonics increases, by this slight occilating motion imparted to the radio and its single 5 inch oval tweeter. Without this motion, the voices of the talk show, though loud and clear, are somewhat distorted, not of a pure sound. And power punch material, for instance the push in gain of a commercial with the music cranked to full at the last few seconds after the commercial's punch line and slogan, this extra volume causes collapses in the sound balloon comprising the radio's sonic and stereophonic imaging in the living room. Another thing is, this setup with the radio is extremely head in the vice, about as bad as it can get. Any motion seems to effect the sound stream. By moving around, for instance moving from living room to the kitchen, you can hear the major stereo ingredients come and go, a flat sonic, then a very roomy deep and wide spread sonics with long distance echoes continuing to the end of their time, then muffled again, as you move through the room. In tests with the TV set, the head in the vice was more in the way of overall fidelity and point source displacements in the stereo sonics of the sound stream. In the case with this radio, at this moment, the large stereo sonic sound image itself seems to collapse and expand as you move through major head in the vice peaks and valleys in the sound stream of the environment. Here is another example of this kind of head in the vice. The radio's speaker at this moment is about knee high, whereas the sound image itself is about chest high, and shifted over about three feet to the right from the radio itself. But I have found a sonic weak spot where, though still sonic and resonative, the sound source itself is roughly from the vacinity of the radio, rather than the balloon up in the air, and shifted over about three feet. I have only found the one weak spot so far, coming through the doorway from kitchen to living room, there the sound image displaces down toward the sound generating source itself. - Finis - PUZZLE ------------------------------------------------------- July 26, 1995, 9:45 AM. Wednesday morning. Today is scheduled back to the grind. Some extensive modification is needed to one of the modules (the RECOVERY DISK) for the new Virus ALERT program, so this is going to keep me busy for awhile today. But there are a couple of things to report. First, is that 'Airframe' is excellent with the new array raised in horizontal layers starting at 15 1/4 inches above the living room floor. In fact there is no change in volume at all when walking from the living room through the doorway into the kitchen. In all previous tests with the RCA 28 inch stereo TV the volume dropped, at times by as much as to 1/2, when leaving the living room. The living room in prior times was the principle enclosure, within which was produced the major sound stage. This has now changed. The sound is 'Airframing' intact in volume beyond the living room, so the hexagon slinky array raised in a star array (six arms) has fundamentally changed the characteristics of the 'Airframe'. The sound is still artificially toned, however, not so much bright as brillient. What this means is, it is not hard, but rather colored, more toward that of an electronic sounding reproduction, rather than reproduction coming from test tube amplifyers. The puzzle is how difficult it is to get bass, let alone reverberating bass, expecially the kind with deep long distance echoes. At this moment, there is hardly any sign of bass at all. There was last evening, until a small disaster occurred involving the ever careful little brown dog named Quasar. Lying in state in his custom made cushion, he got to his feet and one paw got thrust through the end piece of a hexagram slinky stretched toward his cushion and pinned to the carpet. He has done this before, and simply carefully stepped free. This time, last night, when stepping, the slinky slipped up his leg so a couple of quick tugs resulted in the slinky and its wooden rod slipping off its slung wire supports, and crashing another. Two were down, and the wire support of one pulled free from its winds around a small stick-out shaft on its steel wire tripod, so that the wire strand stuck out in the air. The details reported are important, because it meant it was impossible to reconstruct the array back to its original formation. The result is that whatever was tuned and aligned in such a way as to produce credible low bass notes, is gone. I have fiddled a bit again today, as I did last evening, with no luck. At the moment there is no bass. But why there should be no bass is beyond my guess, at the moment. At this moment I do not know of any particular tuning technique or focus needs, that will give the system its missing bass. A puzzle. .... It is 11:30 AM. Here is a confession. I am totally lacking motivation to get into the dreary tedius grunt of the Virus ALERT Recovery Disk module update. In times past this would have been enthusiastic work, done without any hestitation. These days I have not the zeal or pep to go for it. The work has to be done, and at the moment I have the blueprints for the interrim module, so responsibility commands that I follow through without any thoughts of escape. Except .... So, I have been fiddling with the high wires in the living room and have back the bass. It was brought back in by tuning to channel 17 the CBC all news channel, whose broadcast is in Mono, then fussing and fiddling in very fine tuning and micro measure focusing ways with the six tripod stands being used to raise the slinky array high in air. I found that by extremely discrete moves of stands, and some very slight raising or lowering the end of several of the wooden rods, that all of a sudden bass echoes began to return to the voices of the various announcers and stringers on the CBC news channel, including female voices, which finally began to drop into a new range of resonances that was a full octave lower in tone than before. It was ultra fine fiddling with the tripod stands of the array that turned out to be the secret to more fidelity, more sonic range, more stereophonics. It turned out that the technique was to go around and around the circle, re-adjusting the six steel wire tripod stands in increasingly micro measure ways. At one point some solidification in lower point sounds suddenly appeared, and then, suddenly new sonic echoes also began to gell. The transformation has carried over into full stereo broadcasting. For instance channel 23 at the moment is broadcasting good music and jazz in stereo, and here is heard accoustic bass, sax, piano, cymbols, and so on, with reverberations and long distance echoes. Kablamos are starting to pound in the rooms, once again. The 'brillience' reported two hours earlier, has been dissolved. It was all done by ultra fine adjustments of the tripods that lift the hexagon slinky array high into the air. .... It is 11:00 PM. Allright. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but... Yes, tweaking the very molecules of the raised slinky array produces all of the important ingredients; sound, volume, fidelity, bass, reverbs, long distance echoes that HANG; and so on. Tweaking the slinkies produces even more. That is the something NEW that has been learned today. It has to be a particular kind of tweak. Tweaking means to pick it like a guitar string and let it vibrate slowly for about half a minute. During the slow vibrations, changes in the sound stream are heard. Each of the raised hexagram shaped slinkies has two end pieces that extend downward from the ends of wooden rods, to be pinned to the carpet. When any of these ends is tweaked, so as to vibrate back and forth along the vertical slope of their angle, the whole of the sound image IMPROVES. Tweaking the slinkies sideways, or up and down, does not do it to the same extent as tweaking them to occilate back and forth along their main axis, in this case, sloping angles. The result of the whole combination, the array itself, and the brief duration tweaking gets, makes me believe that apparatus is at hand to recreate the Glen Miller orchestra, live, on stage, in a large room, working from 100 percent Mono tapes of the original band. What I intend is to have a high powered system, so that lots of gain is available in terms of volume, and two speaker sound generating sources, and TWO arrays of slinkies, one in front of each speaker, and some means to tweek each of the slinky ends in a repeated constant way. I believe that this, along with suitably located large snowflakes and the giant starflakes, plus a few other sonic tuning devices stationed around the environment, could be enough to produce a convincing demo of the Glen Miller band in terms of re-creating the band as if it was performing 'live' in the room. I will not be disappointed if the band sounds colored or too bright or brillient, or metallic, as long as the ingredients of stereophonic sonics are in evidence, east to west separation as well as deep depth, and HANG and breathing PULSATIONS in the 'second city' sounds of that band, reproduced in Mono from non digital tapes. That has now become the plan. The wish should be easy to fullfill, to see if it works. Someday soon. Somewhere. Thank you. - Finis - PULSATIONS IN THE HANG --------------------------------------- July 26, 1995, 1:50 PM. Thursday afternoon. I got it ! I got it ! Pulsations in the HANG of 100 percent MONO music. Yes, Elvis is singing 'Good Luck Charm' on the AM radio and just one more ultra fine tuning of a random object in the environment, clarified some background rumble, and out it came, into the open, Elvis and the boys recorded live in a recording studio, the music, and the backgrounds, all co-operating together to produce a big deep rhythmic puslating HANG in a huge sound stage there rocking with old fashion rock and roll boogie. And it was quite a nice suprise because in all these years I never knew that Elvis had recorded his early stuff with such deep wide spread dynamics due to the fact that it had been recorded in Mono sound. But today, there it is, a huge sonic window of Elvis sound. Step aside, Glen Miller, that experiment can come later. The experiment today has produced results that were predictable, albeit it took several hours of really fine coaxing and molly coddling to get there. What it is, is TWO radios, both playing the same AM station, the one radio the old wooden Philips portable radio with test tubes from the 1940's. And the other a near new REALISTIC Radio Shack el cheapo getto blaster someone here had bought one day to listen to ball games in a temporary computer work station in the basement. I had played with this getto blaster one day, about 15 minutes of tests, and found that its native reproduction was very hot and bright, without a trace of low notes, no bass, no kabloomos on the drums, no nothing, just hot and bright. I can't see what else is in there by taking a quick look through the front's tiny holes, but can see two speakers of about 2 1/2 inch diamaters inside this getto blaster, and perhaps that is all there are, since the case itself is just big enough to house the two speakers with cassette drive and radio dials between. Today, everything has changed. With the old Philips wooden mantle radio hanging about 16 inches high in the air from its leather strap on the far side of the living room, and the getto blaster hanging by its handle from a smaller laboratory stand on this side of the living room, both together, when focused in a certain way toward the rear wall of the living room, has produced a HUGE sound balloon that HANGS in the air in the living room over the hexagon slinky array and far distance deep into the background beyond the array, behind the living room wall. Fidelity was the biggest problem. At first the whole of the system was so highly distorted it was almost impossible to hear the announcer's voices, until it was learned that the tiny hexagon metal extenders used to couple cables to computers did wonders to open up the sonics, while clarifying the fidelities, when placed in strategic places, for instance on either laboratory stand under the two radios, on the table on the other side of the living room (where the flow tube and sonic snowflake arrays are stationed), and out here in the dining room. What was heard was a kind of distance echoing that first entered a female announcer's voice, when the tiny hexagon extenders were being placed, and from there, long distance tuning, for instance up at the front of the hall at the front of the house, and in the kitchen around the kitchen sink, all each included a bit more depth and fidelity in male voices, plus the bass range of music. This station plays Golden Oldies all day, that is its advertising 'feature', the Golden Oldies, so a lot of rock and roll music gets played that was originally recorded in Mono. So I had no lack of test subjects. Not to mention the station plug, which comes on loud and noisy in places such as malls, and the street, and dubbing with many sound sources dubbed over to produce background while the station announcer's yelp. It was heard from the start, that these station breaks were fully stereophonic, but very distorted, until the fine tunings mentioned above clarified the images into stereophonics, broadcast in 100 % Mono since the station is AM. Bass, for awhile, was puzzling, because it would be there, then it wouldn't, no bass, but eventually the bass became stablized by the random fine tunings of many different objects of any different kind, including three mechanical pencils on this work table in the dining room. It was in attempting to more finely tune the fidelity with this stablized bass, when suddenly near the beginning of an Elvis song, a bunch of weak background sounds opened up into a huge male chorus singing the 'doo waps du waps' in the rythmic boogie music called 'Good Luck Charm'. The giant male chorus was just a part of it. Some of the instruments charming away there in the background of this music were very wide spread in placements when originally recorded, and these opened up to contribute to what suddenly became a huge pulsating reverberating orchestra of music as Elvis sung, it just suddenly gelled out into the open from the swimming dim background effects until now always heard for this mono record. The music of Elvis literally seemed to breath in the air, it was so gigantic when it opened up into fidelic 'philharmonic' stereo. Oboy, enthusiasm can get wordy. Anyway, TWO mono sound generating sources, using a SINGLE AM radio station, works to produce large wide-imaged live philharmonic stereophonic sound. Step aside Glen Miller. Today I have something NEW to play with. All from just three tiny little speakers. Watch out, Dr. Bose. Here comes 'Big Grunt and the Mighties'. .... 2:23 PM. One thing noticed I should report is the 'Airframe'. The 'Airframe' is good, though not excellent. The sound volume drops by about 25 percent when walking out of the living room, but carries on more or less intact on up to the front of the hall. But outside the rear, in stepping through the patio door to the back yard, the volume drops completely almost to where the sound inside the living room cannot be heard, unless cupping the ears, then about 25 percent more volume comes back. Also, there is no 'wrap' outside the patio door in the back yard. Walking laterally back and forth, even with ears cupped, produces no improvement. The sound volume drops right out to near zero the moment I move away from a direct audio line from the patio door into the living room. In this instance, today, the 'Airframe' outside is the very reverse of 'Airframe' tests done earlier in this house, where TV sound was heard outside, clear across 118 feet to a neighbor's fence on the opposite side of the small park, even with the TV at normal volume inside the living room. This was back when the 25 year old 24 inch Quasar TV (now defunct) was the principle sound source for sonic tests. - Finis - QUICK NOTE 1 ------------------------------------------------- August 2, 1995, 10:15 AM. Wednesday morning. Just a couple of quick notes, of social, and sonic content. I just went to roll a tube of pennies and noticed two things. First, the penny can is more than two thirds full. This is a sign of the times, that things are marginally better. It has been about three months since rolled pennies were needed for groceries. In times past sometimes all of the pennies tossed daily from pocket change into the old coffee can were needed, rolled for milk or a loaf of bread. Often, only 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 dollars would be present in the can. Today the can is nearly 2/3 full and I only needed one 50 cent roll. How about that. Things are looking up. The sonic notice occurred when I put the penny can on the glass topped coffee table beside the stuffed easy chair in the living room to roll, and soon noticed that the TV set was rattling. The rattling vanished the moment I removed the coffee can (nearly full of pennies) from the coffee table. That little disruption in the sound stream caused the rattle. The particular glass end table has a square top and of two in the living room in a matching set with the circle glass topped end table upon which sits the TV, the surfaces all at a height of 15 1/4 inches. When first hearing the rattle I was slightly concerned, until I thought, hmmm, removed the heavy coffee can full of pennies, and away went the rattle eminating from the TV. In this prattle, just thought I'd mention it. It seems rattle in a sound system may be mostly a question of spurious disrupts and not a fault in a system's wiring or design. In my case - the tests and experiments in the living room - all instances of rattle have turned out to be environmentally caused, and persistent rattles, for instance with the former 24 inch Quasar Mono TV in use for a while, a particular sonic device that conveniently intermittantly broke up standing waves, ended the Quasar TV's dominant rattle to the point where very low and even bottom bass sonics could be reproduced from its single tiny speaker. But only when the device was stationed in one exact hot spot on the floor to the left nearly under the glass top table upon which the 24 year old Quasar TV was sitting. It was one of the pulsars, comprising a paper cutout tripod mounted on the second hand of a battery operated pulsed clock motor that slowly revolved one jump per second click, click, click. - Finis - 'FRACTAL' - A NEW WORD ----------------------------------------------------- August 4, 1995, 1:35 PM. Friday afternoon. I have to coin a new word. The new word is 'FRACTAL'. The new word is 'coined', because I now have an experiment I can demonstrate to any snob, academic, or nay sayer. The demonstration is simply this: Walk along the driveway toward the house, walk along the sidewalk alongside the brick two-car garage, instead of going in the open front door, instead, walk around and alongside the house to the right, in the narrow 3 foot allowance between this and the next door neighbor's house. Anywhere along that walking you will hear stereo eminating from the front door of the house. About half way back in the narrow gap between the two homes you will hear stereo around you, from a combined sound coming from both the front and back of my house through the open patio door at the rear overlooking the small park behind. As almost just said, toward the back of the narrow gap, you will hear stereo wrapping around from the rear of the house, coming out from the open patio door. In the back, for instance anywhere in the back yard, you will hear stereo wrapping out into the yard through the open patio door, from the living room. Back at the front of the house, you can walk into the open front door and hear stereo coming from down the hall around the corner into the living room. You can walk down the hall and into the living room and hear stereo. In fact that is what someone did a short while ago, a fello who had a van parked in the driveway two doors over and was in fact installing a stereo set in the van at the very moment I walked up to the van door and said: "I need a witness, do you know anything about stereo"? "In fact I do", he replied, "I'm installing a stereo in the van right now". Good enough. We both departed, and as we walked back to my place I quickly explained that I was doing experiments with stereo and needed a witness but told him nothing else. As he stepped into the front door of my house he remarked: "That's pretty good stereo". We had not yet turned the dark corner inside to go down the hall. When we got to the living room he just stood and listened, looking around from one side of the room to the other, obviously impressed by the stereo fidelity, presence, and volume. So I explained quickly and do not know if he got the gist, but do know that he was hearing something totally unexpected due to the hardware that was producing the stereo. In the living room he heard something NEW ! 'FRACTAL SOUND'! Let me continue. As of this moment .... Where ever in the living room you MOVE, you will hear sound images change position, wide spread instruments and sound sources will bounce around, here, there, all over the place, sound sources that MOVE around and shift space, when you move. Forget about fidelity. It's not happening. This Fractal sound is noisy. Otherwise ... Again, we pick up with the fellow from two doors over, and me doing my demo, for which I needed a witness, as follows .... Me, the demonstrator, went over to the far wall and unplugged a plug. And instantly 'SLOOP! ALL OF THE SOUND DISAPPEARED ! Instead, all that is left is a tiny dull puke, coming from a cheap getto blaster lying on its side on a glass end table against the inside living room wall from the hall. That tiny dull mortified sound is pure MONO, yes, it is a genuine Mono sound from a 100 percent AM frequency MONO radio station in Ottawa. It has all of the ingredients of Mono sound, no stereo, no reverbs, no projection, only dull puky sound eminating from its front, and nothing else. It is very unexciting indeed. Now, let me plug back in the plug, and PRESTO! back in place is that HUGE FRACTAL SOUND just described. It is the same AM mono radio station, this time also playing through two tiny speaker boxes of a $49.95 Prosonic getto blaster bought yesterday from the local Giant Tiger store down the hill on St. Joseph Blvd., in Orleans, east of Ottawa. Three sound sources now comprise this AM stereo; the two tiny enclosures set wide apart on an orange painted BAR, and the two permanent physically attached speakers of the 69 dollar dirt cheap Radio Shack getto blaster. The difference is that the Prosonic system has been set up with its two tiny almost weightless enclosures set on a flat BAR raised 15 1/4 inches in the air, and stationed to respond at right angles to the main slinky coming out from the RCA TV to form the star array on the living room floor. The Prosonic device has been coaxed and room tuned for four hours to produce better sonics, stereo, and reverberating resonances using stereo tapes (Frank Purcell Orchestra, and Golden Western Themes), plus the oft mentioned Glen Miller tape of mono recordings from the late 30's and early 40's. I want to digress and tell you where the 'BAR' came from, that is supporting the two Prosonic speaker boxes. It came from the man who is in charge of assigning radio broadcasting and television frequencies for the Federal Government, as well as military, satellite, and all other broadcast bands the Federal Government uses and allows. In the early 80's he took on a project to do a number of art works and paintings, as a hobby, using modular construction strips of lightweight wood stapled together with an electric staple gun, and wrapped in canvass, and painted with acrylic colors, he created over a hundred pieces of art, and when finished, lost interest, he would not sell these many pieces, so called over friends to cart home two or three pieces to whoever accepted the gifts, thus emptying his studio, and his attic. I carted home two such pieces of art. One ended up gracing the walls of the head office of short lived 'Blue Chip Computers', in Ottawa. And the other has been in my hands, in storage so to speak, since 1985. Today I needed a piece of wood about 5 feet long and 4 or 5 inches across to experiment with the new Prosonic getto blaster and instead dug an orange painted bar from that piece of art, from amidst a bunch of clutter and empty cardboard cartons in the garage. It, painted orange, at the moment, is supported on two laboratory stands, set to a height to support the two tiny speaker boxes of the Prosonic getto blaster at a height of 15 1/4 inches in the living room. The original artist, actually a Phd in physics who is senior man in the federal government's division that allocates broadcast and frequency bands, lost interest in art when buying a Commador 64 computer and started, instead, to spend all of his spare time, writing programs with music and twitchy graphic stick figures to illustrate certain religious ideas he had. I got the piece of art by luck, happening to drop by the house in Almonte, Ont., on a matter of other business, right at the time he had decided to give away his make-art period of his life. The thing about the art is, that it was VERY GOOD STUFF, and could have commanded high prices in an art gallery, had he chosen to sell. He did not. He simply did not want to become pegged as an artist and had done the hundred odd pieces as a simple demonstration to someone with whom he was in argument, that anyone could be multi talented, if they did not accept limitations. The someone had aspirations of being an artist and thought that that was something very special. The hundred odd peices of fine quality art was done simply to show that anyone who does not accept limitations can come up with quality creative output. But, I digress, somewhat. Back to the point of today ..... .... at the moment 'Let's Go To The Hop' is reverberating vigorously into the dining room where I am typing, from the living room. Just one moment.... .... The reason why I rushed off is I could not tell if the original was a Mono, or Stereo, recording. I raced to the living room and unplugged the Prosonic before the song ended, and everything slooped into the front of the tiny Radio Shack 'Realistic' model SCR-210 getto blaster lying on its side and it became an obvious Mono source (from the mono AM radio station), but I could still not tell if the original recording was a stereo or mono product. Oh well. Who cares. Earlier this afternoon, when something resembling reasonable fidelity was finally coaxed out of the Prosonic setup, the Radio Shack getto blaster (used a few days ago to play with stereo effects in mono sound sources (in conjunction with the 1940's era wooden portable Phillips mantle radio with test tubes)), was simply layed on its side to get it out of the way of the main array featuring the new Prosonic setup, and plugged in. Since it was already tuned to CIWW OTTAWA, an AM station, the Prosonic also got tuned to that station, and that is when the wish to write a REPORT came into the picture. For when the Prosonic was momentarily unplugged to see what the difference in sound would be, the WHOLE of a mighty sound image disappeared, and all of the sound slooped to the front of the tiny Realistic puke ports to become dull, pissy, no bass, all lacking, mono of an obvious kind. Plugging back in the Prosonic boomed the huge fractal sound vibrations back into the whole environment of the living room and house, including outside the house, out front on the driveway, alongside the house, and everywhere in the back yard. Yes I am crowing. Forget fidelity of the Tanoi kind. Who needs 25 thousand dollar speakers to demonstrate stereo. I am doing it with a 49 dollar Prosonic getto blaster with two detachable tiny speaker boxes, a 69 dollar Radio Shack getto blaster with two speakers built in, and a single AM mono radio station. Well, let's discuss come problems. I had bass earlier. At the moment bass is gone. Also, the pendulum clock hanging in the kitchen doorway is acting up again, for the last three days it has not kept right on ticking, it stops, and I have to keep chronically re-adjusting it and trying to get it to swing again. It keeps stopping. Other than that, the 'FRACTAL' stereo sonic sound is MIGHTY indeed! In fact, finally, at this moment, 'Sundown', by Gordon Lightfoot, is on radiating from the mono array, and I will defy anyone to come to this house, and claim that what they are hearing at this moment is NOT stereo ! - Finis - 'FRACTAL' - MIGHTY STUFF --------------------------------------------------- August 5, 1995, 12:00 PM. Saturday at noon. It is even MIGHTIER ! This morning I scrummaged another $49.99 bucks plus taxes (from this long weekend's grocery money) and raced to the Giant Tiger for the other Prosonic on sale. It is very different than the one got day before yesterday. This other one is chincy in design and manufacture, almost as if its plastic parts were hand stamped by monkey labor rather than injection moulded. Without recording ability or other niceties, it nevertheless has two tiny tower boxes, each with two speakers, one an inch and 1/2 across, the other 3 inches across, inside each box. Both Prosonic versions are going for the same price, $49.99. A simple A and B test proved the intrinsic sounds from the two Prosonic systems are substantially different. In fact the original, bought day before yesterday, has a very harsh barky high pitched sound compared to the lower registered more bassy sound of the Prosonic bought today. On the other hand the one bought today has nearly no high end presence and cannot take loud volume without turning to mush. The idea was to try one Prosonic set, then the other, to see which would work best as a demo for the experiment. The other would then be taken back and the money used for groceries. Belt tightening, instead, substituted for grub because I kept both units, for obvious reasons. That ends the short story. The long story is that I hooked up BOTH Prosonic sets into the system and it is a whole new story. There is BASS, galore, resonating and reverberating around the environment including KABOOMS, and high end including cymbols at times as clear as a bell, and echoes which continue long distance to finish at the end of their time, including the echoes that surround female announcer's voices, and singers. In other words, gloriosso ! I have another DEMO ! Today the AM station is featuring Beetles all day Saturday, so I get a chance to hear Beetles music not heard for years, not only that, I get to hear the Beetles in very good stereo, notwithstanding that the sound generating source is a 100 % Mono radio station. A fello well endowed with stereo lore, pointed out this morning that it is possible to fake a stereo simulation using something equivalent to a surround sound setup, but that stereo coming from just two speaker enclosures, plus a third source to kick ass the sound, was impossible to produce from Mono. So at this moment, one speaker is detached (not working) from each of the Prosonic sets, and the Radio Shack piece of junk is lying on its side on the glass topped square end table against the wall. It turned out that the way each of the two speakers was detached (not working) has a great deal to do with the resulting sound, since each kind of small box from the two different Prosonic sets produces a dramatically different native sound. Now I am defying lore, for only two speakers are at work, set wide apart, and a third source lays on its side kick assing the sound from its place of grace on the end table, this third source being the $69 Radio Shack getto blaster. To give you an idea of how small the Prosonic speaker boxes are, neither kind of box is as big as a typical small 2 Klg bag of sugar or flour bought at the local supermarket. Here is another compare: expand an ordinary loaf of bread by about 1 1/2 times, cut the loaf in half lengthwise top to bottom, and that would roughly give you the pair of tower speakers. Then stand two Nabob 'South Pacific Blend' coffee packages together, and this will roughly give you one of the other boxes, in rough approximate size. Like I say, these speaker boxes are TINY, and v e r r y cheap, made in China. These little things, are producing all of the BIG MIGHTIES I'm raving about today. What I have at the moment is a stereophonic and fidelic display going on at HIGH VOLUME in the living room. Plugging in the other two detached speakers gives me more of the same, more volume, but does not change the characteristics of sound in terms of fidelity, bass, or stereo point source imaging. However, pulling the plug of either Prosonic set immediately results in a mighty big HOLE appearing in the middle of the sonic presence, and pulling both plugs results in the famous 'SWOOP', the whole of the sound vanishing like a genie going back into a bottle, the whole of it zipping across the room to the Radio Shack small getto blaster on the table, with no bass, high end, fidelity, sonics, or stereo, just weak rattly mush, in other words, 100 percent mono sound from a junky sound source. That tiny dull mortified sound is pure MONO, yes, it is a genuine demo. You cannot believe the difference when the stereo genie SWOOPS across the room and down into the bottle to become old fashion MONO. Playing either Prosonic by itself, does not produce much in the way of impressive demonstration, even though the sound is lifted in the air due to the various sonic tuning and exciter devices in the living room, but there is no bass, no clear high end, and no reverbs. Until the other Prosonic is plugged in, but even then the sound is kind of noisy, until the third radio, the Radio Shack small getto blaster on the table is plugged in, then watch out ... HERE COMES AUDITORIUM AND THE VIBRATING FLOORS ! Incidentally if you have never heard the Beetle's 'Magical Mystery Tour' on a good hi fi system, it is something you might want to get by doing at least once in your life. I am hearing things right now I never knew was in that music, huge, orchestral and symphonic bodies, and I am listening to it in MONO, theoretically. But what's the point, how good is theory if it is only 100 percent WRONG ! Oh, by the way, if anyone is wondering, yes, several times while setting up the experiment today I had to deal with speaker boxes jet propelling themselves off the orange painted bar by the power of the pure sonic energies they are now generating. Something else: In case anyone is interested in affirming historical accuracy, the AM radio station hails itself as " CIWW Ottawa, 'Oldies 1310' ". Something else I should mention in terms of historical accuracy, is that this DEMO is very much baffled. In other words, all of the kitchen cupboards (as described before, several weeks ago) are wide open to 30 degrees off from sticking straight out. And the door to the basement at the front of the hall is also wide open, as is the door to the utility room and also the door to the small downstairs washroom inside the utility room. The baffling adds both fidelity, and live presence, to the sound stream. The kitchen doors have to be constantly re-positioned since they get moved all the time due to normal household living. However, the good news is that re-positioning takes only a few seconds of momentary interest, since it is very easy to tell when a cupboard door is tuned. Here is some technical data. The two tiny tower boxes are balanced on the orange bar, sitting roughly 4 feet apart. Under each, and slightly behind, on the floor, are the two other boxes from the other Prosonic set, these two on the floor are sitting on large hexagon nuts (of kind used by industrial plummers) to give a bit more sonic echoes to their sound. The two on the floor are turned upside down so their bass enhancer ports are at work at the top of the box, instead of the bottom as per original intended design. All four boxes are turned outward by about 30 degrees, instead of being aligned parallel straight to the back, or turned inward toward a point of center behind them. When turned outward, the whole of the sound image opens up, and more bass comes into the reverbs and long distance echoes. Touch tapping each of the boxes with a fingertip has been able to produce substantial gain in fidelity and power by this simple ultra fine micro measure tuning, to wit, a wee tap by a fingertip. Here is some more technical data. I almost forgot to mention it. The two tiny boxes from the first purchased Prosonic set are entirely enclosed, that is, their entire accoustic cavities are sealed, there is not a port or hole anywhere in either box, except for a tiny hole mostly filled by the speaker lead going in. The two tiny tower boxes from the second purchased Prosonic set are not sealed. At the back, near the bottom, in an indent, is a grid that opens into the area that is the so-called 'bass enhancer' port at the front of the box. This area inside is wide open, that is, there is no cap so you can see the speakers above. Near the top at the back is another grid, this one with indented horizontal slits pressed in so that tiny thin lines run the length of each bar, the slits themselves so thin only a piece of paper can be slid into the box through these slits, the point being that extra resonance of some kind that is not all solid but active with open air is to be expected in the engineering design of the tightly adjoined bars and slits. To investigate a tower box, I held it in the palm of one hand and shone a two battery flashlight into it, held in the other hand. The flashlight weighed more than the speaker box. By the way, today turns out to be the highest rainfall for the date ever recorded for the region. We did not get the worst of it here, in Orleans, just an all day steady moderate fall, but to the west it flooded intersections and basements in small locals up to 35 klicks west and south-west of Ottawa main. This summer is turning out to be a summer of new breaking records recording the extremes of ever more obvious atmospheric instabilities, as well as other developements of technological and spiritual kind. - Finis - 'FRACTAL' - MIGHTY STUFF --------------------------------------------------- August 7, 1995, 1:40 PM. Monday afternoon. Something more or less unusual happened last evening. I was playing with the two different Prosonic sets, trying the speakers of one plugged into the other, etc, and it came back to a similar setup of the day before, except instead of both power units working, one of the tiny tower boxes of one Prosonic, and the tiny square box of the other, this time were both plugged into the source unit for the tiny boxes, produced the best all around sound for a single set at work. It happened that I tried a cassette tape not played for over three years. It is a collection of golden oldie Rock and Rolls from the 50's. When turning it on, there was something unusual about the sound, which took a bit of investigation to figure out what was going on. The best description I can give is what happened when a credible witness came by later in the evening and I turned it on to show the person. I asked: "What do you make of this sound"? The person was standing listening, head slightly turned away, nose and lips screwed a bit because it was not fidelic. It was loud and so on, and very raunchy. The person was standing inside the doorway from the kitchen. The person replied: "Pretty much exactly what you would expect from stuff like this - ", said the person, indicating the two tiny power unit cabinates sitting stacked one on top of the other on the floor, four speaker leads coming out, to the two tiny boxes sitting four feet apart on the floor and the two tiny tower boxes sitting four feet apart on the raised orange bar, an embodiment of two small shelf-style stereo sets, with four tiny speaker boxes spread wide apart, That is what the person indicated when pointing to the source of all sounds. As if the two sets were working in tandem to make a kind of surround sound arrangement. It was my turn. "This is what we've got", said I, showing that the left hand speaker boxes were not working, and that the second set was not plugged in, and that the whole of the stereophonic image filling the main area of the living room was coming from only one single tiny tower box, sitting raised in the air at the right end of the orange bar. "That explains why most of the sound is centered on this side of the room", observed the witness, thinking it through, slowly, indicating the right side of the living room, where the witness was standing and where sat the tiny tower speaker box raised in the air, plugging away on its own, the six sided star array of hexagon slinkies all suspended above the floor behind the setup spread forth toward the near distant wall behind. "Is it stereo"? I asked. "Oh, well, yeah. But ... it's very noisy", was the person's reply. At that moment the sound source was triply Mono, in that the original music had been recorded in Mono, plus the pirate factory tape, (bought for $1.99 from a discount bin 3 1/2 years ago), had been recorded only on one channel, so that it had a 100 percent single speaker playback, and the single speaker itself (the tiny tower box), meant that the reproduction in the living room HAD to be a Mono source. This was the cassette tape of rock and roll golden oldies. The mystery that I had to mull through was that on one side of the tape the whole of the tape had been recorded on only one channel, the other channel was completely blank. By single channel playback I mean that when the cassette is playing, sound is only coming from one speaker. Turn the tape over, and sound starts playing from both speakers. This tape is quite unusual, I have never come across a cassette tape like it, bought from the rummage bin of a music store. This is one of the points of this short story, that somehow, the one side of the tape of golden oldie Rock had been recorded only on one channel, the other channel was deader'n a doornail. (The other side of the tape is recorded normally, from mono originals, but on both channels). But more importantly, the unique peculiar co-incidental setup that I had in the living room and whole house environment as of this time (last evening), was producing credible stereo including deep reverberating bass and loud old style rock and roll drums, from a single tiny tower speaker about the size of a half a loaf of bread, so effectively that it fooled a guru into believing, on first impression, that it was a stereophonic recording, coming via two Prosonic sets playing together through four stereo speaker boxes in a kind of 'surround sound' demonstration. But only one tiny tower shaped speaker box was producing the entirety of it. All that is needed is to cook up devices that can better stand to produce clarity and stability in the fidelities of such an experiment, and there will be a new kind of physics easily demonstrated in the sonic properties and principles of sound. The problem is that an experiment like the one just described - the single-speaker single-channel reproduction of a mono recording - will not instantly excite audiophile purists, or physicists engineered in mind set to the best reproductions of original sound using the most modern and high tech embodiments they design in theory or hardware. They will hear the first thing they don't like, harsh fidelities that come and go amidst fracturing that comes and goes as they move or breath, and also clearly being inputted from the pulses of three different moving distrupters set up in the midst of the array now in the living room. (The experiment last evening was audibly responsive to the movements of the distrupters, a somewhat unusual occurrence). The sound per se was like any rock and roll recording turned up in volume past the fidelitic tolerance levels of any stereo system, except the volume here was limited, not that which could come from a home entertainment system, if you get my drift, but certainly far, FAR, more volume than you could ever reasonably expect from the cheapest kind of set money can buy. The volume last evening could be heard out in the street out in front of the house, from the one tiny speaker box in the house, at the rear. So what is the problem. It's like selling a house. A house may be the bargain of the century but in comes a buyer and first thing they see is a shabby kitchen, the only weak point in the house and property, and everything else they see in the house will also be wrong! Which is why so many house sellers renovate the kitchen and bathroom before putting their house up for sale. Well, I can't do that. What you get is what you get, with these kinds of experiments I have underway. My saving grace is anyone who can listen past any shabbies (such as from last evening) to hear the unusual and unique and so called 'impossible' will be amply rewarded by surprise against the disbelief that stereophonic sound is only possible from two separate speakers and channels, originally recorded by at least TWO separate microphones. This is not true. Stereophonics from just one microphone or speaker or channel is completely valid, and depends entirely on the reproductive means, per the environment in which the original sound is being reproduced. Original recording, per se, has nothing to do with the re-creation of stereophonic sound. As witnessed by the unexpected unusual demonstration of last evening. - Finis - MORE..... To prove the point of the last paragraph at the end of yesterday's update, I dug out a cassette tape recorded for the heck of it by me back in 1984 at a downtown Ottawa bar in which a local group of musicians was holding forth nightly for a week with music a' la' Spiro Gyro, who was very popular at that time. I used a small hand held Aiwa walkman with braised aluminum case which cost $250 and was concidered a better quality stereo recorder at that time. To do the recording I used a pair of microphones that cost about $14 the pair, taped to a table in the bar. The recording was quite barky, and bass was not gained hardly at all to the same extent as was in the bar, a big disappointment. Otherwise it was a good tape, in that all of the ambiant background and surrounding sounds in the bar were clearly audible, including chatter, coughs, chairs scraping, customers calling to waiters, and me chatting while the band played live, briefly, about why I was doing the recording, just a simple test to see how a live recording would sound on a home stereo system with new kind of experimental speakers that had 'Airframe' properties their chief feature. Today I rummaged around until finding that old cassette tape from 1984, and tried it out in the living room, and here is the result .... Yes and no. Yes, that .... No, but .... As a matter of fact, I got sidetracked, I haven't yet tried the cassette. BAFFLES ---------------------------------------------------------------------- August 12, 1995, 12:30 PM. Saturday afternoon. Seems I have dropped the ball momentarily, no updates for 5 days. I've discovered baffles. Not the kitchen cupboard doors. Material baffles, arbitrarily placed. It started yesterday afternoon, when doing the dishes, I finally noticed that a large piece of green plastic scouring pad was standing up against the wall behind the right sink, and had been standing there for several days. The brain working slowly, finally got around to asking, 'what the heck is THIS doing here'. With this, came the idea to try it as a baffle in the living room. When put in place in the vacinity of the right hand tiny tower speaker, when working in the domain of the 3-way Mono experiment last described on August 7, using a pirate factory tape of Golden Oldies Rock and Roll from the 50's that had been recorded on only one track, lo and behold the piece of green plastic scouring pad cleaned up some real mess in the tiny tower speaker's sound stream. A search through the utility shelves in the kitchen turned up another piece, and a half piece, both of which, judisciously placed standing up at a 30 degree angle in the tangle of stuff comprising the experiment in the living room, served to very nicely stablize the sound, while purifying its fidelics top to bottom, in such a way that the sound stream no longer swam around and twisted in distortions. The sound image in stereo, formed in the living room, stayed stable no matter where you walked around, and the sound image swung around to always be spread out left to right sideways and into depth behind the tiny tower speaker. In other words it stayed totally projected up in the air. Even though the sound stream was coming from one tiny Mono speaker. Out the door and a search through 5 stores that sold this most common of kitchen household items in various kinds and manufactures, yeilded five different kinds, the only one which worked well still being the original two and a half pieces from the kitchen cupboard. The others bought in three dollar stores, a hardware store, and a supermarket, suppressed the sound, or snuffed the stereo sonics, when tried. The two and a half pieces that worked, amplified the sound in both volume, and range, and enhanced that all important ingredient I have all being calling all along; 'STEREO SONICS': the sense of live performance sound. Day before yesterday, in poking through the cluttered garage looking for things to throw out, I came across two furnace filters with thin red paper frames, made of loosely woven white fiberglass. This morning I decided to give one a quick try with the TV set going, and discovered right away that in one corner of the room it served more than nicely to purify and clean up the higher end of the TV's sound. The other filter was found to work just as well, when placed in the opposite corner of the living room, also tilted at a 30 degree angle, leaning into the corner. Now I have solid reverberating bass echoing through the room purely at a lower volume, plus sweet tones in the high stuff. Nowhere else did these furnace filters work as well except in those two corners. Ok, filter material WORKS. An interesting aspect of physics has come out as something NEW, learned from this. The two furnace filters are in opposed corners from the corner occupied by the TV set. The array approximates a 30, 60, 90 degree right angle triangle, with the right hand filter sitting leaned into the corner on the floor more or less straight off the right end of the orange bar. The six sided raised array made of stretched hexagram slinkies radiates back toward the center of the TV from roughly the middle of the orange bar. And the other furnace filter is further back in the opposite far left hand corner of the room. Which now instantly highlights a feature not observed as distinct about the small green filter sheets arrayed in conjuction with the single source tiny tower speaker featuring full image stereo and sound range from a single 3 way Mono sound source. It happens that the only place the green sheets worked was in a left/right hand placement on either side of the center of the orange bar, leaned at roughly a 30 degree angle, and further angled about 30 degrees to face backward into the sound image, rather than toward the sound source. The right hand sheet is leaned against a support rod of one of the laboratory stands that holds up the orange bar and so is about 5 inches to the left of the side of the right hand tiny tower speaker box that is the sound source for that experiment. The other sheet is leaned against the inner side of the left hand tiny tower box sitting on the left end of the orange bar. This original array, put in place yesterday by the simple expediency of LISTENING for the best result, has turned up to be a configuration essentially the same as an independent configuration put together for the TV set a short while ago today, using the two aforementioned furnace filters, put in place also, by the simple expediency of listening for the best result. Here is some technical information. The furnace filters are a dirt cheap brand got from the nearby Canadian Tire store about a year ago. A 3rd filter, got at that time, was stripped open, and the fiber glass filter square peeled in half, and both thinner sheets used in a large air filter rigged up to work as a negative ion generator, the device abandoned last winter when the square box fan in use for it ground to a halt and not a fan could be bought mid-winter anywhere, not even dredged from a warehouse. So a 'Holmes' Air Purifyer and Ionizer was bought to replace it. The negative ion aspect of this 'Holmes' device is very good, it is a white plastic shell that stands on the floor to a height of 20 inches so it is a big device. Having a negative ion generator makes all the difference in the world when working long hours on a computer. The mind stays clear and does not clog, when a good negative ion source is at work immediately nearby. Getting back to business, the two furnace filters which have now (as of today) been absorbed into the experiment, are 16 x 16 x 1" model 64-3409-0, made by MasterCraft. The two green sheets of kitchen plastic green scouring pads are 8 1/2 x 5 1/2 inches and are characterized by being less dense rather than thick, you can see through them, and the surface of one side is covered with many tiny black globs of burnt plastic from poor manufacture. I speculate that the hard tiny globs may have some sound stream conducive contribution, but it may after all be just a question of density and thickness of weave of the material itself, in that denser sheets do not work, and today, a very loose woven white fiberglass furnace air filter has proven to also work very well, in today's case in filtering out harmful cross harmonic distortions in the sound stream of the TV. - Finis - DIFFERENT -------------------------------------------------------------------- August 22, 1995, 10:50 AM. Tuesday morning. Today is different. Nothing NEW has been learned, but more of current progresses have been determined. Plus a memory of times past, interesting enough that I feel it is worth reporting. The new progresses are that a local Home Hardware Store had six foot wooden rods, used by cabinate makers for cutting into dowels. I bought a rod for under 3 bucks to try it at home, with a hexagram plastic slinky dangling from it. For nearly two weeks it stood at a thirty degree angle leaned against the wall by the front office door up the hall, seeming to kick ass sound and add more grunt and growl in the bass end from long distance via 'Airframe' properties, when leaned at a specific, precise, perfect, angle, in one exact hot spot, against the wall opposite to the doorway to the front room. Every where else tried and this six foot wooden rod with hexagram slinky dangling was a spoiler. Yesterday afternoon while sitting watching the CNN news on TV, the idea occurred to try this six foot round rod in lieu of one of the four foot square rods comprising the six sided array of rods and stretched hexagon slinkies raised in the air spreading forth above the living room floor in front of the TV. The effect was immediate. As soon as the six foot round rod was inserted along the length of a stretched hexagon slinky, the sound got more bassy, and fidelic. So out came the four foot square wooden rod and it is now up the hall where the six foot rod used to be. The six foot rod was coaxed and nutured, its plastic hexagram slinky stretched even more so, and it was in going to a maxima, fiddling with it to extract even more new growl and grunt in the bass, suddenly pthhhh! the whole array collapsed, a triangular tripod toppled foward to land mid center and the whole array fell as a layer to the floor. There it rests right now. One end of the six foot rod has been raised again to former height to give some acceptable listenability to the sound, but for the rest I am going to wait until enough petty cash comes in from daily software sales to buy more six foot rods and do the array anew. Which brings us to the rest of today's report. Some history. Gotta get it off my chest. Jist gotta. Worth reporting historically is, the 'famed' OHM-WATT GENERATOR. Of course there is no such thing as an 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR'. But one was used once, to stage a deception. I have to freely admit that this was the only time in my life I have ever willfully staged a deception, and here is how it happened: Living in swank digs on the shore of the Rideau River, an executive style bungalow with 4200 square feet upstairs and the same downstairs, with a third of an acre of landscaped surrounds, and 120 feet of shore along the Rideau, the A-Frame house being used for 3 years for loudspeaker research featuring the intents of another person, me helping. This was circ. 1983. A long time ago, in looking back. Four doors to the right (the North) lived the Deputy Minister of Defence for Canada, a nice guy. I once threw out a long thin electric plug-in floorboard space heater that didn't work, and two days later at dinner time he was at my front door, having rescued the heater from garbage collection and repaired it, wanting to know if I wanted it back, or could he use it. Of course I gave it to him, very impressed with his honesty. Which is how we met. Which also explained a mystery. At times the front street would be filled with bright blue Fords (sedans) with government plates, and at times vans and trucks galore with men up the telephone and hydro poles just hanging around for long hours at a time up there in the air, leaning out on leather belts strapped to the tops of the poles. Mysterious indeed. Until the nature of the neighbor was learned. Every time a terrorist group acted up, or some threat was made, he came immediately under maximum government protection, due to his 'sensitive' high profile job as deputy chief of all things military for the country of Canada, at that time, circ. 1983. But a heck of a nice, interesting, friendly neighbor. Four doors to the left was a different story. The house once belonged to a cabinate minister who was famed for being totally bald, not a hair or whisker or eyelash whatsoever from a childhood ailment) from the first two Trudeau governments (Ron Basford). It was now owned by a (who knows) with an Ecuadorian young wife, full blooded jungle indian gal who thought nothing of straying in to your house (mine) at sunrise looking for her missing cat. I found her in my house three times going blink blink blink, "ah, looking for my cat, its gone missing". And then one day I heard an odd strange 'mewoow' and seeking the source further and further, tracked the weak mewoows downstairs and into a small room that was not being used for anything, and when opening the door, there was a great big shabby tabby cat, trapped inside for who knows how long. Of course I let it go and away it went on the instant, up the stairs and out the door to the Ecuadorian estate, its slow tail winding the air in stiff jerks and gyrations from very intent muscles as it flew across the lawns to home. It seems a gust of wind had slammed shut the door downstairs one day when the cat was investigating new turf. At least, that is the most probable friendly interpretation. The other is the Equadorian was prowling the house in complete stealth one day before sunrise and accidentally left the cat locked in the prowled empty room. At that time, her 'husband' had been "gone for a couple of weeks" and she "didn't know where he was". If I had had money I would have offered something, thinking meybe the poor gal was starving, but, no, she kept saying, everything was ok. The landscape along this 1 1/2 long block of shoreline was like a park, a continuous garden, no fences, all open, and very beautiful. The house I had, was owned by a fellow and wife who was head of an Iron Ore of Canada mine in Quebec, whose chief CEO was Brain Malroony before he was appointed head of the Conservative Party, then elected as Prime Minister of Canada. The son of the house owner was in Toronto, and he (the son) was head of the Young Conservatives of Canada. I was surrounded by political expertise, even though, remained throughout, non partisan, politically, completely. I was renting the house for a song, less than half the going rate for such a property, in exchange for being custodian caretaker, looking after all problems including a toilet shattered (exploded to shards) by freezing in the back extra quarters (self contained originally for staff) during a particulary cold winter week. And landscape grooming. My house had formerly been the official Embassy digs for the San Salvadorian Embassy, until the embassy was thrown out of the country. San Salvadorians used to hang their plentiful laundry out the windows summer and winter, I was told by neighbors. There were chickens, too, I was told, inside. The house had been empty for four years before I moved in. Had the house for three years. When I moved in, the yard had been neglected for over four years and the front was a mass of weeds and wildlife nearing thigh high. I bought the toughest most grunty power mover money could buy and cut the mess twice, then swithed it for a top of the line Lawnboy mower/mulcher, which (combination) brought the wild growth under control, and started pulling weeds with a kitchen knife, every few days I would go out and pull more weeds, such that by the second year my large front lawn was the most weed free, glorious looking rich green front lawn on the street. Got a lot of praise from the neighbors. Of course the richest greenest part, was where the septic tank leached. Getting back to the Ecuadorian household four doors up the street to the south, the former (Ron Basford cabinate minister estate): one afternoon the police arrived and collected over $250,000 in Canadian money stacked in piles on the living room floor, and much more than that in cocain sitting around in kilo bags. It was a major international bust. Just goes to show what a neighborhood can be like in this day and age. For the remaining year that house was locked up and vacant. The irony being that all this MONEY was happening just four doors up the street when I barely had enough money for the barest of day to day groceries, every cent earned by flower selling going for parts and materials for the loudspeaker and 'Airframe' sound experiments, back in 1981 to 1984 in that house on the shore of the Rideau River 4 kilometers south of Ottawa. And now to the main gist of the short story. The next door neighbor immediately south was the head of the business adminstration for the Atomic Energy of Canada, yes, the outfit that sells nuclear reactors. He was an engineer from England, but not involved in nuclear engineering he was the head of the business adminstration. He was the big cheese for all things financial for the Atomic Energy Commission of Canada. And not that old, I would say, in his late 40's. In the A-Frame house on the Ridea River, which I rented, was an ongoing research project into the developement of loudspeaders that had open ports and resonated, totally different approach to the current theories in which such things as cross over relays, and other equations, were used to produce sound. In the 'Airframe' research, no such techonology as was being pioneered by the world famous accoustic labs of the National Research Council sound labs under the dictatorship of Dr. Tool was being used at all, in the research underway in this executive bungalow on the shore of the Rideau River 4 klicks south of Ottawa, circ. 1983, whose neighbor four doors up the street got busted with over half a million in concain proceeds one surprising day when everything seemed quiet in this swanky shoreline one and a half blocks long, 4 kilometers south of Ottawa on the Rideau River. Immediately to the north, the house on the other side had full sized outdoor below ground swimming pool, and other swankities, the owners a husband and wife team of famous eye surgeons who were away most of the time. Like I say, it was a street to remember. In conjunction with the new research in my house, it had been discovered that dirt cheap 4 inch tweeters, suspended by wires from laboratory stand frames in the open air, when connected to speaker leads also being used to drive large studio monitor speakers, could kick ass the sound (in manners entirely consistent with sound kicks forming part and parcel of sound experiment now being descripted throughout 'NEWSONICS' circ. 1995), in such a way that amazing transformation would occur in the quality of 'live presence' sound, and fidelity, even back then, circ. 1983. The first successfull demo of open air resonators used 4 inch tweeters originally marketed as Musac speakers in elevators, world wide. Soon after this original 'Airframe' effect was first observed, an experiment was set up to demonstrate the effect, using traditional studio monitor powerful speakers in a pair, kick assed by the 'Airframe' open air resonators now featured climped in handmade frames perched on top of two hand made microphone stands, with the 4 inch tweeters held in open air squared frames by plastic wires pillaged from an electric weed trimmer's cord drum, pulled taught, all this work and design done by brother, me helping. A later 'Airframe' prototype used very expensive picture frame hanging wire to mount its speakers in the open air. These 'second' prototypes still exist, lying as if having no meaning in existence, coated with 12 years of accumulated dust, upstairs in the back room where I sleep on the bare carpeted floor to elimate all and any back problems, sleeping thus, it turns out. But, back to historical times, circ. 1983. The effect of the first demonstrated 'Airframe' devices was most dramatic, and it is obvious that thoughts of 'new discovery', and 'millions to be made', were roaring around the head chambers of the other fello and myself involved in this 'secret' research' at this time, circ. 1983. Poverty, and no no you are totally wrong value judgements by world authorities in accoustics here in Ottawa who refused to listen to a demo and pronounced what proved to be fatal denials as scientific authorities, brought that research project to an end at the end of 1985. Alas. How much gets lost by old adages protecting concepts that are unsupportable as time moves on. Too late to whine and sniffle. The damage was done in the tail end of 1985 when the whole 'Airframe' project was folded due to university degrees and Phd's and professional conceit of a certain kind who can take control of a state in beliefs and dictate it, vrs original creativity. Wouldn't even allow a demo to take place, so complete was the disbelief, causing money which was moving forward in the background to go into production, to vanish in a glance and one word, 'sorry'. Meanwhile, back to the short story, in an executive home on the shore of the Rideau River, circ. 1983.... We wanted to show a demonstration to the next door neighbor, the business manager of the Atomic Energy Commission, but were worried about keeping secrets secret. So I headed out to a place that sold old electronic parts from junk bins for pennies, and pulled out a 2 1/2 x 2 1/2 inch piece of electronics with a few resisters and other very tecky looking things attached to it, and for a dollar, headed home with the device, and soldered two paired speaker lead transparant wires sticking from it, and stuck the other ends of the wires into an open slot behind the Harmon Karmon very expensive amplifyer being used at that time, then we called the next door neighbor over, pointed straight to the device sitting next to the Harmon Karmon amplifyer with important looking wires leading into the back of it, and told him the stunning impact of the new stereo sound he was listening to, was due to the super secret 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR', pointing to the piece of high tech junk sitting beside the amplifyer in a tiny, but important looking way, on a shelf next to the obviously expensive Harmon Kardon power amplifyer. Buttons were pushed, and sounds changed, and the house filled with resonances, and I kept pointing to the little device getting off on the lark saying things like "pretty impressive, eh", pointing to the device. Like I said, the whole thing was my idea. "Let's call it an ohmwatt generator", said I. "There is no such thing", I was told. "Who cares", said I, "we have to call it SOMETHING"! 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR'?, the next door neighbor muttered many times, deep in thought, every time we pointed out the existence of this unique device, as being the reason for the existence of the amazing stereophonic sound, as we did our demo for him, he being a professional engineer knowing full well that something was up, but not anything he could put his finger on, because the 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR'?, looked like something that should WORK. And so we arrive back in history to the present time, today, circ. mid August, 1995. Well, at this moment, the famed 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR'? is hanging by a couple of straight pins, in the hallway of my place in Orleans East of Ottawa, as a decoration. I came across it the other day when rummaging through a box upstairs looking for hexagon shaped objects. Just the fact of it hanging there on the hall wall has made me remember those early days twelve years ago, when I concieved and staged the only deception ever undertaken by by me in my life, in the device named the 'OHM-WATT GENERATOR', which in fact completely fooled the engineer who lived next door on the Rideau River 12 years ago, because he never for an instant questioned that fact that the device had something to do with the amazing new clarity he was hearing in stereophonic sound was due to the device, even though the device itself consisted of nothing but a piece of guts from an old test tube radio, bought for a buck from a junk bin in a high tech clearing house, and one of its wires was simply shoved into a hole in the back of a Harmon Karmon Power Amplifyer, and the other wire tied to two speaker leads, all that was needed to make it look HOOKED UP. Yes indeed, the OHM-WATT GENERATOR lived, and was a complete success! P.S. regards the next door neighbor who was given the demonstration. This Atomic Energy Commission business administrating engineer was a research type himself. He raised the garage attached to his house, and had its underneath and the most of the driveway dug out by giant back hoe, moved the garage far forward onto the driveway, built an addition to the side of the house where the garage used to be, and the whole of the below ground new space under the addition, under the garage, and under the again covered driveway, was turned into a workshop and who knows what he was doing down there with all of that new space, underground. But I am sure it was interesting because he was no dummy. In fact the RCMP turned up at my door one afternoon asking very suspicious questions about him but said it was just due to his routine regular five year job renual, and I was at the utmost best of my wits to try and answer all questions to the RCMP in ways not to cast the slightest doubt toward my next door neighbor, because there was not a thing I was aware of that would make me want to say anything otherwise. Regards that next door neighbor circ. 1985, and our side by side houses: Tent catapillars had started creeping up the shore line of the Rideau River from Manitok, four klicks to the south, and by the summer of the third year of my rental of the home, had hit on one of the giant willow trees lining the shore of the Rideau on the property of this next door neighbor. But had not yet reached my giant willow trees, no worms were yet in my branches. So one afternoon I went out with a rope with a large knot tied to the end, and threw it over the infected branches on a couple of the trees two doors over, and managed to pull those branches down, with thanks from that neighbor, then moved to the willow trees next door, but try as I did, I could not get the rope up over the most infected branch on one of his giant trees, a branch that hung out high in the air over his boat dock. I tried all afternoon without success, and the next day the next door neighbor was out the entire afternoon and evening, trying one thing then another, including tall ladder, to get a rope slung over the branch completely infected with tent catapillars, without success. As the sun set, he was still out there on his dock, trying. The next day I happened to glance out and saw a huge branch of silked folliage lying on his dock and him standing there, in karki shorts, looking down at it. Out I went to inquire as to how he had managed to pull the branch down. "I don't know", was his reply, "I came out to study the problem, and what do you think happened, the branch just suddenly fell from the tree to the dock, I didn't do a single thing". And so, there were both of us, standing on his dock, looking down at this huge bundle of foliage, both deep in thought, wondering. One last remark about this rented house. After three years of research, inside, the wall to wall carpets were a mess. Normal vacumm cleaners had no effect whatsoever, what with wood fibres, and small pieces of wire ends cut and clipped as research went on, every kind of debre littering the broadloom carpeting. Finally an Electrolux industrial vacumm cleaner was purchased, with an industrial strength rug beater, it had been used as a demo model so the purchase was made with a substantial discount. And it worked. The rug beater roared, and things just disappeared from the carpet. Boy what a luxury for house cleaning a research site. And then it came time to leave. The owners were retiring from the Iron Ore of Canada mine the fellow had been head of, and the house was to be extensively renovated before they moved in. A young architect arrived from Toronto with a suitcase and sleeping bag and spread the sleeping bag out on the living room floor, stayed there for two days planning, before getting to work, giving us time to truck all of the house and research contents to Almonte using a U-HAUL closed small box trailer behind the car, load after load. However, that last sentence is just filler for the story. The story is that by the time we were ready to vacate, the wall to wall carpeting was a grimy mess, despite the industrial Electrolux vacumm cleaner. So, the heaviest duty carpet cleaner money could rent was picked up from the rental store and for a whole day every square inch of the broadloom carpets ware steam cleaned until they gleamed as if brand new. And then, the final thing said by the young architect as we were leaving with the last load of cargo, was, that the very first thing he was going to do, starting the next day, was to strip out all of the broadloom, and, in fact, did we want it, we could come back in a couple of days and pick up all of it for free, if we wanted. My brother and I looked at each other and went blink blink blink a few times remembering the work it took to steam clean the carpets to perfection the day before the architect arrived, then all three of us, we started to laugh. - Finis - FLIES KNOW ------------------------------------------------------------------- August 23, 1995, 10:10 AM. Wednesday morning. There is something flies know. How they know, or exactly what, is not a probable cause for scientific investigation but merely confirmation. For, what flies seem to know, seems to be telepathic. What this outrageous statement means is that flies know something, and that something is beyond compare, scientifically speaking. Here is a case in point: As the summer of 95 revved into high gear, a few more flies began to appear each week. One thing you know about flies is that a female will choose a spot, then once there, will not abandon it, and will not dislodge without extra work. For instance a female fly can choose a spot on your knee, when you, wearing shorts, sit down in the easy chair to watch a moment of TV. The fly will land on your knee, get shoed away, come back, get shoed away, come back, and this idiot human/fly game can go on for hours. When you arrise and depart, no fly, until you come back and sit down in the same chair, and presto, a moment later, the fly will be on your knee. A female fly having chosen some spot in the environment, for instance something on the wall, can be easily verified as being female, for as she sits there, a bevy of other rapidly swirling and circling flies will keep coming in on the same spot and every so often the female lifts when one of the flies actually lands right on her, and drive it away, and this can go on for days. A case in point about telepathy, on the other hand, is as follows: Picture the weary researcher, working at home, and it is now mid afternoon. Barely able to keep the eyes open, the researcher clumbers upstairs and crashes in the back room, lays down, to go to sleep, for a quick nap. However, there are flies in the room. Several. They swool in, land on hand, on face, on shoulder, on exposed elbow. A quick flick of the wrist, or shrug, causes the fly to depart. One fly, obviously female, chooses instead the ring around the right nostril. There she lands. A brush of the hand drives her away. There she lands. A brush of the hand drives her away. There she lands. This, you understand, is taking place when the body, and mind, are most urgently in wish of deep relaxing sleep for half an hour, so at first, the brushes of the hand against the tickling nostral are cursory, quick, to get the job done. Nothing more. Another brush of the hand to get the job done. This time, one eyeball is open. There she lands. On the seventh land the body is bolt upright standing squarely on two feet. And the mind is on a single track: 'That's enough! No More! I WILL GET THE FLYSWATTER! This, you understand, is on a hot muggy mid summer, mid afternoon, day. Down the stairs straight to the cupboard under the kitchen sink where a yellow fly swatter is hanging there, and straight back up the stairs to the horizontal position, the yellow fly swatter lying nearby at hand's reach in an instant, if needed, hopefully not. The truth is, that in the 3 weeks since the female fly landed on exactly the same spot on the ring of the right nostril seven times in a row, not a single fly has landed on the body, upstairs in that room. When I got back to the room, there were still flies swooling around busy as ever, but not one, this time, landed on the body. I fell right away to sleep in peace, and have not been pestered by so much as one single fly land, since. The intent in mind was, that, I had been compromising enough, with no wish to harm a fly, but seven times on the same spot on the ring of the right nostril was too much, and if pestered again, I was willed to take action. And, not a single fly landed anywhere from that moment on. The yellow flyswatter is still up there, within hand's reach, and has never been used, not even once. How do flies know! A second theme to this short story is that a fly lived for over two months on exactly the same spot on the pendulum clock that hangs from the left side in the doorway from the living room to the kitchen, this being the pendulum battery operated clock driver that has two geometric six sided fractal matrix paper cutouts festooned to its shaft, swinging constantly back and forth through the air in small arcs back and forth to boost the fidelity of sound in the bass ranges of the sound experiments. For over two months, a small housefly lived on exactly the same spot, the 25 minutes after 5 position, on the outer rim of the lower festooning paper cutout, the smaller of the two taped to the pendulum shaft. For hours every day, day and night, there would be the fly, facing downward, sometimes angled, sometimes changing position to watch me as I passed through the doorway, one way, then the other. At one point at least half a dozen other flies were buzz bombing the spot, the female lifting and combating in mid air, driving the intruder away, sometimes two or three intruders at the same time, all being driven away by midair combat, then back to the same spot would immediately go the fly. It was as if we became friends, the fly entitled to that spot due to long term familiarity, with me. It has been a couple of weeks since the fly lived on the spot, but the legacy of her life is still there, 100's of tiny brown fly specks covering the lower right edges of the hexagram, on both sides but mostly on the side facing the livingroom, where I used to sit in the easy chair watching TV or reading and every so often glance up to see if the fly was still there, riding the same spot on the hexagram as the pendulum swung. - Finis - NOSTALGIA -------------------------------------------------------------------- August 23, 1995, 11:05 AM. Wednesday morning. Another bit of graffiti nostalgia has just strayed into mind from the lurky jerks of days gone by, long forgotten, triggered by an event happening next door. It has happened that new neighbors have moved in next door, on August 18, 1995. It happened the next morning, that at 9 AM, stepping out the patio door to fill the bird feeder hanging in the branches of the small tree out back, I noticed a tall white flag pole strapped to a tall post on the patio next door, and a Canadian flag tatting in the breeze from the top of it. Hmm, I didn't know what to make of it. Knowing the new neighbor was a sargent in the military didn't help, because he was not the type being depicted on national TV these days as being Canadian military types, with very strange initiation rituals and so on causing alarm amongst most of the cross country population. In line with this, neighbors who moved in last summer three doors further over, feature a young fellow who flew the line of top dog fighter jets with every kind of control imaginable on the toggle stick gripped by one hand, until moving into a desk job and coming up to Canada. But back to the new next door neighbors, who moved in a few days ago and within 24 hours were flying a Canadian flag out back, the only flag in the neighborhood, out in place on day two, after the move. Then at twilight it was gone. The next morning I noticed that a different flag was flapping vigorously in the gusting breezes of the day. Then the breezes fell dormant, as did the flag, hanging limply down the pole. I made a joke as both of us happened to be out the back doors at the same time, that what was needed was a large fan pointed up to the flag to give it the right stuff. The next morning, another flag was flying at full mast. This morning, yet another flag, is flying at the mast. There is a collection. And THIS is VERY different. VERY different indeed. Some mirth, I think, is behind that flagpole. It reminded me of the first time ever that I stepped out of ranks and refused to stand to attention at the singing of God Save The Queen. It had already happened, during grade school, that I had gotten bold enough to be able to surreptiously peek with an eye open during the reciting of the Lord's Prayer every day at the end of classes in grade school. One day in grade two I just happened to open an eye and peek around when every kid was standing bolt upright erect beside their desks and all reciting the Lord's Prayer in loud voices. Thereafter, I never felt compelled to follow the hord exactly when the prayer was said, at the end of each day, every day, in grade school, and 2 years of high school in Winnipeg, circ. the mid 40's to the middle of the 1950's. The act of official rebellion against nationalistic prerequisites occurred near the end of grade ten, still in Winnipeg before a family move to Vancouver. In River Heights district in Winnipeg, the local neighborhood theatre, the Academy Theatre, was more than just a shell, box shaped, that showed movies. Its interior was done up in the manner of an Italian courtyard, with wrought iron balconies and curves, and so on, something in the manner of a small opera house, and across the blue painted ceiling moved projected clouds, stars, and the moon, in slow motion, as the movies progressed through their two or so hours. Every Saturday afternoon us gang of teen agers would go to the movies at the Academy Theatre, regardless of what was on. It was because the Saturday Afternoon Matinee was dirt cheap. At the end of every showing, when the theatre closed for a couple of hours before the evening shift, God Save the Queen was played popping and hissing and very loud over the sound system, and everyone in the theatre, usually full, would snap to their feet, their bum cheeks clamped tightly together, and sing God Save The Queen at top volume. I know their bum cheeks were clamped tightly together because mine certainly were. It is the only way you can stand perfectly erect everything correct except the salute. One day, I just, slouched in my seat. I did not stand, I slouched in my seat thinking, wow, wow, I have been doing the stand all this time since almost the day before I was born, and the fact is I don't have to. I looked discretely around, sort of the kind of one eyeball peep that only teenager's on the sly are good at, and noticed that not one other person in the entire theatre was sitting down. Every one, including my best friends, were standing bolt erect bellowing the anthem. I was alone. And very happy. From that day on, I have been free to choose the time and place for my jingoistic show that might compromise my position at least from the way it looks to other people. For instance on Christmas Eve in 1965 a jewish gal friend (triple honors in third year at the university we both attended), talked me into attending a high Catholic mass, her gist being that every year she goes to a different church on Christmas Eve to see how the different religions handle the occasion. This year the church of choice was the central Catholic Cathedral in downtown Vancouver. So, as the various prayers were being said, people kneeling, people standing, people singing, people sitting, on cue from the many priests and boys shuffling around the alter, I got to peeking around with one eyeball open, and when noticing that every soul in the cathedral was kneeled at the same time, including my friend who was just being polite, I decided not to kneel, mainly because the kneel board was killing my kneecaps. Suddenly a hard push and my head is slammed down into my chest. I recover, and wonder what the hell was that. I am sitting upright looking around at this moment. Suddenly my head is shoved hard into my chest again, and held solidly down, this time somewhat painfully. I fight free and look around. Behind me, crouched over me, two hands still on my head and pushing down hard, growling fiercly in my face, is a thin middle aged man, his face contorted with rage, gritting 'You will Kneel! Kneel! you son of a bitch!" At this point my friend, the jewish girl, has caught on to what was happening, and urged in whisper, 'c'mon let's get out of here!'. At this point he had my hair in a tight grip and was wrenching it up in a yoke hold. A couple of priests up front had turned from the waving of the thickly smoking incense braziers, and were looking in our direction at the commotion while intoning nonstop. And we left as politely as fastly as we could manouver past the knees plugging the row, and departed. That is the last time I have ever been in a church. It was circ. 1965, in Vancouver. In gist, I was forced by physical danger to walk out in the middle of the only Catholic mass I have ever attended in my life. P.S. I don't have a patio. Every one else in sight does. I rent, and cannot afford any extra expense. Most of the patio decks have been built in the last three years. These houses were built now eight and nine years ago and were square box designs with similar colored aluminum siding everywhere, exactly the kind of house designs on the exterior that were parodied in the 50's and 60's as the worst kind of devolopement that could plague humankind as time turned the corner into the 21st Century. Now, these cartoon houses freely paradied in the scientific movies of yesteryear, are the designs of choice as time hurtles inexorably into the future, circ. 1995 here in Orleans a few klicks east of Ottawa, where it seems there are 30 thousand or more homes of the same kind of designs, so uniform that you cannot tell where you are on most streets in Orleans, until you learn to read the street signs, and gradually get familiar with the whole large area, that tends to look the same, exactly the same, every where you look, or drive, or twist, or turn, or wander. Not even one man built home that is six sided. Whatever happened to imagination! Where are the creative breakthroughs? There are none, at least from exterior aesthetics points of view. The whole of residential society is becoming more and more uniform in the most bland and uninteresting ways. And the beauty spots, the few that are left, are being destroyed so that a few more houses of similar kind can be built there. All of it, lost, for a few dollars of more profit to small minded builders who get the rights and build there. No more grand visions. They seemed to have faded out in the 70's when those who were rapacious stayed behind carrying leather satchel brief cases called suck bags, and became the dominant force running the beaurocracies of every so-called free nation in the world. P.S. once more. I have just noticed, walking for a moment from this computer into the living room, that a house fly is once again, hanging face down on the preferred spot, on the lower hexagram of the pendulum clock in the doorway to the living room. Is this the same fly! I don't know. How long do housefly's live? Needless to say, however, I was surprised to see one sitting there swinging the air in the same spot on the hexagram. The fly flew away as soon as I passed by. .... and now, two minutes later, it is back, this time on the back side of the hexagram, facing the kitchen, and looking at me. .... I just went over to look at it. Got to within two inches and suddenly it flew away. Do flies really know something that scientists don't. I am convinced (over the years) that flies have intelligence. .... it's back, not a 64th of an inch off the last spot, on the backside of the moon, so to speak, facing the kitchen, only this time, sitting at a slightly different angle. .... and now it is there, on the front side, in exactly the spot a fly has occupied for over three months. Swinging the air back and forth on the pendulum. I don't think it is the same fly, it seems smaller, unless the other fly, that occupied that nitche in Orleans for a couple of months, was pregnant most of the time and so had a slightly bigger body. I don't know that much about flies. What I have learned that is NEW today, is that a hot spot for a fly, can stay a hot spot, for months at a time. .... This has not taken long. I went back after five minutes and the fly was still there. I got to within two inches of it, and when moving around to the front to face the fly head on, eyeballs to faceted eyeballs, it flew away, doing sweeps back and forth through the air in front of me, then took off and vanished. I backed off. Less that 30 seconds later, it reappeared, landing exactly on the same spot on the swinging hexagram, then it turned downwards, and sat there. I got to within an inch of it, head on, and it did not move. Must be my vibes. There is no way in the known universe do I want to harm this fly, at this present moment in time. Expand that wish to all life. That kind of wish, could save the planet. I am convinced of it. If every soul on Earth were to share such similar wishes, death, decay, and disintegration, would end. .... I moved my forefinger to within a half inch of the fly then it took off. It followed me through the kitchen into the dining room, when it broke off, and went back to the swinging hexagram. Nostalgia graffiti time again. I have just remembered a small lake about 6 miles north of Victoria BC, occupied by aquaintances whom I went to visit one afternoon, circ. the summer of 1958, when out on the dock I noticed in the clear water, about two feet deep, a number of small fish swimming around. These were little guys about two to four inches long. One was a little larger than the others, and seemed intent on keeping all other little fish at bay, out of an area to the right at the end of the dock. Curiousity got the better of me. I went inside to the kitchen counters of the cabin and looked for bits of food for the fish. Sure enough, all of the fish gulped down whatever I dropped in the water, the big buy spending most of its time keeping the other fish at bay, then gulping too when there was peace. The big guy followed my hand up to the surface when I placed food right into the water. Just then, the friends returned to the cabin. I remarked that there seems to be friendly fish in the water under the dock, and that, in fact, one fish was so friendly I felt I could hold it in my hand. 'Oh, HIM!' all of the friends exclaimed. 'We know who you mean, we have him out of the water all the time!' In contrast, right now the O.J. Simpson trial is live on the CNN news channel, (1:05 PM), and a defence lawyer with a world ranking forensic scientist are exploring what happens when a drop of blood from an eyedropper is dropped on a sheet of paper with the hand held stationary, and when the hand is moving, each drop being carefully, meticulously, labelled, and entered as evidence. The judge (Ito) ruling on ever single word, every single move of the hand. This is month NINE of that trial and they have got to the point of scientific techniques of single drops of blood. Whatever has happened to intelligence! especially of the rational kind! How can a drop of blood, dropped on a sheet of paper in a court room, ever prove whether the poor man is innocent or not. The facts of the matter are self evident, O.J's blood started creeping across America within a day of the disaster. When about 1/3 of the U.S. southwest was covered with O.J.'s blood, the investigators called it quits and claimed they now had enough of that smeared blood to proceed to trial, and the existence of the blood everywhere is what they claim is proof of wrongdoing. When their chief witness for the police is discovered to have openly perjured, due to the discovery of many tapes found to have severe recorded counter contents, the prosecution stands up and claims there is no perjury, no case by the defence, because all of the prosecution's copies of the tapes happen to have large blank areas where the perjured comments are supposed to be. That is proof that no perjury occurred, the fact that the tapes are mightily blanked is proof of the guilt of Simpson and the malpractice of the defence, so claims the prosecution. Is this True!? It CAN'T be. And yet it is. (It later turns out that the tapes the defence have, have no blanked areas, an identical set originally passed on to the prosecution later had blanks)! The problem with corruption is, that once it is active enough to become exposed on the surface, it is already too deeply entrenched to be dissolved because corruption from that point on (from the point of being exposed) seeks only to protect and expand itself, and the more deeply entrenched and powerful the corruption becomes, the more idiotic it displays its intelligence, in self evident truths of malpractice, openly and wanton. In the case of the Bernardo trial in Canada, he says she did it, she says he did it, a case of stalemate. What is obvious is something far more sinister. When the case first broke, not solved by provincial and local city police after an extensive investigate but by one of the parties staggering into the emergency ward of a hospital half beaten to oblivion by hammer blows, angry enough that harsh words were spoken about the source, leading the police straight to the arrest of both him and her, the young Bernardo's, in two murders of young teenage girls. When the case first broke, satanism was the solid single word under scoring all of the public pronouncements, until a judge ruled that the satannic elements were so shocking, so disturbing, they were not to be revealed to the public and thereafter all reference to satannic acts were stricken and prohibited from public view, by law. Now, it is the trial time of the male participant. Since the Bernardos video taped everything, it was ruled that the videos could not be shown to the public, just the sound tracks, anything heard in the courtroom on the videos could also be heard by the population at large. This is news you can use, supposedly. What instead is happening is that the most gruesome, most unsettling, most shocking acts of rape and sadism, are being broadcast, LIVE, in the most excoriate of details, WORLD WIDE, daily, from a court room in the center of Canada. Who says, that Canada and its justice system is not diabollical. - Finis - August 23, 1995, 2:05 PM. Wednesday afternoon. The fly is there on the same spot on the pendulum. And now, here is some really interesting NEWS. It just came by a phone call. Here is how it happened: It happened that this spring I tossed the yard wastes in an empty area against the side of the house, since both composters (tall black plastic shell sold by the city of Orleans for $14, at the back, and a cedar wood larger composter also sold by Orleans for $23, at the side of the house), were both filled to the brim, so this spring's yard wastes went in as a long mound piled against the side of the house, by me. The problem was, that the landlord took one look at the pile, and started panting one hot foot to the other, exclaiming; 'no, no, the insects will get inside the aluminum siding and destroy the house'! So, promises were made, to remove the offending compost the moment use of a pickup truck could be arranged to haul the stuff away. That did not occur until day before yesterday, Monday afternoon. My brother returned from our computer company head offices with a brand new pick up truck owned as a third vehicle by our new chief CEO, fortunately a somewhat independently wealthy young man, recently of DIGITAL CORP, and pulling in $25,000,000 million a year for the CORP as a vice president, who now wants to use his creative talents to pull in lettuce for himself, no problem with us (my brother and I, because that is what we too want to do with the software we have developed), pulling in lettuce for ourselves as well. Back to the short story. Yesterday afternoon shortly after lunch the pick up truck gets backed into a suitable position on the ashfalt driveway, and I, borrowing a wheelbarrow once owned by his granddad from the 20-year-member of the RCMP who lives kitty corner across the street, start hauling loads of compost from the side of the house, then the two composters, to the pickup truck. A sheet of plastic has been layed out to underlay the deck of this brand new truck, and each wheelbarrow load is lifted by my twin brother and I to the deck where he dumps the barrow, then I truddle back to the side of the house for another load with the pitch fork. Load three is when my back starts to burn like the muscles are on fire. But, dilligent to the end, I percevier to the end until all of the compost is gone and a huge mound fills the pickup. Another sheet of plastic is layed over the top, plus four rolls of carpet, two from the next door neighbor (from the Vietnamese Dentist house who is selling his home to move to one better and has renovated to improve the price), plus two sections of front hall carpet from the other house next door, passed on as a gift by the women official of Canada's Corrections Canada, the federal outfit that decides who stays in prison and who goes free, she left the carpets along with a couple of bags of last minute garbage, and one bag for the newspaper collection, for me to put out with the upcoming garbage collection today, the day she moved the last bits August 17th, before the new neighbors arrived. The third small roll of carpet, stored in our garage, I know not where it came from. The fourth, a long heavy roll, my brother and I have been hanging on to for about seven years hoping some day to find a use for it. Now the use is at hand, to spread it out in the shipping and delivery area of the new head office of our company, Look Software, which makes Virus Alert, an anti virus for IBM and Dos compatable computers. So, all of this has been loaded on the pick up truck and back to the office drives my brother, to get rid of it, before getting back to business. Here is what happened. When finally loaded, my twin brother drives the pick up truck back to head office, and four guys, including himself, wheezed, grunted, and groaned, getting the compost off the truck, by hand, without a pitch fork, without a shovel, and spread it around in an obvious large area under the trees and around the grass behind the building now called our head office, on Albion Road in South Ottawa. It, the compost, was everywhere. It included unrendered branches, cedar shrub cuttings, broken up woody shafts of 16 foot high stinging nettle that got out of control last summer in a corner of the back yard, unrendered vines pulled from the back fence in the spring, maple tree leaves, earth, clay soil, worms, and so on, all spread out around the ground behind the head office. A few moments ago he phoned, laughingly reporting boy oh boy you would not believe what's happened. They've just discovered that ALL of the compost, spread out by hand under the trees and around the large area behind the building by four guys, day before yesterday afteroon, is completely GONE! There is not a shred of compost left to indicate that anything had been spread there. Not even a small clump of earth. Where did it go? Who took it? And why? Everyone here is scratching their heads. The one thing self evident is that that load of compost had value. Speaking of which, one of the guys who helped spread the compost, is the official technical assistant and high tech expert. It happened, later on Monday, that arrangement was made with a local computer store owner in Orleans, formerly a federal government senior systems supervisor, to test several new programs written in the new Dos Windows 95 version to see how the new 95 Windows programs were looking in that new kind of computer environment. The technical assistant had never been to this computer store in Orleans, so instructions were judiciously given as to how to get there, by my twin brother, who then left the head office, came here, talked to me for a moment, headed to the bank, did other things, came back here, then mentioned he had left the technical specialist back at head office and was due to meet him shortly at the computer store in Orleans, and took off. A short while later my brother was back, with a story to tell. Coming down onto the main street of Orleans and turning left to head to the computer store in the middle of a long stretch between traffic lights, when going to turn left onto the parking lot of the small strip mall which houses the computer store, his way was blocked by a car coming straight ahead from the distant traffic light. Right there on that spot, 'honk honk, hey', guess whose car was blocking my brother's. You've got it, it was the technical assistant, having just driven in straight from south Ottawa all the way fighting heavy traffic way out East to Orleans, and there were the two, nose to nose, two cars, in rendezvous not 1 second apart at the turn to the parking lot in front of the computer store, after having gone completely their two separate ways for over two hours and twenty klicks apart as the crow flies. That is a co-incidence that is beyond metaphysical. - Finis - CORRUPTION ------------------------------------------------------------------- August 25, 1995, 9:10 AM. Friday morning. Corruption rears its ugly head again. I have just heard, on the CNN news channel, that prosecutors are doing everything they can to block testimony from a world famous forensic scientist, on the drying time of blood. No doubt they want to block that! Blood slickened glistening glove found mid afternoon in hot dry scortching heat the next day, laying right out in the open, where it has been supposedly laying all along, does not logically compute. Wet, sticky, a day later? This, (if you will remember), is a glove from the pair that was found by demonstration to be far too small, to fit on the hand of O.J. Simpson. The gloves simply could not fit. It does not compute. Someone goofed. The lack of size has not been mentioned since. Corruption is roaring very loudly from the head of the monster that is overlooking the consciousness of America at the present time. I know that my own blood starts to harden within minutes after a scratch or cut, and within half an hour a hard solid dark scab has formed. I understand that all blood does this, hardens and changes color as soon as it is released from the blood stream. And even after a gruesome or grisly traffic accident, within two hours; after for instance the humans have been carted off, and the vehicles towed to police compounds; that officers and fireman can stand in an intersection trying to wash the blood away with firehoses, often having to use a broom to work loose the dried blood. So how can fresh glistening blood be found a day later on evidence the prosecutors claim is PROOF of wrongdoing. It does not compute. Two ice cream containers found at the scene were still hard, had not had time to melt and the store owner who sold the ice cream to the victims said a time of sale a whole lot later than a time needed to put Mr. O.J. at the scene. So something came up that caused the court to disallow the ice cream from the contest. Corruption rears its ugly head, once again. I am not an O.J. Simpson trial addict. I am, however, a planetary observer. And every so often, peeking in, to see what is happening in that trial, is enough to keep the consciousness alive and alert and aware as to just how far corruption will go to serve its own ends. One thing obvious is that whenever the prosecution is caught in a cross fire, or in an obvious contradiction, the prosecution immediately starts to shout, and proclaim, and emphatically make statements to the effect that the poor man is guilty and only HE can be guilty, and that the defence lawyers are rats and cunning manipulators, and so on, one shouted declare after another, no different in action than the rantings of moslem extremists who have 50 megatons of explosion wrapped to their midrifts and are ready to make a statement before, pulling the pin. The judge, lets these rants go on, after all, it is the prosecution. Prosecution witnesses have been allowed to ramble on for long minutes, even hours, making statements and eventually coming to their points. Seven months of it, in fact. Defence witness have scarcely been allowed by the judge to utter anything, other than the most basic of yes and no remarks. In contrast, you can see the attack and demolish approach (such as used by the O.J. presecutors), even in rotten kids, as soon as such a kid, or group of kids, is caught in a lie or contradiction, they immediately turn on the person who pointed out the lie, and start shouting any kind of smear, lie, attack, that comes to mind, mindless, and screetching, do these kids respond to the truth, when the good side of them has been trashed by society's malpractices. A good kid, caught momentarily in a bad situation, will change their story, come up with a new explanation in mid stride, will keep stretching a bogus reason or account until it becomes impossible, then let go and let the truth come out. Bad kids, on the other hand, the more pressed or pressured to account the truth, the more the attacks that do everything to evade the actual matter at hand. The prosecutors in the O.J. Simpson trial are doing this very thing, day after day, ranting, live, on TV, at times without vestige of rational intelligence. And so many down there, think these kinds of adults are the heroes of the nation. Whatever has happened to freedom of wisdom, freedom of understanding, freedom of illumination. Many serious thinkers take their time working through logics coming to their point, but none of these have been allowed to do that, in the trial of O.J. Simpson, when speaking favorably on behalf of the defence. Interesting. The worst are becoming the seeming self proclaimed best, when it comes to law and righteous judgement, a scene that has always been, but now, for the first time, being seen, right out in the open, live, on TV, on the surface of society. Times are changing, there is no question about THAT!. I have taken a risk, writing the above, because it is going to ellicit in some a direct astral-pyschic negative response directed straight at me, a whole bunch of lesser thoughts welling up and turbulating around unresolvable in an inner magnetic vortex. The problem is that the O.J. Simpson trial itself is engendering mighty astral-psychic responses of a negative kind every day, just by a few moments of exposure to it. The purpose behind such as myself having a few words to say in contrast, is that at least different thoughts, even if of a negative astral-psychic kind, will result in the reader. So, in that respect, some good will come of the writing, by the changing of crystalized points of view, even if I become a target of hate or persecution, or even revenge, after, for having said such things. It takes courage to act in positive ways in the midst of the decay and disintigration of a civilization where chaotic corruption has taken hold in the mass consciousness. A young writer of Canadian repute has produced a work that features pussy, violence, international intrigue, high tech infrastructure, a novel that makes James Bond look like a wooze, in terms of the amount of sex, violence, and savagery that permiates the novel, and makes 5 million bucks on the first book, then comes out with another, than another, and is given a Governor General's Medal in reward for the achievements, and then, is lifted to elevated status paramount and is appointed to the Privy Council of the Prime Minister himself, of Canada. This is true, it has happened this past year. A writer who became famous overnight for his intense visions of pussy and sadistic violence is now a member of the Privy Council of Canada, in recognition, his extremely profitable novels lauded by the press as a leading reason. Along come I, a seeking little voice talking another Reality, and ohhh, Watch Out!, this guy is Wild!. No way, do we want to Think about the kind of things This guy Writes about. Why is that. Fortunately, I am not alone in view nor with things to say that alarm perpetrators of corruption. Unfortunately, I am not self surviving enough to keep my mouth shut. I think, the instinct goes straight to conclusion, that the greatest good for the greatest number, and loving one another, serving one another, in honest, pure, heartfelt ways, supercede all other motives and purposes, for people I honor. Hence the say, it is one way one individual can at least try to do something to lesson the impact when society crash lands as the end result of corruption. It is a conclusion already predicted, for the outer-ego crash of society is already happening. And has been for some time. Teck Wars, a TV series, was the first to come out with major use of new breakthroughs in the use and concepts of Virtual Reality computer evolutions. Cocain brains, and the instincts of homosexual motives, dominate the drives behind the series. And if anyone thinks these images in Teck Wars are not visions straight from Hell, they are sadly disillusioned. In contrast why not use the same kind of Virtual Reality TV to portray images from Reality, of Cosmic scope, from the mansions and corridors that lead straight to the centers of Galaxies and to the positive, ressurrected potential future, of every human currently on Earth. It IS possible, you know. Hint Hint. All you have to do is look in the right direction. - Finis - August 25, 1995, 5:40 PM. Friday afternoon. P.S. Forgot to mention, there are 30 flags in the collection next door. One different for every day of the month. Blows people away, says the neighbor. Today, at noon, I noticed that today's flag flapping straight out in the noonday breeze, happens to be American. Yes it is, the stars and stripes, exactly the flag you see on American postage stamps and in front of the American Embassy downtown. - Finis - August 25, 1995, 9:10 PM. Friday evening. P.S. Forgot to mention, the work I had to do in helping in the design of a new version of our program is over. It has been quiet here for the past 4 days, with nothing for me further to do except spend an hour each day for 2 days helping the technical expert get around monkies bedeviling the Corp. Bulletin Board. Turned out one shareware (called the Fossil Driver) needed its switches set a certain way to accomodate the use of a new 600 dollar high speed modem able to connect to all callers at all rates of speed in terms of BAUD rates. A high energy power line surge had blown the modem only a couple of weeks after it had been put into use working flawlessly, and back to the factory it went, while substitute modems were tried with major problems coping with what was becoming an increasingly obvious case of dirt and noise interferring with old telephone lines in a part of the south part of Ottawa not yet outfitted with super modern high speed carriers. To finish the story, my job here, for two days finishing yesterday, was to contact the Corporate BBS using my modem set to different speeds and see what happened. What happened is that at first the mighty modem (now back from factory repairs), was not connecting at high speed, only a smash of static (spurious meaningless ascii codes) would cross my screen the moment connect was made, and then, it would connect at high speed, but not at lower speeds, for instance at 2400 and 9600 BAUDS. That ended day one's saga. Day two began with connects at 2400 BAUD, and at 19200, and higher, but not at 9600. The saga ended yesterday with one phone call from the technical expert who asked me to dial in and there it was, everything worked perfectly. It turned out that when the new modem originally crashed by a power surge, a temporary old modem was called into service and many switches and configs were changed to try to get it to work, but it didn't, due to the dirty phone lines, and so mine was called into service for a week and a half, and it did the job except more Init String switches and Config options were changed to get my modem to work at its best, so that by the time the U.S. Robotics Courier modem arrived roarin' to go back from the factory, everything had changed so much the technical expert had lost track of the first used options and paramaters which had caused the Courier to work so successfully the first day it WAS put into use brand new. Such is the way things can go: that which works works well to get the job done, and when changed, it can be a duece of a job to get things back to the way they were when everything was working as it should. A case in point is the pendulum clock driver hanging in the doorway to my living room and used in the sound experiments to swing two paper fractal matrix geometric (six sided) cutouts back and forth in small arcs through the air to boost the fidelities of the low and bass ranges of sound. It can get knocked askew by the head running into it when passing too fast through the door. A few days ago, it took more than two days to get the thing swinging correctly again. It would swing for a few moments, or say 15 minutes, then quit. All day every day for more than two days attempts were made to get it to swing again, and finally, the other day, I got it back into the one position hanging from a thumb tack and propped with a bent tie from a Glad garbage bag, back into the groove so to speak, in which all vectors cancel and the pendulum continues to swing unattended. The clock motor's small black plastic case has to be rotated by just a slight inclination of about 3 degrees counterclockwise for the pendulum shaft to ride correctly over the magnet. And has to hang virtually straight down the wall from the thumb tack. Otherwise, ANY other position, and the thing simply will not swing for more than a few minutes. It turns out, there is more or less NO margin for error in how the pendulum is adjusted. Scientists who do experiments know what this is like, many an experiment simply will not occur if the most minute of adjustments are not PERFECT. The problem is, how to tell just what IS the perfect adjustment. Expecially if something causes a disturbance in the experiment and the true perfect adjustment is not recognized till it is too late. Finding that adjustment again, can take much of the intended run time for the experiment itself. A somewhat renowned computer business owner and designer in the area, demonstrated what can happen when the simplest of oversights leads to a saga that makes Donald Duck look like a hero in comparison. You remember the Donald Duck sagas from the 50's in the comic books, these are legendary in the artistry of cartoon humor, but humans can make them seem normal. Consider a saga occurred by a well known human in the Ottawa area. This individual was recently, for instance, the first in the area to demonstrate real time on-line Virtual Reality in a computer. You put on the helmut and there you were in a graphic art show room staring at a brand new Trans Am and as you moved your head in any direction what you saw changed, for instance the overhead casablanca fan going beat beat beat in the air like a slow motion helicopter blade, in cartoon fashion, or the large potted palm tree to the left, coming into view, then passing to the right with you behind it looking at the rear of the bright red car as you just sat there, turning your head to the left. This was exactly a year ago during Expo. But even then, there was a saga. The big tent held up by inner air pressure that housed the computer show had no air conditioning and the heat sored daily. Just when the media, the press, and TV, had discovered that Virtual Reality was real and up and running in that tent, and began to arrive for interviews and shots on TV, the heat blew a main software writing computer with mega hard drive and over $35,000 in custom developed software, blown away in a single tick of hot atoms. Fortunately the show could still go on, but nothing new could be added to the demo for awhile after the first opening days of Expo. This individual and associates had a half a million in PC computers to write the programs and software, plus the giant galvanized trunk sized box housing the Unix to run it. The problem was, how to make money with Virtual Reality gizmos that can only serve to demonstrate Virtual Reality. This individual has now also hooked his business into the InterNet as a node, a source, for other businesses to hook in with Home Pages, and buy and sell capabilities, etc., and, I have just heard, has done well inroading into Education markets now accessing InterNet. Such is modern progress, from days of lore long gone before, when the brain worked so slow you could fry it. Here is the story, circ. the winter, 1986, nine years ago. This individual is already doing well in certain circles, custom designing high speed IBM compatable computers, a new breed of machines completely taking over the Apple clone market. His machines were very advanced, they could go three to ten times faster than the normal IBM's available in those days, all put together by clone parts purchased on the spot market as they became available overseas from the orient. On a particular afternoon, circ. the winter 1986, sticking the head in the door of his establishment, what was seen was him on the floor with tools and meters probing and poking away, and parts of a computer scattered all over the table and the floor. The next day it was the same, only more, parts were scattered everywhere, all the way past nuts, bolts, screws, and circuit boards, to components unsoldered. On the morning of day three, it was still the same, the computer now unrecognizable as such, so much had been torn apart, dissassembled, including the parts bought intact and installed from the newly emerging clone's spot market, stripped apart. The story was that it was a special mean machine in terms of high speed whizz and bells and whistles so many they could hardly be imagined, and its clock didn't work! This, you must understand, is a fellow who would reach into an opening in a floppy disk drive with a long narrow plyer and do something that made the drive work twice as fast. This, you must understand, is a fellow who had a secret that could turn a normal hard disk into a turbo roarer, something he did when no one was looking. This, you must understand, is a fellow who built a high powered stereo audiophile amplifyer entirely from parts purchased at area high tech stores and wired together entirely from thought, not a single manual or page was turned for him to put together that new design for an Amplifyer in just two days soldering around the clock, just to see what it would sound like, and when done and it blew people away, he lost interest and turned back to computers. So, here is that brain, bum high up in the air as his knees grind against junk on the carpet, needles and probes going into the carcass of the mother board here, and there, none stop, the guy hardly able to do any more than grit through teeth that were becoming stubs as he tried to talk, explaining that NOTHING, NOTHING, can explain why the computer's clock was not working. He had not slept since the saga began, eating Kentucky Fried Chicken and Big Mac's, from friends sent out in a rush when hunger urged as the round the clock saga rolled on. Numerous high tech friends had come in to offer advice. None of it worked. The air in the room had a fierceness you could cut with scissars. The urgency had reached flashing news of an epic in progress, the cross talk reaching farther and farther out into the city. The wasted time was beyond desparate, the customer was waiting. And by the morning of day three, it was a very strange day in the room as thought was given to disassembling the mother board itself and checking every bit of circuit by hand. Curiosity had moved in with the motive, at this point. Why did the clock not work! Later that afternoon, the same room, same person, except the carpet and table are bare, the entire computer has been re-assembled and was working perfectly. What happened? was the immediate question. "If I had a brain I'd be dangerous", was the immediate reply. In the whole of that Donald Duck saga, the one thing he did not think to do, was to check the battery of the computer's clock. It seems the orientals had stuck in a bum battery for the clock, in order to have something that looked complete and ready to ship to Canada in a rush. And that was all that had made this super new fantastic high speed computer custom built for a federal government branch, produce only jolts when first turned on for its after-assembly bench tests. An immediate check in hurried haste can lead to locked thought in worried waste. I'll spell out the actual fact of the matter, in case all of this descripto has cost you too much grain in your logic: The fact that the battery had to be brand new had been taken for granted, since the mother board was brand new from the orient. The fact that the sly natives over there had slipped in a tossed out battery from the waste basket to get the sale was never intuited, because of the degree and intensity of the pre-concieved beliefs; to wit: it was a brand new battery because it was a brand new mother board, it was supposed to have a brand new battery. But didn't. See what I mean about painful logic. This was a true story. Another true story concerns a Federal Cabinate Minister and took place back in 1989. It happened that Canada was hosting an international conference of Nato Defence Ministers 30 miles toward Montreal on the Ottawa River at a resort named Montebello, and preparations were in the final stages for the computers that would hook into, and operate, the high tech side of the conference. It turns out that Canada's Minister of External Affairs, a former brief Prime Minister by the name of Joe Clark, was a natural born computer hack (like Al Gore the current vice president of the United States (1995)), and Joe, self taught, was able to handle all of his personal computers himself, setting up their routines, doing the configs, designing the applications, and so on. The story goes, I am told, that Joe liked to do this work himself, for him it was easy. Now it is Friday morning the day the Nato conference is to begin later that evening for a long weekend, oh m'god almighty the printer for the main PC computer in Joe's office in the Ministry of External Affairs, does not work! This is a vital bit of news. Immediately in comes the office tecky who cannot figure out why the printer doesn't work. In comes the trouble shooters, by the pairs, and none of them can figure out why the printer doesn't work. By this time the computer has been given every kind of diagnostic check, and re-boot configuration imaginable, starting with Joe's own advanced level techniques, and still the printer doesn't work and there is no known reason why. Step into the picture, another somewhat renouned individual from the greater regional area of Ottawa, this fellow a most reputed tech specialist who was so good he could demand and recieve $500 dollars an hour for a service call, plus minimum time four hours, starting the moment he accepted the call for service. The reason why he did not become a millionair is that he did not get that many calls, but when he did, (get a call) it was because all else had failed and others turned to him for help. So at 5 PM, long after things had become desparate in Joe Clark's office, the call went out for guess who to drive into town to take a look. It was one of those summer afternoons when a momentary cell was sending lashing sheets of rain across the area in huge squalls that made it almost impossible to see out the front windows of a Broncho with the wipers in overdrive, nevertheless in the midst of this the technical specialist drove into town on the Queensway at high speed and stopping the Broncho sideways, raced straight into Joe Clark's office. Here is how he relates the story. He stepped in to the office, took a long slow look around the room, walked over to the computer table, yanked the table out from the wall, reached to the wall for a printer cable hanging on a peg, yammed one end of the cable into the back of the computer, the other into the back of the printer, turned the printer ON, hit the PRINT SCREEN button, and walked out. That is, he says, the fastest $2500 dollars he ever made on a service call. What had happened is that a janitor the night before, doing a thorough job, had pulled the computer table out from the wall to vacumm behind it and when pushing the table back noticed a cable laying on the floor. Not knowing what to do with it, he simply hung it on a peg on the wall behind the machine. The next day, when it was discovered that the printer did not print, everyone immediately went to the inners, to the guts, the codes, the soft ware, the configs, and finally the bare bones of a computer's existence, and no luck. New chips, new bios, even that failed to resolve the problem. The reason why is that no one took a second to look behind the source, the computer itself. Mind you, behind the computer it was complex enough, with tangles of wires and cables for modems and networks and what have you. On the other hand, the first thing the friend (of whom this story is being told) did when walking in the door, was check the environment. He just automatically stopped and scanned the place looking for any anomalies, and there it was, a cable, hanging loose on the wall in front of everyone's faces in a place where there should not be any thing at all. You see, panic had set in when first it was learned that the computer had stopped working overnight, the panic causing everyone to use their mental instead of their intelligence. That is why he gets paid the big bucks, my friend told me in conjoint with the telling of this story. He sees what others don't. This is a true story, which points to show what can happen when the insights do not look in exactly the right direction for answers, such as: where, and what, is REALITY, in which we, us meely seeming humans, are actually a part of a truely awesome family that spans Galaxies and Universes beyond. In fact anyone walking around this Earth can experience that Reality directly, any time they want to. All that is needed is the right Will and Desire, to re-establish a higher being hookup in inner perceptions back to Reality, by-passing the outer ego for main input in consciousness. Dirty thoughts, sexual desires, vain or selfish thoughts of superiority of self, and anything that seeks to HARM, destroys links to the connection, until the wrong thoughts stop. In fact, self aware confidence is one of the better ways to go in hooking up back to Reality. Sobs, griefs, despairs, self punishment, doubts, and foolish meek role playing, close doors to the inner perceptions. The kindest, nicest, most generously helpful instincts keep opening more and more doors. Once again I re-iterate; fear, hate, envy, lust, greed, the five deadly sins, don't cut it. All lesser motives can be related to just these five sources. The opposites, where the good stuff is, are perceptions of Peace, Joy, Happiness, Power, and Plenty, which can remain constant as a result of the right sources of motive. This Reality is a heck of a nice place in the open doors. There is nothing to fear, nothing to fear whatsoever. But, also know, the Reality is also a heck of an energetic place, so once perceptually intuned to it, expect lots of action. Do not expect eternal end to all thought, all action, in fact, once intuned, your new learning curve is just starting. Occult and diabollical rituals, black magic, white too, paganism, and so on, are all self deluding, self cloaking, destroying to others, since in effect all of these practices intensify inputs from the self centered ego, costing the practicer clear insights on the true state of beingness in Reality, in which the inner being sees far more, and knows far more, than the outer being that physically walks the Earth and accepts only input from the five physical senses that produce willy nilly emotions and random psychic thoughts that have no fundamental meanings or place in the ongoings of the larger Cosmic family. Religious practices are amongst the worst as far as cloaking the body in illusions and dillusions are concerned. There is an opportunity now, greater than has been ever for this planet, for people to turn around and let go and let Christ do it, in respect, to let the inner Christ action in everyone to be the guiding source for questions of consciousness and righteous judgements. To forgive is a Divine quality. That does not mean forgive a killer and hand them another gun so they can feel good doing their lusts. However someone who has done bad in extreme circumstances, extreme stresses, can simply walk away from the bad times and become whole sound and perfect by simply changing their thoughts and this happens. So why have motives of revenge. Reality doesn't have revenge in it. In Reality, someone who screws up simply falls lower and lower until they stop screwing, and back up they rise again in fast accelarations and illuminations. All it takes is to hook into the right Will and Desire, to see how this automatic mechanism of rejuvination and upliftment, actually works, because of the Cosmic family that is already here to welcome you back home in Reality. At the top, making it all happen to begin with, is the Will, Action, and Desire of the Supreme Creators Alpha and Omega. You can not know them as personal beings since they are stupendous powers of light and energy and faceted geometric order so intense hardly anyone is capable of percieving directly, nor even a glimpse, without awesome sensations involved, so very few around these here parts (the outer breaths and extensions of Reality where we are at the moment) ever get a glimpse of the Supreme Creators directly, who are self contained and radiating out to also comprise all of existence, including you within it. Having within yourself in your thoughts and beliefs, their existence, as a Mother and Father of Creation non the less, quickens the perception toward finding in yourself the right Will and Desire to reconnect to Reality, since the right Will and Desire is only of one kind, that which originates in the Supreme Creators who wish to be known at this present time as Alpha and Omega. Mind you, the expressions of this Will and Desire in various ways is enormous so it is not a universe of robotic clones being talked about here at all. This is not a beehive existence, not at all. For instance do you know of bees that laugh and crack jokes in unique ways that makes others laugh and feel rich joy time and time again. Bees don't crack jokes and laugh, as far as I know, but that kind of freedom of expression, just as a tiny peek at an example, is the kind of thing that Reality includes. The best kind of humor, as everyone knows, is a quip devoid of sleaze or corrosive intent. Good humor is pure and expands in heartfelt ways, and laughs that start with a crack of sound with everyone in on the fun, is what you can expect in Reality. It happens. Not the lewd sneers of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Some genuinely funny things happen spontaneously on TV. Genuinely funny things happen spontaneously in Reality, too, often, to cite an analogy in example of what the Universe, and so-called Heaven, is really like. Heaven is not just a place where Catholics go to become Saints. There are no Catholic Saints upstairs, in Reality, in fact, or at least known as Catholic saints. If they have made it upstairs without having to reincarnate for another try at washing the soul of pollutants, they are up there as themselves, not as Catholic saints. Know also that stupendous changes are taking place to re-structure and restore the Earth as a whole, with its population of souls and spirits, back to accord with Cosmic Law, so when intuning your place back into the Cosmic connections be also informed that suprises, even shockingly intense sensations, and abrupt changes in thought and idea can occur, and this is natural. Picture getting lost in the forest, and all of the events that get you to where there is a chance of rescue. At times, Reality can have such brief urgencies with you right there in on it, being changed for the better, while actually participating to also make change for the better on a wide scale basis as the Christ plan for planet Earth continues to unfold and move on into the future. See what I am talking about. It is an inner movement, not an outer movement on the physical surface of the Earth, that is bound and destined as the path back to Reality. There is not an imminent other place, off world, and somewhere else in the nearby region of stars, that is the source and goal to go there to arrive. The arrival is right here on this planet, by standing up and becoming awake again. Because even here, what you do is interconnected to many other places in the Cosmic realms simultaneously, and what you do here is no different in substance than what you do if somewhere else. There is no place to go to to 'arrive'. If you can't 'arrive' here, no one else will want you anywhere else. A Cube and Sphere, pictured in the mind, can be an immediate source to help quicken the right connections. You will feel energies change within you, within your body and areas around it, and within the vast chambers of your inner thoughts, which become inner perceptions of awareness and illuminations. A six sided hexagram with points at top and bottom, a Y factor drawn in connecting the center point to positions 2, 6, and 10 o'clock, and similarly another triangle noting the other 3 positions on the hexagram rim, and a Star of David drawn lightly within according to the blueprint of the Y factor, and a circle drawn around a circumpherence through points where the lines of the Star of David criss cross, needs only to have the central sphere percieved in Red (for Intelligence), the outlines in bright blue (for Energy) and the rest of the hexagram in yellow (for Substance), for a Cube and Sphere to be perceived in consciousness as enough of a valid rendering of an image for the Supreme Creators to cause cross talk to Reality to start in higher gear. The image cannot be used for malpractice, not like the pentegram, the image does nothing if malpractice thoughts of any kind are associated with it. That is because the image is pure, in one form or another, whole sound and perfect, all the way up the line to the highest reaches in Reality's domains of eternal existence. - Finis - ART NEWVO -------------------------------------------------------------------- August 30, 1995, 11:00 PM. Wednesday evening There is no fly on the clock. There has not been a fly on the clock for several days. Just goes to show that the temporal universe is variable and changing, and that things that seem to be taken for granted, may not be so ordinary. For instance the fly riding the air on the clock's pendulum reported in the last update of August 25th, 1995, was an unusual occurrence in temporal time. In Cosmic time, the fact of the fly, just as a report was being typed of a fly having rode the pendulum for a long time, was, ahem, timely. There are a lot of things going on in this world at this present time that are more than just random events, in case you didn't already know. If you don't already know, try something different, try waking up. - Finis - August 31, 1995, 9:30 PM. Thursday evening. I have been watching the pendulum clock. Not with a timer and laboratory note book in hand, just casting casual glances at it now and then as I wander to and fro from kitchen to living room and back into the kitchen. For awhile earlier this evening there were two flies having fun rides on the pendulum, facing each other sitting about an inch apart on the lower right rim of the smaller paper geometric cutout (sonic refractor) festooned (taped) to the pendulum clock's shaft. Later, a single fly was riding high on the larger geometric cutout. Otherwise the clock is devoid of flies. - Finis - September 1, 1995, 10:20 AM. Friday morning (labor day weekend). Just watched a quick update on the O.J. Simpson trial on news channel CNN. Like I say, I am not an addict and do not watch this incredible saga except for excerpts that insert into the news now and then. For instance, I have heard that the largest fire in New York City's history took place a few days ago and the only thing I saw on the all-news channel was the same 10 second clip shown three times, but did keep an eye on the channel hoping for more about this fire, which never came. Most of the news kept coming back to O.J. upsets, the father of one of the victim's declaring how appalled he was that he might be denied the kind of vengence he personally craves: in direct contravention of Cosmic Law, just to have such thoughts, by the way. Today, eveybody down there (in the US) is upset (according to the all-news channel) over the fact that the judge has ruled the admission of just two brief remarks enclosing a white supremist racial slurr (the word nigger is spoken) and all of the real issues as to the kind of mind and mentallity that produced the tapes is NOT to be heard by the jurers. In the meantime the prosecutors are screetching with rage that anything at ALL is to be played to the jurers, the prosecutors claiming that nothing their chief witness said bespeaking complete white supremacy attitudes and beliefs and details about how to fake evidence, how to set up a target to take the fall for someone else's crime, has anything to do with the O.J. case, the fact of perjury being a non-relavant issue to say the least, say the prosecutors. Strange brew. This is the same prosecuting team, you will understand, who somehow proved in a way that is supposed to be 100 percent scientifically accurate, that all gloves shrink. And so the famous pair of gloves that are the key evidence in the persecution of black man O.J. Simpson in the United States of American, shrank in the months the gloves reposed in the police crime labs repository, waiting for the fateful day when O.J. was asked to try them on, and they did not fit! They were far too small, not just a little snug, not a little tight, he could not get them on his hands! That was because, according to the prosecutors, because they shrunk. The arguement first entered that it was because O.J. was using anti-arthritis medicine which caused his hands to swell, was quickly withdrawn when it was realized that the same prosecutors had been arguing all along that O.J. was as fit as a bull moose and did not have arthritis or any other effect that could diminish his ability to be guilty. The only reason I am diatrabing is because of the strange way the legal authority's minds down there keep swooling around in ways that can only be as if they are caught in the middle of an intense dream while sound asleep in deep REM state, and think the fast changing paces of the dream are where its at, that this is reality, and that they must stay on top of it to win, and NOBODY will notice the short circuits in logics and beliefs, the beliefs being anything they want to say. It is the kind of mentality that continues to create a universe and a god in one's own images and likeness. Just getting some salt and pepper off my chest. I concider all people as equal including male and female, irregardless of color, so called race, or geographic origin. In this, I concider myself something of a miniature United Nations, and have never failed to tell people so whenever occasion arrises to make such a remark, always in line with the fact that all people are equal. Who can do less when Cosmic Law is the only purpose and origin that counts. Count the number of people who have become suspicious of me, thus. September 1, 1995, 10:40 AM. Friday morning And now, back to business. There has been a change in the experiment. Over the past few days I have gradually changed the 4 foot wooden rods of 1/3 inch to a side, for 6 foot round wooden rods that are 1/3 inch in diameter. It took a few days for the changeover, beginning with trying one round 6 foot rod in exchange for a former 4 footer, and some notable improvement was heard in the sound stream. A wait for a couple of days for dough to buy more rods, then a day spent busy on the computer, then finally a day with time to play, to change the other two 4 footers for new 6 foot items. Easier said than done. The torques through the thin brass wires that hold the rods in the air, and the positioning of the triangular thin steel tripods, resulted in an immediate collapse such that the whole of the array lay fallen, alas, flat to the floor, and tangled. The resulting rotten sound was partially cured by raising the end of one of the rods back to its main gain height of 15 1/4 inches. Two days later, when motivation was again in a surge, the rest of the array was handled with will and desire, to set the array anew as a complete assembly of 6 foot wooden rods, again a project easier said than done, because, just as some fine tuning occurred and the sound began to hark with goodstuff, something would keel over, or part of the array would collapse, and so on. Finally, yesterday, I got the thing stable enough to stay in place and had learned how to be dexterious enough to be able to make fine adjustments without knocking some part of it askew. In fact the dexterity via the learning curve became advanced enough that very discrete adjustments in the array were possible. In fact, raising the top two rods by about an inch each, made the sound better. So much better that something amiss could be heard quite plainly. It did not take long to discover that the amiss was in the pieces of fiberglass furnace air filters cut in half and peeled in half and placed in strategic locations throughout the environment, some with a small wooden stake through them to allow some degree of positional tuning and placement against walls and objects or some by this time pinned into place at odd angles against walls by a straight pin. Out came one of these filters, and the sound improved. So another came out, and more improvement was heard in the sound, then another and another were pulled from the system, until finally all were removed and put into the garage to get them out of the sound stream. It turns out that something in the symmetry shape of the 4 foot square rods was causing a harm in the sound stream that was partially corrected by the filter pieces. But this harm was not being imparted by the circular wooden rods, such that presto! the useful pieces of filter suddenly became spoilers. That is the news, for today. At the moment, the pieces of air filter are out of the picture. They turned out to be useful conveniences for a stage in the experiment but at this moment are not fundamental to the sonic experiment's successes. The result of the change-over is that I have a better all around stable sound at the bottom line. It's main fidelities come and go, drift in and out a bit, but not to any extremes. Lower bass is still conditional on momentary conditions that are hard to control. There is little in the way of strong or powerful reverbs in the bass ranges on an ongoing basis but the bass that IS there is more than before and constant. And female voices no longer have ultra high pitched irrational stridents of a kind that chronically plagued the sound stream, until now. I have found that tweaking the slinky ends that stretch down to the carpet and are held in place by straight pins produces more fidelity and lower tonal resonances when vibrating up and down, so background thoughts are whirring at work as to figuring out some means to mechanically tweek these slinky ends in a constant way. A battery of Everyready Bunnies, not marching but somehow held in place and banging the slinky ends might work, or so go the images. The slinky ends extend beyond the 6 foot wooden rods, such lengths gained by the fact that the slinkies are now stretched quite taught along the wooden rods, the need being noted in setting up the longer rods and it was found that more stretch in the slinkies produced stronger sound recurrances at lower timbre, i.e. as if turning down the high frequency toggle on a sound system, and raising the bass frequency toggle, to get the same sounds but at a lower pitch. In the case of tweaking the slinky ends, a still lingering tendency for the sound to break up or fracture is still in evidence, even though it is quite different than the major holes of before that characterized the breakups. Now, in the current embodiment, the fracturing is fast and fleeting not unlike FM distortion on a high quality stereo system. It turns out that tweaking the ends of the slinkies so they oscillate up and down seems to wipe away the fracturing, so that for a few seconds you have a much more openly fidelic, sound. Hurrying to tweek two ends into oscillating at the same time cleans the sound even more so. More stretch, once a constant oscillating means is in place, may do even more to better the whole gang of sound waves. It was in setting up the new array with more stretch (hence tension) that kept causing parts of the array to collapse, until the learning curve revealed how to position the steel wire tripods in a just-so way to give maximum pylon stability with the 'stretch' in place. I also used a large geometry drawing, an original drawn on Nov 8, 1993, with a radius of just over 7 1/2 inches, as the master for making numerous art paper mobiles and cutouts for various sonic tests. The original, on bright lime green poster art paper, was reduced on a Canon photocopier that used to sit on a table in the front office until moved this spring to the company's new head office. I have just double checked the measure of the original geometry drawing and found that its diameter is pretty close to being exactly 15 1/4 inches. Now why do I find THAT a remarkable fact. I don't know what to say. It was drawn with compass and straight edge nearly two years ago, of a size chosen for convenience in that it was the largest I could do given the geometry tools I had on hand at that time, and how about that it in the image is the same diameter as the fact of a vital ingredient learned to be existing in the current sound stream of this experiment a year and a half later: that a main horizontal axis in the sonic fractal matrix of the sound stream slices through the entire environment of this location (the house) at exactly 15 1/4 inches high, due to the fact that the TV set is sitting on a round glass topped end table that is itself exactly 15 1/4 inches high, and this height is giving a priority character as a mechanical property in the resulting sound stream. The drawing's diameter, is of course a co-incidence, since the drawing can do not a thing regards prioratizing the miracle eclipic axis at a height of 15 1/4 inches above any surface. But the fact of the co-incidence itself, may be the reveal of more going on, from in to out, than meets the normal outer ego eye. Anyway, I layed the green paper geometry image on the living room floor under the intended center node of the array, and was able to line up all arms of the array into an exact six sided star. It happened that I'd adjusted the array at first by hearing, moving one end of a rod with tripod, then another, moving the wooden rod ends back and forth by ever decreasing amounts toward better sound qualities, until finally I used the geometry image, and found that setting my ear and eyeball had been pretty close but not exact. And then was pleased to find that making final discrete adjustments closing the array's image into a perfect six sided star, improved the overall qualities of the sound stream by perceptable jumps as the final angles were closed to perfection. From my point of view, this is further proof that six sided matrix, (60 degree angles), are fundamental attributes of sonic propigation. September 1, 1995, 1:00 PM. Friday afternoon. P.S. A fly is back on the clock. In exactly the same position as has always been the number one hot spot, swinging back and forth through the air and flying away not as I walked past, but stopped to double check its position, spotted out of the corner of my eye when walking past ears attented to the TV listening to more of the scream team of prosecutors protesting to more or less every sentence being made by the defence, another wrinkle more and more obvious in that the prosecutors had more than 8 months to stake their claims the jury present and now that the defence has had a month with the jury the prosecutors constantly harping on how can the system be so abused that the poor jurers are expected to sit any longer, when they have lives to get back to, and so on. Am I risking my future by making such remarks in this day and age. I don't know. The authoritative infrastructure seems to be becoming more and more obviously totalitarian. This is in some form much like communism, except instead of being established from the background working out front to a political structure, as seemed was the case with Soviet Union communism, in North America the same totalitarian infrastructure is working out front, the only difference being that North America has elections, but, those elected for the most part take power by what ever means is necessary to convince voters, whereas in communism power was taken by whatever means was necessary to convince followers. The miracle of Fatima disclosed that Communism was going to take place. What is self evident about Communism is that it was so radically different than Democracy, that short comings and deeply rooted corruptions in the Democracy system are now easily seen as self evident, a self evidency that would not have been easy to reveal, would have been very easy to keep concealed, had it not been for Communism to throw a spotlight on the ills of modern society at all levels, in contrasts. If you concider the points of totalitarian one after another, you will see that its actions are the same, regardless of what kind of political or religious philosophy fronts the totalitarian regime. And none of the actions, of course, have anything to do with Cosmic Law, and in fact anyone who has chosen to stand and talk the Reality of Cosmic Law publically in any way, has found themselves a target of extreme and rutheless forms of slander and persecution by certain soul regressed kinds of individuals who still believe personal power, lack of consciousness, and heartless inhumane acts, are superior, including male bum rutting and lolly popping on stiff male genitalia as the grue of superior male existence. Hmmm. The worse the behavior the more the instensity to stomp on others to try and prove the worst is in fact the best behavior, but not so, only that it has no grounds in consciousness illumination or higher awareness, to modify, correct, or cure the motives, and so seems free to choose any means at all, to keep itself perpetrated. All it will take to end this idiocy is for people to wake up. Being nice, not as a chosen or demonstrated philosophy, but as a fundamental source of being, is what Cosmic Law entails. It has nothing to do with being meek, a very misunderstood word and now very misused in foolish ways. Being without guile, is more close to the truth of the matter, regards your place in Reality in Cosmic Law and as it is supposed to apply here on Earth, and as it applies elsewhere throughout Creation. Perhaps you can understand a little more of just what constitutes persecution, when those who are nice seem to finish last, 'nice guys finish last' is the prevailing claim, by those who finish first, the most ruthless of all. Just another remark, just something else to ponder, hint hint. Why are the nice people being stomped. Up the main street to St. Joseph Blvd, and just around the corner there up a sidestreet, is an elderly french couple who have used 3 1/2 acres for years to produce organically grown fresh vegetables for sale from their large garage from spring till fall. They are close to retirement and have many friends. Last year they had to install a wire fence around the whole of their property to try to keep out pillagers and thieves in the night. This year just a couple of weeks ago the elderly gent was working amongst some of the rows of vegetables when a gunshot rang out the bullet hitting him in the foot resulting in an emergency race to the hospital. The police seemingly have little interest in the incident, the women feels the police are hesitant to get shot at themselves. So here now are these two elderly people who are nice who have been shot on their small organic farm and have no way to turn since the police don't see there is a matter worth investigating, at the present time. The back of the property borders woods and rough unfinished parkland owned by the city of Orleans. Shots have been heard several times in those woods, the two elderly people tell me. But not a word, not a peep, has reached public notice. Interesting. I don't live too far away from this area. I can't begin to speculate as to what might be happening in those woods or why people get shot at if they happen to look in the wrong direction close by those woods. What does enter the mind as a number of unanswerable questions is why the cops don't care. Where I used to live on the west side of town, bunshots, er, gunshots, were common in the wee hours of nights, sometimes volleys with different guns going off, sometimes several times a week, over several years, and not a single report ever made the press or the media as to who was firing. Cocain always came up as a clue in my private thoughts, when the shots were going off in the middle of the night. Drug dealers fighting over territory is a way of life in most cities in the world, at the present time. But how close is it going to get before it ends. A vegetable grower tilling his rows for produce is shot in the foot in the middle of a middle class residential area and nobody cares, it seems, except for the few who really do appreciate nice people. And what can we do but feel sad about the incident. It is almost as if, if you went to the cops and asked why are they not doing anything about the shot foot, the cops will turn on you and say you did it. And that will end the investigation, officially. Don't laugh. Such things are actually happening in a very wide spread way at the present time. 'You did it' is the sum total of investigation, and the 'you' are the nice guys, who thus are proven to finish last. Ironic. But not irreversable. The nice guys are of course male and female. A woman is currently in prison in the Ottawa area because she could not immediately pay a few dollars on her gas bill to Consummer Gas Corp. No one believes that anyone will go to prison over an outstanding utility bill, but there, behind bars, being interviewed by a TV station, is yet another who did go to prison, from where she made remarks that had no rankor, no revenge, she was matter of fact and had humor about her appalling situation. I almost went to prison indefinately once, over a $250 dollar dentist bill that was in dispute. A dentist ruined a front tooth in very puzzling acts of dental behavior over seven appointments, and suddenly the front page was ablazed with news that he, a long time cocain addict, had been caught dealing and so went to the pen for 2 years. I knew nothing whatever about his habit. A full year later I got a bill from a company who had purchased the dentist's accounts as a single wad of paper. I paid a few bucks on it but made it clear that I wanted to talk with the dentist as to how come I was being charged for a destroyed tooth. When out of the pen, I called him and yes of course, the bill was a total oversight, it should never have happened, it will be taken care of and I can forget it, and so on, repeated over four phone calls coming upon four increasingly nasty notices from the bill collector who had bought the wad. And then the fatefull day! A notice in my mailbox mailed with a stamp, stating that if I did not appear in court a warrant would be issued for my immediate arrest, the problem being that the day in court had already transpired two days before I got the notice to appear in court in the mail. An immediate call to the courthouse resulted in my schedule for appearance the next day. Here is what happened. My name was called, I stood up, the judge looked at some papers, made some remarks that deadbeats like this (me) are not wanted in society and began to write the papers to have me confined to the Detention Center indefinately until some decisions could be reached as to what to permanently do with me, the judge apparently in a very bad mood anyway by being called in at the last moment to sit in on a few trivial cases when the regular judge called in sick, the important judge noticing that my appearance had a cross country warrant attached to it so immediately took judicial action. Now, I was standing on my feet, somewhat dazed at the speed at which this was happening because all I had done so far is mention that the recieving of the notice to appear in court had arrived in my mail box two days after the court date and this, according to the judge, was only a screetching weazle willing to waste his time trying to evade detection, then trying to evade punishment when caught. Just as it seemed that handcuffs and shuffle out the side door of the courtroom was imminent, someone I had never seen before stood up and spoke directly to the judge, interrupting the judge's paper work. The man said he was aware of the matter and familiar with the circumstances of my appearance in court and could see no reason why severe measures would be needed and that he and I could work the matter out between ourselves, to everyone's satisfaction. The judge got very angry, slashed pen tracks through sheets of paper, shoved them aside, and announced, ok, if that's the way you want it, and called a recess. Meanwhile I was free to go. The other gentleman and myself met immediately outside the courtroom. It turned out he owned the company that had been trying to collect the bill. It was settled, $20 dollars a month until the bill was settled. And it was done, $20 a month until none was left. He had not heard a single word from the dentist, I have to mention. So here was an instance in which I was trapped, all by myself, branded unfit for society by a judge, over a warrant for arrest coming into existence for no other reason than delays in the mailing system, and all of it brought to an end by the intervention of a single man who decided on the spur of the moment to act in a kind way. So, yes, you can go to prison for an unpayed bill, and once on the wrong side of the law, unless you have MONEY, you are written off. Period. It is no fun to be poor when the richest, and the addicted, and the gluttons for personal power such as the judge, are free to misuse conscience in any way it takes, to satisfy their emotions. Verrry close call. Saw how the evil empire has plans to take over the world front to back and every country. True story. Circ. 1988. I may as well fill in some more detail. I made remarks in the court that the dentist in question had been caught dealing cocain and had gone to prison, and it was upon the word 'cocain' that the judge suddenly went malevolent, cut me right off, arms whirling in the air, loud barking remarks half jointed, incomplete, finishing with something like; well, I'll settle this, THIS is what we will do, and started filling out the paper work to have me immediately sent to prison indefinately. I have wondered to this day if he (the judge) was bombed on the stuff the day he suddenly had to sit in for a sick friend on the bench. He was not a nice man to watch. No prejudice intended. He was mean. And big, a 6 footer with broad shoulders, and wide head, a balloon of pitch black afro style hair crowning the white skin of his head, and I would guess in his late 30's. Everything about him, every move, gesture, motion, was slow and deliberate, reeking with power, self proclaimed. Until he acted beserk. Not even a movie actor has portrayed in anything I have ever seen the sudden maniacal loud harking unfathomable barks that suddenly issued from him, and completely changed his state of being, at the mention of the word 'Cocain'. I know my people. I deliberately used the word in that court room to see what would happen. And, bingo! Got him! Flushed him right out into the open. It was the fact of suddenly finding myself being committed to prison, after the flush, that caught me by surprise. Since that time I have been not so careless when someone has to be flushed. And, as I said, when the crunch was closing in, another person I had never met before stood up in the court room and did the right thing to bring the crunch to a stop. Thank you. As for the cocain itself, the solution is to simply stop doing it. Then there can be no cartels, no territorial disputes creeping right up your street in broad daylight. The same of course is true for any death dealing poisons, such as heroin, opium, and others. Why fool around with this stuff, when Reality has so much more to offer. - Finis - The hardest part about making something to eat, and you are sure it is going to be good, is the last few minutes before it is ready. Waiting is the hardest part. For instance a simple mix of mayonnaise, tuna fish, tomatoes, green peppers, fresh mushroom, and honey mustard, spread on buttered toast and broiled in the oven with a sprinkle of parmesan cheeze on top, has two waits: that which takes the last few minutes until ready, and the wait until it is cool enough to lunch. - Finis - NEW ARRANGEMENTS ------------------------------------------------------------- September 8, 1995, 1:30 PM. Friday afternoon. Today I picked up two very thin 6 foot wooden rods from the nearby giant Builder's Warehouse and replaced the two 4 foot square wooden rods being used to support the four tiny Prosonic speaker boxes in the air, across the front of the 6 sided star array made of streched hexagon plastic slinkies on the living room floor. It had turned out, in the past few days, that having all four boxes parked on the wooden rods did not work for the best, in fact, turbo thrusts kept causing one or two of the boxes to take off and tumble to the floor, and when the two left channel boxes hit the floor simultaneous, suddenly there was a major gain in the sound in the way the two tiny boxes landed by chance and it was found that a bit of position fiddling produced the best sound to date using the four speaker system. Both of the left channel boxes were on the floor, the smaller box titled slight being propped finally by hand on the base of the left hand laboratory stand. So today I headed out with purpose and came home with new wooden rods to see what difference these slimmer longer wooden rods might make. First difference was apparant at once, the sound improved as each round slim wooden rod replaced its thicker square shorter counterpart. However, the slim round wood was simply too thin to support the weight of the plastic boxes except when a box was put atop the wood over the metal support arm from a laboratory stand. But this was not a thrilling or interesting sound. And, whohweee, that furnace filter material that did such a good job one day when festooning the walls, and the stands with the speakers, is now a MAJOR distorter. I tried a couple of pieces in and around the tiny cabinates, and around the stands, in many ways, and in all cases the high end got pissier and screetchy, and the bass reverberations faded from the sound stream. To make a long story short, I spend time busily exploring placements of the speaker boxes, no matter how likely any placement seemed. For instance, half way back, on the floor, under the array, was tried. Also, very close together only a foot or so apart, back to back as well, until I came up with a placement for the speaker boxes that suddenly gave both a major gain in the fidelities of the overall sound, as well as a major expansion into the lower regions of the bass, for instance, to where the bass drum became clearly audible with tone and a bit of power. I now have the two smaller cabinates resting on their backs facing up, on top of the two taller cabinates, and have fidelity now in the picture. I thought to try the furnace filter material as a cushion on which to rest the smaller cabinates but no way! The moment the filter material came into contact with the sound stream, major distortion! One piece was laying aside on a chair ready to be used if the other worked. When I finally removed the piece from the chair, important fidelity returned within seconds, swelling into the sound stream. The furnace air filter pieces, which did do a constructive contribution at one stage along the way, are, now, totally out of the sonic picture. The main reason being, perhaps, that the furnace filter material (made of filmy fiber glass) is chaotic in its material form. It has become a very interesting setup. The ultra thin 6 foot wooden rod cross supports have been removed, along with their two support stands (two laboratory stands) and the boxes are on the floor, the smaller laying on their backs pointing to the ceiling, on top of the two tiny tower boxes. It seems to make little difference which way the boxes are focused or facing, the one constant at this point is that better stereo picturing and presence is gained with the smaller boxes laying face up on top of the larger. Reversing the setup, ie, larger boxes on top, produced nothing anyone would want to listen to, including me. At the moment, the two lower tower boxes are pointed toward the back wall, in the opposite direction to normal stereo speaker placement. And this has produced the best overall sonic range, bass reverberations, long distance echoes that hang till the end of their time, and higher frequency clarity such as with rock and roll cymbols. I reversed the speaker leads to the lower boxes and that is when the sound stream consolidated into a gell worth pondering. V E R R Y stereophonic ! And Airframe carrying pure throughout the whole of the main floor of the house without muffling or going dull. In more exact detail, the assemblies are sitting roughly about six feet apart on the floor, and rather than focused inward to an invisible distant focal point in the sound image, the speakers are turned slightly outward. Focusing the boxes inward in traditional stereo speaker mode puts noise in the sound and cancels most of the distinct stereo image and presence. At this moment the speaker's are in symmetry association with the star array on the floor with a speaker assembly sitting just in front of the steel wire tripods comprising the 4 and 8 o'clock node positions. A line between the two speakers thus forms a fundamental diagonal in the large six sided geometry image, that is, the tiny box speakers are in a line angled across the corner of the living room where sits the TV. In other words the speakers are not set to face any wall. The star array of hexagon slinkies has not been changed, it is still straight out across the floor, the main axis of the star array aimed into the corner as if the diagonal of a square formed by two of the living room walls. Don't drop the ball on this, we are still talking %100 percent pure mono source in these descriptions. September 8, 1995, 2:10 PM. Friday afternoon. In fact, I have just raised the two smaller boxes that point to the ceiling, up in the air by 6 inches, by using two ornate vinegar bottles faceted in six sided glass symmetries, as stands resulting in more roomy deeper opening up in the sound, with more fidelity in the bass range, and in higher frequency instruments such as those that would normally clip, such as pieces of wood being struck rythmically in the band. Still some crash in cymbol clashes, not yet have I gained long strong zinging lower toned resonances expected for large diameter cymbols, in using these four tiny plastic speaker boxes that are being driven by electronics from one of the cheapest wall shelf stereo units money can buy, made in China, bought for $49.00 each at a nearby Giant Tiger store. In case I forgot to mention, the electronics counsul has no ON/OFF power switch. You pull the plug, to turn it off. Like I say it is VERY cheap. The station playing today is Energy 100, an AM station therefore 100% mono in broadcast. There is a faint ring coming through the signal that I can't clear with the tuning of the cheap junk being used to power the four tiny speaker boxes. Tuning the station itself is a bitch, barely a touch of the tuning knob can make or break the strongest part of the AM signal. Ironically, the strongest clearest stations broadcasting in Mono on AM at the moment are all YAK! Yes that's right. People phone in and YAK with the YAKKER. The strongest clearest stations are all all-day talk shows. How about that for not having the best sound source to work with. And yet the Mono signal I am getting from Energy 100 is good enough, despite the persistent faint steady AM whistle on this particular station. I now have enough deep bass resonances and stereo presence to go back and do an experimental test I promised myself several weeks ago. This is a simple test: to try a tape recorded in a local bar in 1984 with two cheap mikes taped to a bar room table recording a Spyro Gyro styled band featuring local musicians moonlighting from the RCMP band, and a congo player imported from New York City to add in the odd backbeat on the seventh beat of a bar that character told the Gyro style of modern jazz. The original recording (done in the bar) always had a high pitched artificial hard sound to it, even when played over major audio file systems through speakers that cost $7500 the pair back in 1983. The test is to see if the kind of sonic tunalities set up in the home enviroment here at this house in Orleans today, can compensate or counter those too-hot artificial frequencies. It happened that I found the tape cassette, lying in a cardboard flat in the upstairs back room. Here goes, cassette in hand .... .... I am pleased! .... Well, here is lots to report, I do not quite know how to describe the effect. Astonishing or jaw dropping it is not, so forget the best wishes for an earfull of congratulations. I tried the tape first on the Fisher 8400 Getto Blaster, through the ear phones, to get a reading on a supposed reasonable modicum of high fidelity, and heard the same high barky artificial sound I remembered from years earlier. In gist, the sound seemed very boxed in, squeezed, like before 11 years ago, not roomy or echoing with reverberations at all, even though it was obviously stereophonic, back then. Don't forget, the stereo mikes used back then cost only $14 the pair brand new. It was all I could afford at that time, even though the stereo recorder itself was a hand held pocket sized jobbie that cost over $250 from two years earlier when there were a few more bucks on the loose, circ. 1981. In the living room right now, played through the new array that has been set up just an hour ago, the tape is everything but boxed in, or hard and barky. In fact the stereophonics are superb. You can hear voices talking dozens of feet back, deep back there to the left, or far into the right corner, in complete ambiance recall to the long narrow shape of the bar in which the tape was originally recorded. The hand claps are all point sources, distinct outbourst of clear hand clap sound from distinct point sources that are peppered throughout the sound image, left to right, and far back into the depths behind the living room wall. Even the band itself is correct, in the main, about a dozen feet back from the table which had the mikes taped to it. The sound image that is appeared in the living room is mainly sourcing from about 8 or more feet back from the four tiny speaker boxes on the floor. Nicely done, the stereo sound image is also right up in the air, as if you were in a chair listening straight ahead, and around you, exactly correct. Otherwise, when standing, the image might seem a little low until you stooped down to chair height and realize that the height is perfectly correct according to the original live source, ie. the height of the mikes taped to the table. Therefor the lower height is not due to the fact of the speaker assemblies sitting on the floor. When stooped to listen at bar table height, the sound all around is at its best, well, as if you were sitting in the bar again. The one odd thing characteristic of true stereophonic reproduction in a room that you do not hear clearly on normal stereo sets, even of the audiophile class, is that the handclaps are coming from behind the band and this is due entirely to the fact that the mikes are picking up the handclaps, and audience chatter, from BEHIND the mikes, which are turned to face forward to the band. Without pure and proper depth reproduction in the stereophonic form, you would not know that the handclaps you hear are supposed to originate from BEHIND the band, because of the way the sound was recorded, live. This setup in the living room right at this moment is fully correct in where the claps are coming from, as distinct point sources from a large area of room receeding deeper and deeper to the left and right behind the living room wall, behind the band. In other words, there is no flat wall of sound ! None at ALL! However, the tonals are not authentic. It has a kind of wrong tone throughout. Picture a jug band using a galvanized metal washtub from the Ozarks as a bass instrument with taut string and a baseball bat to change notes, and compare that bass to something gained from a full stand up accoustic used by the best Jazz players. The tubby sounding bass of the Ozarks is something like the kind of quality in the music now coming from this tape. A similar effect is there for the drums, and cymbols sound more like the tinny little clashers sitting perched on a high post that dixyland drummers use to end a song. This particular tape does not have the congo drummer from New York city. It means the other tape (this one only has one side) is on the loose somewhere, if not lost over the years, it was recorded on two sides and had the congo drummer, plus the trombone player singing very raunchy blues on a couple of cuts. In fact this is not that tape at all, it is a true to form jazz combo which played live one evening at Friends And Company in Ottawa, the same bar. There is no Spyro Gyro music equivalent on this tape. So, memory has been a bit missed about this tape, sorry, it means another tape is on the loose somewhere. No mind, nothing of value has been lost. What has been gained is that it is clearly self evident that sonic setups such as now arrayed in my livingroom can restore stereophonic presence and authenticity to a poorly recorded sound, even if, (at this moment) the sound stream is not authentic to original instrumentations. The fact of the band at the time of the recordings was that everything was miked and amplified in this small bar, so that the Tenor Sax heard live in the room was somewhat false in character. But I cannot say that the false character heard live then is similar to what I am hearing right now. In keeping with theories assumed, it is also being demonstrated that very credible sound range and presences can be generated from the worst kind of reproduction technology. The loud volume I have working at this moment was utterly impossible just two days ago using this dirt cheap Prosonic equipment from China. But the timbre in the reproduction is way off. The lead guitar right now is doing a solo, and frankly the instrument sounds something like a banjo. However I do remember that the lead guitarist was a local musician of concerable worth and the solos he played were as authentically jazz as you could get. At that time, 11 years ago, his guitar definately did NOT sound like banjo. There is a possibily, however. Now that it has been discovered that there can be a priority slice through the universe of factal six sided geometry patterns that comprise the sonic resonances in a sound stream, it may be that if this experiment is re-arrayed so that the dominant slice through main ecliptic axis of the sonic diffraction patterns is set to the high of the table in the bar to which were taped the two stereo mikes when the recording was made 11 years ago, then much if not most, or all, of the off tone color in the sound may be overcome, or naturally vanish. This is of course only conjecture. However, the idea is based on something already heard and learned from recent experiments here in this house. And that is that an off toned register colored the whole of the sound stream coming from the RCA 28 inch stereo TV set, until the arrays in the house were reset to stand at a priority level of 15 1/4 inches above the ground, or above any surface having a sonic tuning device set on it. That change took care of a sound ingredient that made most of anything sound electronic, rather than naturally resonant. The same kind of electronic color is effecting the sound, now, from the live tape made in a bar in Ottawa one evening 11 years ago. If the array was reorganized to priortize at an ecliptic axis height of a typical table in a bar, it could change the tonals toward more authentic timbres. Perhaps. And now for the biggie, the famed Glen Millar pirate factory tape purchased for $1.98 from a junk bin at Pascal's Hardware, and so authentic, two of the cuts are lifted from 78 platters, you can hear the scratches and the needle popping. Here goes .... .... Well, not so pleased. Some Mono quality is clearly back into the sound stream after listening to the stereo recording tape of live jazz. The Glen Miller sound image is focused more directly toward the back corner of the living room where the TV sits. The sound of the Glen Miller orchestra IS spread out, and is roomy and up in the air, but it is not fracturing outward properly in unmistakable ways, and sob the famed awesome hang and mighty breathing that I have reported before for the Glen Miller orchestra, heard using this tape, is not happening. Yow the fidelity is god aweful as well, what noise. .... Here is something nice, a little better. I have just made very minor adjustments to the two tiny boxes sitting perched atop the glass ornate vinegar bottles, and now have STEREO. It happened as I was slightly turning the left speaker, after adjusting the right, and heard a trumpeter playing solo come from the right side of the sound image. I stepped back, and there it was! The trumpet was playing (blasting away - this is not very fidelic) on the right side of the sound image, and to the left, behind the wall, was the drum set beating away, and a battery of wind instruments. The sound separation was at least 15 feet! even more. Don't forget, this is 100% Mono recording since it was made more than a decade before stereo came into being, it was made circ 1938 to 1942, the era of Glen Miller's fame and recordings and is pure mono in the original fact. And with that slight adjustment to both speaker assemblies, that brought wide spread stereo separation into the mono recordings of Glen Miller, came another bonus. The stereo tape played earlier (recorded live in an Ottawa bar in 1983) has a better quality of sound. Gone is the Ozarks tubby bass and whumps of the drum set. The jazz drummer does a lengthy solo running the sticks over four different heads and this, now being listened to by two other people besides myself, is an authentic sounding drum solo with a reasonably correct timbre on all of the drums. There is more ring in the cymbols but they still sound like 12 instead of 24 inch Zildeans. Otherwise, yes and yes. I am quite impressed with this demo. However at this time I still do not know how such an experimental system as this will work with very high quality electronics and speakers instead of the cheapest ingredients money can buy. It is nice that cheap does not mean a complete write off. What I am listening to right now is definately enjoyable, and coaxed right out of a stereo system normally concidered impossibly inefficient for anything but minimum noise. Given the way things are becoming more progressively accessed in a predictable way, experimentally speaking, I figure the six armed star array made of criss crossed 6 foot thin wooden rods to support stretched out plastic hexagram slinkies can be expanded to a second array, for more gain, but not in this living room, it is too small unless I move out the house plants and chairs. Otherwise .... Back in the picture more than ever before, I am becoming more and more convinced that with not one but TWO sonic star arrays, set wide apart, in a large room, using sophisticated better gear of the audio phile class for generating source and speakers, would be sufficient to reproduce the Glen Miller orchestra live as if on stage, using old Mono recordings dating back to the 30's and early 40's. This has become the goal, to some day do such an experiment and see if this mighty orchestra can come alive again as it once was playing orchestrations that made deft use of HANG and BREATHING in the placement of instruments and positions of soloists in the band when playing live, something mostly missed in modern day orchestra and big band recordings which rely heavily on boxed-in isolation booths in a recording studio with soloists for instance, blowing into a mike and wearing earphones to hear the rest of the world, recorded earlier, the drummer too, in a booth, completely cut off from the other fellows, playing to stuff coming strictly over a pair of ear phones when the 24 track recorders are winding away, missing just about all of the goodstuff that would be otherwise heard if they 'hang' together so to speak, with just one or two mikes stuck up in the air in front of the band or orchestra on stage. If you do not know what I mean, listen to Joe Morello on a Dave Brubek recording, played through a cheap stereo set, than played through a mighty audiophile system so you can HEAR the HANG Joe Morello used, to surround the sound of the jazz with reverbs and echos that lasted a long time and allowed him (Morello) to drift completely away from a beat that had to be as hard on the mark as a metronome. Glen Miller did something the same, in orchestrating his band. His was a kind of 'talking music'. Instruments literally talked to one another from opposite sides of the band stand, their cross linked harmonics combining a third ingredient in their sounds that operated apart from the main beats of the music. It is this third component I have been calling Hang, and the fact that the Glen Miller orchestra BREATHED and PULSED rythmically, a fact you simply cannot hear in normal Mono or even stereo or digitially enhanced reproductions, at least not in the present state of the art, since all that engineers have to work with these days, are the original Glen Miller takes, released or broadcast all of them entirely in Mono. - Finis - QUICKNOTES ------------------------------------------------------------------- September 9, 1995, 12:35 PM. Saturday afternoon. I don't know if I hear it correctly, but it seems as I was walking past the living room doorway that the prosecutor in the O.J. Simpson case was just being shown on CNN News on TV saying that prosecution has stunning new proof that moments after doing the deed, Simpson went to a bank and withdrew humongous sums of money put in a briefcase which was thrown in the friend's Bronco that led immediately after to the high speed chase along Los Angeles freeways. This completely eclipses the original facts that O.J. was in or nearly arrived in Chicago when the bodies were first discovered. What the .... beep! is going on. Can the prosecutors really do this, eclipse a whole catalogue of history from their facts and proofs? More to the point, is it possible that the jurists do not know that O.J. was in Chicago, for instance when he cut his hand. I have not payed addictive attention to this saga, until recently when fundamental tenets of thought and belief are now being defied by prosecutor methods in that courtroom in Los Angeles. It's as if Allah's Law has arrived in America. Whatever someone who represents authority says, is the Law, and is the truth, no matter how absurd, no matter how impossible, no matter how fatal to the innocent targeted by fiends at that moment, by Allah's Laws. Just prior to the prosecutor's startling claim that everything I thought I knew about the history of the case, and O.J's travels, was an hallucination according to prosecutor's rewriting, an O.J. defense laywer stood up to point out that they, the defence, intend to reveal to the jurists why Detective Mark Furman pleaded the 5th Amemdment, the defence laywer pointing out that it is contrary to any known reasons of logic that everyone in the world knows why that detective pleaded the 5th Ammendment, in particular in regards to the planting of evidence, now more or less self evident, except the 12 jurists who have to decide on the life or death fate of Simpson. It turns out that most of what we the public at large have seen on TV, has been kept hidden from the jurists, except for all of the prosecutor's claims of proof. The defence counter arguements apparently the jury has not heard through most of it. At least, that is the way it seems, judging by the way things are today and yesterday being said on TV. A note regards the sonic experiment underway here in this house in Orleans, East of Ottawa. Long six foot ultra thin wooden rods have been stood leaned against walls, with hexagon slinkys hanging loose down the shafts of the rods, to act as rather excellent boosters of fidelity and sound clarity when leaned against walls at exactly the right angle, at exactly the right hot spot locations in the main floor of the house. Only three hot spot locations seem to work. One is in the living room, standing almost vertical to the right just inside the doorway from the kitchen. Another is up the hall, leaned against the north wall just before the opening into the hall utility shelves and the doorway to the utility room. A third is in the small bathroom off to the right inside the utility room, this third rod, a six footer, is leaning against the wall to the right behind the toilet. The wooden rod in the hall is actually seven feet long. It was bought as an eight footer at the nearby Builder's Warehouse, but when I got it home, I discovered that a foot of wood had been snapped off the end before I bought it, unnoticed. No matter, the rod almost reaches the ceiling of the hall. Motions of the dangling slinkies makes an instant immediate improvement in the open fidelic clarities of the sound stream, in particular regarding long distance reverberating more powerful bass echoes, and can even kick in bottom bass, in particular an effect noticed when tweaking the slinky dangling down the wooden rod in the hall. Something needs to be arranged to constantly tweak the dangling slinkies. I am thinking of perhaps a small magnet hanging from one of the edges of the slinky, with an intermittently pulsed battery operated electro magnet to pull down on the magnet in a constant way, every few seconds. It would be nice to go to the favorite store nearest me today to buy a device that magnets thus, but, where IS that favorite store nearest me today? I have not the slightest idea of where to go to buy such a pulsing electro magnet. The wooden rods standing vertically against the walls are most important as useful tuning devices, it turns out, even though so simple in design. It had happened that I had been fighting a particularly annoying distortion when first having set up the four speaker Prosonics system using patch plugs to handle two speakers from each of the outputs of one set's little consol. With a sudden idea, I got one of the rods that was leaned into the corner at the front of the hall by the garage door, a plastic hexagon slinky hanging down its length and the moment I set it in place in the hot location in the living room just inside the doorway from the kitchen, the particular kind of distortion went away, it evaporated from the sound stream. The sound became peaceful for the very first time when playing this dirt cheap stereo equipment from China. To get the high end attenuated using this tuning rod, takes extreme care in exactly how the rod is leaned. Micromeasure changes of the position of the top end touching the wall, can make or break much of the high end of sound in terms of purity. - Finis - September 9, 1995, 2:30 PM. Saturday afternoon. Correction on prosecutor intents. It seems that Simpson withdrew the cash moments: according to blazingly important breakthrough news hot on the wire information, ahem: after departing a friend's and deciding to try for a go on the lam after realizing he was being set up to take the entire fall for whoever did it. The fellow (Simpson) has a lot of nobility, something to teach, if you have watched the courtroom and have watched him, he seems to be without guile. There was no struggle. There were no smears of blood. The bodies were dropped commatose and stabbed where they lay left to blead without smears. Only one partial footprint of a running shoe disgraced the unsublime scene. Not a yell or whimper was heard, not one shout, not one cry, no struggle occurred. The prosecutors content that deparate struggles for life continued for 7 to 20 minutes. If so, where was the maniacally barking dog defending its master, her, who was stabbed at once, in total silence. Strange indeed, are the wizardries of prosecutors whose only purposes are personal rewards and self aggrandizement, and whose only motives are to hammer in place Caesar's Law, stamped in iron, and an 'extunk' on their chosen targets (flick of a finger to shoot a loose bit of food off the table) without a single second given to the big question: 'what would Christ have me do'? The lady who fills the role of chief prosector wears black lipstick and makes herself look exactly like an extra from the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show'. Why is that? Would you deliberately make yourself look like a freak from a hollywood grade B movie. What kind of images of glamor and fame are effecting this woman, the prosecutor. Does she think the 'Dracula's bride' look, makes her look important? I do not want to get into a character analysis of the Assistant District Attorney who appeared on the TV screen yesterday, this fellow seemed as if he was practicing for a bizarre seminar winning points against everyone else in his class in a Masters program at a university, but having prepared for it by reading the back of the book jacket, and faking everything thereafter, importantly. That takes guts of a kind that is without self esteem, self worth, especially when the whole show of the bumbling incompetence is public. Waytago Abner that was a masterful presentation I couldn't understand every single word of it, which I think is exactly what you intended but actually the exact opposite it was you at your best. You see how negative values can be twisted around into claims of greatness. If I was the type who hero worshipped prosecutors his would have been a masterful coup in the courtroom, the point he was making totally obscured by 'ums' and 'ahhs' and half sentences and a lot of paper being shuffled back and forth ceaselessly and waved in a cluttered sheath in the air. Not a hero worshipper I observed instead a bumbling public idiot. He was grey haired, by the way, which indicates that he has been around for a long time. It was like watching a black magic act, a diabollical magician performing voodoo against truth on stage. Which is why he is an Assistant District Attorney down there in that part of America. Don't forget this is the very same area that not long ago did 30 billion dollars in damages by a people's riot to get rid of one police chief, a man known to be a white supremist. He said it himself, hah hah, it is they, hah ha ha, the defence, who are trying to do voodoo to the jury, by trying to use Allah's Laws. See what I mean by black magic. That kind of black magic is everywhere. Everywhere. It takes integrity of a deep kind in the character to stay on line in the way of truth and honesty at all times, because the black magic is taken for granted by so many with authority mentalities in the world's population. Here is a countering thought: The only individuals who like a police state mentality are those who have one. Now, something mundane to concider: the bird feeder in my back yard is busy as always, all day dawn till dusk in the back yard. Concider the existence of pigeons. The common misconception is that when you see some guy or gal sitting on a bench hand feeding pigeons in a park {the pigeons come to the hands and shoulders to sit on, to feed} that these are birds who simply mooch, who like a free meal. Not so. It happened a moment ago that one pigeon, who must have been hungry, urgently grabbed at foodstuffs on the ground under the feeder, its neck stretched out to maximum as it hurredly grabbed bit after bit from the ground. Why I noticed is that this is the first pigeon to have stayed and continued eating when I appeared at the patio door. For (now starting) four years, all pigeons have instantly taken to the air in a noisy flurry the moment I step into profile at the patio door. Today it was different, one pigeon stayed put and grabbed food as fast as its neck and beak would work, all the time casting urgent looks straight at my direction. It would appear from inference that pigeons in the park that come to certain people, come to those people and those people only, because of the vibes. There has to be a major kindness in those people for the pigeons, amongst the most skittish of birds, to come near, let alone, feed from hand. I have one seagull that comes swooping in gliding low over the yard about 10 feet away from me then sails off again, if I happen to be profiled in the patio door and the seagull happens to be soaring past, high in the air. It is with a bit of sense of achievement when I can be across the main road in the super market plaza, and see a bevy of gulls, a hundred or more, swirling high in the air, and one comes forth gliding straight toward me passing in a soar about a dozen feet away as I stand in front of a store's door watching, then sails away again, a few seagull cries as it comes forward to make sure I have its attention, then a couple of more seagull cries as it soars close by. I do not know if it is but one seagull, or several. But I do know that from within that meely of gulls there does exist at least one Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Let's stop evading certain issues with politically correct language. The gist of the Simpson trial is a black man who committed the unforgivable sin, according to certain whitey's, of having sex with white females. The gist is the white racist supremists are driven wild with thoughts of what must be happening between a white female and a black man when sex is taking place, something the white supremist can never have happen, so the thoughts drive them to extreme motivations. I do not know that cock size is in fact at issue. I have in my illustrious life seen the 'cocks' of three black men and can honestly say that nothing unusual was witnessed by me. I can remember walking into the main men's washroom at a pavilion building during the Gloustester annual Fair next to Ottawa, and as I walked in, a very black teenager of about 17 years old was standing in the middle of the white tiled place that reeked heavily of urine, pulling up his trousers. As I walked in, he noticed me, and immediately dropped his trousers back to his knees, standing hunched over looking straight at me. The main scene in this story is that his naked dork was sticking out, hanging downward, and as far as I could see in a single glance there was nothing whatsoever about that dork that would drive a while supremist wild. It was totally ordinary. I, of course, simply went straight to the basin attached to the wall, let fly a few seconds of urgent pee, and departed. I believe that that youth standing naked to the knees in the middle of that men's rest room was doing nothing else but hooking. Without revealing the details because of unusual reasons hard to explain but benign, I have also in the past three years seen the dorks of two other black men, both in their early twenties, both six feet tall, both almost black skinned they were so black, one from Jamaica, one from Somalia, and both for a glimpse resulted me to see their dorks in completely sexless circumstances, the gist being that I did happen to see for a glimpse two black men's dorks hanging out as they took leaks and as far as I could tell, the dork sizes were in everyway imaginable normal. The largest dork I have ever seen horking from a man was a French Canadian only 5 foot 4 inches tall, who had stationed himself in the main entrance into the men's and boy's dressing room of a wave pool, and standing there, absolutely nothing on, was the most gigantic dork I have ever seen, looped over the top of a very clustered pair of gigantic hairy balls. There you have it, I have talked for a moment in a way that is NOT politically correct. Be noticed: perverts are happening everywhere in society at the present time. I think of the man who stationed himself naked at the door from the pool to the dressing room of a wave pool and displayed his jolleys to everyone who came in to change, or to use the washroom or the showers. He, though short, had the biggest dork I have ever seen in my life. And he was 100% white. I do not know why black men are reputed to have dorks that are awesome, the biggest in the world, except for the dorks of males of the Jewish persuasion. Is something going WRONG! in the minds of white supremists. You bet it is! Speaking about speaking frank, how many times have you had to fight a phone call ringing, when the head end of your pee stream has just hit the water in the toilet bowl. I had just departed, from typing the last paragraph, to the main floor washroom, when the phone rang just as my pee stream first hit the water in the toilet bowl. Because this phone line is currently on an answering machine that grabs the call after exactly two and a half rings, I squelched the pee, and ran to the phone, snatching up the cradle on exactly two and a half rings. There was no one on the line. I went back to the washroom to finish the piss. On the instant the head of the pee stream hit the water in the toilet bowl the phone rang again. I hitched up in urgent haste and raced to the phone. Again, no one on the line! How many of you have had an asshole setting the phone to redial until it connects with technolgy, again and again, again, redialing again, even if it is a fax, but programmed to connect to a voice line, and the phone rings again and again, nonstop, hour after hour, without relenting, mercy, through the night into the sunrise, until a thankful voice inspired by yes desparation, resolves the problem. I have experienced this ordeal. A long distance call from England that accidentally connected the voice phone to the fax. All night long, every ten minutes, the phone ringing, attempting to connect to the fax, an electronics that was impossible, until finally a puzzled computer software dealer from England, called by voice, in the morning, wondering why his FAX wasn't getting through! And that is it, a moment catering to the stuff that sells: salty language and an image or two that does no one any spiritual bong. But the way the thought stream was working today for some reason I wanted to say a few things. It started with the paragraph above regards a prosecutor's remarks about brand new information, just revealed to the judge today, that would finish off Simpson. I got the information wrong on first listen happening to pass the living room door and listening for a moment to the TV. The wrong input set off a bit of a gyration in the mental planes, thoughts that spun off in useless directions. The result was an ontology momentarily stuck on the nature of white supremist hate. That led to some opinions about the size of men's apparatuses, which finished off in the absurd circus of trying to take a leak with the phone ringing the instant the leak started, not once, but twice, with no one on the line both times. Apologies for the salty language, such choice of words and images are not my usual nature. As for any sexual innuendos you may have recieved reading the salty parts, forget it, I am non sexual, I have been completely celebate for over 24 years, and before that, was hetersexual normal. Celebacy, when first tried, was an idea a number of friends were concidering during the height of the hippy era. I gave it a try, and immediately discovered that there is a higher range of perceptions and intelligence that becomes clarified and usable when thoughts of rudimentary sex no longer plagues that part of the imagination. That part becomes expanded and used in a different way for more illumination. I have never had desire to back away from those illuminations. Thus, staying celebate has been one of the easiest of things to do in life. Which reminds me. When I was young, a teenager a year after high school and wanting to be famous, my only ambition abandoned a long time ago, was I was totally absorbed in drumming, this being jazz and other forms, but mainly images of big band big fame plagued me none stop, with the greatest fantasy of all - a drum battle with none other than Gene Krupa, who was very much in the lime light at that time in the late 50's. In fact I was ambitioned to become better than Krupa! The fantasy ended one day in a most direct way. It happened that I had gone to Toronto to 'further my career' and who came to town for a two week gig fronting a band at one of the main downtown bars but Mr. Krupa himself. Now, fortunately, this was a tavern with no cover charge, and my best friend and myself were able to coax together enough cash for a couple of beers each, sipped by the hour as we sat near the back listening to and watching Krupa play. I have to state that seeing the great one live in the flesh was not a major explosion of emotions. Seeing the man in the flesh was nowhere the same as imaging the man play in the fantasies of imagination, with me beating the hell out of my drums rythmically and winning the 'Battle of the Drums'. As my friend and I sat near the back at a table, sipping the bottles of beer looking like busy drinkers so we wouldn't get asked to leave but the beer long since stale, three young men from Germany suddenly came across the gap from behind and clambored right over the top of our table, one of the men using my shoulder as a prop to get up onto the table top, and kept on going table after table toward the front, all the time babbling in broken german/english in their excitement to get to the front to see Gene Krupa alive. It turns out that in Germany, at that time, Gene Krupa the drummer was a number one pop star. (Circ. 1958). I took the lesson from this to heart realizing that as busy as my youthful ambition fantasies were, they were nowhere close to the frenzy of those three germans, literally scrabbling over people's arms and legs akimbo across the table tops in this crowded bar to get to the front row. Moments later it was time for a trip to the washroom, the first bottle of beer having done its work. Up the wide stairs covered with red carpet went I and into one of those men's washrooms from the twilight zone, huge white porcelain cavities in which you stood in front, your toes over the edge of the basin, trying not to totter in while doing the deed, the top of the cavity over the top of your head, and the smell impossible to breath, you held your breath in one of these cavities. Something brushed my arm. I happened to look immediately to the right, and who do you think was standing there, nodding and smiling in a polite way as we two shared a slight embarrassment easily handled because it was only due to the call of nature. It was Gene Krupa, shorter than me. We talked for 10 minutes as if friends then went our separate ways. From that moment on, I never again had a fantasy about being a better drummer than Gene Krupa. I figured if I could stand having a leak beside my hero, he was not a god but human after all. In fact the fantasies of grandstand fame based on nothing that was happening ended that day, circ. the fall, 1958. - Finis - September 9, 1995, 4:50 PM. Saturday afternoon. We jump back to circa 1983, the summer, on Holburn Avenue on the shore of the Rideau River. In the middle of the summer a French Canadian came to the door, selling live ducks and rabbits from the back of a pickup truck. I could not picture how to keep care of a pair of ducks, but thought a bunny rabbit might be in order, since people I have known over the years had had bunnies for pets. So I bought one, and let it loose in the house. It was not seen for two days, then on the morning of day three the living room floor was litterally covered with hundreds of small dark round rabbit pellets, scattered in total chaos as if the rabbit had run all night long in panic letting loose one hell of a constipation. As I do here, in the summer, leaving the patio door open all day long to let in fresh air, I was leaving the front door of the Holburn place open all day long, and the rabbit got out. I didn't care. However, first reports were that a rabbit had turned up and was eating the veggies of the next door neighbor's veggie garden. And then, occasionally, I would see a white rabbit hopping at high speed between two fancy houses further up the street. I was not in the slightest distressed because the viggies next door were getting munched, I was very cheered because the rabbit had SURVIVED. One moment please .... Duty called. The bird feeder was empty. And the bird bath also in the backyard was once again fouled with bird poop, tiny feathers, and other awefuls. I filled the feeder, then, dumped the water from the bath, ran the hose into plants for a moment to exhaust the rubber smelling water, then refilled the bath. The bath needs to be refreshed about three times a day, the feeder about four. As I say, duty called. Fruit flies are so small they are hardly more than specks. I willfully take great attempts to save the life of a tiny fruit fly who has happened to fall into the liquid of a glass of apple juice. I feel good if I can get the fruit fly onto my finger nail, scooping it out of the apple water, then blowing it free when shaking the finger fails. Every single act of this event is to set the fruit fly free without harm. Why do prosecutors, in everything they seem to do, try to do the opposite? ..... a short time has passed ..... Holy smoke! have I ever just made a major discovery! About a year ago my twin brother came home with a pair of binocculars, a pair made by Bushnel, self focusing, on sale for a price my brother could not ignore. He had in mind major intent to view interesting high frequency high altitude cloud formations but I also had intent looking at things like a covey of Hungarian Partridges on the other side of the park behind the house, and other naturally occuring events. It turned out that the self focusing binocculars are useless close up. They only magnify to the nth degree in astonishing clarity when looking far away, for instance at minimum to the far side of the park behind our house. Looking into the yard with these binocs and everything is blurry in a useless way. Today it just happened (at 5:25 PM), that a brown tabby cat was walking along across the far side of the park. What is unusual about this event: it is the first time in over 14 months that I have seen a cat, walking out in the open, in Orleans. Orleans is one of the first cities in the world to make it a bylaw criminal offence for someone's cat to be on the prowl outside the confines of the cat owner's yard, without being on a short leash. The result was instant. Most all cats were given to the pound and put to death by middle class cat owners who couldn't afford the stiff new fines set in motion by the city of Orleans in Ont., a bedroom suburb 15 klms east of Ottawa. So, I grabbed the binoculars and went back to the patio door to take a look at this cat, on the far side of the park behind my yard. The cat had stopped, and was licking its nuts, one leg straight up in the air, typical cat fashion, before a cedar hedge which lines one of the houses along the park. The astonishing factor came into existence when I took off my eyeglasses to see if I could see the cat clearer. Of course I couldn't, the cat was completely blurred, in complete accord with looking at the cat without my thick short sighted eyeglasses. However! branches from a small apple tree in the next door neighbor's yard to the right suddenly appeared huge and distinct, yes mightily magnified in the binocculars, when I tried to look at the cat with my glasses off. Turning to the nearby tree in my yard from which on one of its low branches hangs the bird feeder, I noticed at once that the fidelity of the images gained close up by the binoculars were pure and hard and perfect, I could see branches of the nearby tree in stark detail, with sparrows at the nearby feeder magnified to the size of pidgeons. What was learned by this: nothing but the sudden discovery that short sighted glasses of heavy dosage, thick thick lens, taken off, gives the high fidelity looking through high powered self focusing binocculars never before seen until this moment when the eyeglasses were taken off to try to take a better look at a tabby cat on the far side of the park outside the back patio door of this house in Orleans East of Ottawa, the fact of the cat an anomaly worth 'observing', since the city officials of Orleans decided to become one with the greatest decision makers in the world and made it a bylaw offence, against the LAW, for a cat to be outside, outside the rim of a person's yard, without a leash. Can you image the CASH COW? How effective has this great law been. Well, without a word of a lie, that tabby cat, I just saw, pausing for a moment to lick its nuts, one leg straight up in the air, is the first cat I have seen in Orleans in over a year. And, for the first time, by taking off my eyeglasses, have seen the birds in the trees nearby magnified and magificent, for the very first time, by taking off my eyeglasses, and looking to the branches for the very first time. How may attributes of Cosmic Reality can occur by lookers taking off their blinders and looking at the truth for the very first time! You Will, Be Surprised ! - Finis - HEART SHAPED RESONATOR ------------------------------------------------------- September 11, 1995, 12:25 PM. Monday afternoon. I have found something that seems to intrinsically help the high end of the sound stream, for the time being. When plastic slinky experiments first started many weeks ago, it began with a single round multi colored jobbie hanging from a thumb tack dangling nearly to the floor in the door opening to the kitchen. This led to several round, and heart shaped slinkies, festooning the walls and chairs around the living room, which led to the discovery of the fact that, although having not as bright a quick change in the sound stream, the hexagon plastic slinkies led to a purer sound, which led to hexagon plastic slinkies in six circles on the living room floor, then to six loops (like inch worms) on the floor, then stretched and held in place with straight pins in the carpet as a 6 sided star array, then nodes of crisscross within the array raised in the air atop six sided ice cream soda glasses and two ornate six sided glass vinegar bottles, which then led to the whole 'array' raised in the air to a miracle height of 15 1/4 inches as a bottom layer, using long thin wooden rods to support the slinkies horizontally, first square rods of 4 feet in length, then finally round rods of 6 feet each. It was then found that wooden rods leaned against the wall with a slinky dangling down the shaft had a big thing to say about fidelity also. HISTORY COMPLETE. Today it was found that one of these rods placed in the corner right behind the TV gave firm strength to some qualities in the sound stream. And finally, it occurs that a Heart Shaped slinky gives the best quality of all, particularly in the high end. The round and heart shaped slinkies have been stored in a box upstairs for many weeks, until today. One, now, heart shaped, is back in use in the sonic experiment, dangling down an 6 foot very thin wooden rod and c a r e f u l l y placed in an e x a c t HOT location right near the corner behind the TV. The vertical wooden rods started with a circumstance observation several weeks ago. A 48 inch plastic yard stick ruler with glass tubes containing yellow/green liquid to also act as a leveller, was used in the living room to make some measurements, then stood up against the living room wall when not in use. A modest but hot location was chosen as the place to lean this white plastic yardstick to get it out of the way. It happened (curiosity always at work in this kind of experiment) that turning the yard stick to lean on edge against the wall produced a better result for the sound stream. Then it was found that a plastic hexagon slinky dangling from the top down the yard stick worked even better and a momentarily useful tuning device thus leaned against the livingroom wall to the right just inside from the doorway to the kitchen. However it was almost impossible to keep the ruler up right, leaned against its edge. So this led one day (the brain working somewhat slowly) to the idea of trying a slinky dangling from a wooden rod, against the wall, and ergo some practical uses for vertically leaned thin rods have been found. The square 4 foot thin rods originally used as rods, did not work anywhere as suitable as the rounder longer thinner rods. So the square rods are leaning into a corner at the front end of the hall by the garage door where they seem to be doing no harm. The final stage of the upright saga, is today, determining after and hour and a half of playing around that the heart shaped plastic slinky has a use after all, dangling down one wooden rod m e t i c u l o u s l y placed behind the TV set. This simple construction is very tunable, and definately, definately helps to irradicate weird lingering sounds in the high end. The fidelity of the high end sound is fabulously improved, but only when all of the vertical rods are m e t i c u l o u s l y tuned leaning against walls. The best of the high end new tuning, comes from the rod behind the TV set with a heart shaped stretched plastic slinky its main sonic artifact. During the hour and a half of tests this AM, a 6 foot wooden rod dangled with a hexagon plastic slinky, behind the toilet in the main floor washroom, was taken out and tried in looking around for other hot spot locations leaned against walls and corners in the main floor. None new (hot location) was found that was worth saving. What was noticed after a while is that some very resonantly sonic deeper bass reverberations had somehow vanished from the sound stream and no manner of tinkering or tuning would bring it back, until it was remembered that the wooden rod had been grabbed in haste from behind the toilet, and when it was restored put back in place, back at ONCE came the missing stronger longer reverbs in the deeper regions of the bass. The cavity itself of the small washroom is acting as an accoustic chamber, in which a long distance occurring of the sonic images are recurring, and the wooden rod with the slinky is acting to rejuvinate the latent sound image reaching into the cavity in sonically projected recurrance coming from a long distance away in the back corner of the living room. In the tiny washroom the sound is very loud and strong indeed despite 'Airframing' through two left hand turns, a walk up the long hall, and a right turn, then kitty corner straight to the back of the living room to TV energy source. The sound IN the washroom is far louder and clear fidelic, then it is in the utility room, which is off the hall to the right through a door, from which the washroom itself is again off to the right, through another door. You can see what I mean by this: by 'Airframing', and long distance recurring of sonically projected images of sound. In line with this a handshake is clearly taking place between this long distance external accoustic projecting resonating chamber (the washroom) and the sound stream source in the living room, in that clarities that can be heard anew when the wooden rod with hexagram slinky is put e x a c t l y in place so that the sound stream changes for the better are clearly heard in the washroom, the same 'for the better' in the sound stream continued throughout the whole of the main floor sonically excited environment. In other words, the constructively re-enforced vibrational changes kicking in, in the accoustic chamber, are for the entire sonic image as a whole, the local changes 'stablize' the entire fractal matrix patterns all the way back to the originating sound source. Problems with 'Airframing' have not been noticable since plastic hexagram slinkies were first put to work. An earlier record further back near the start of this current round of experiments which began on June 6, 1995, discussed the coming and going of the 'Airframe' property by seeming ad hoc ways, until a specific experiment was set up using platforms raised on stands made of hand bent electrical wires of 550 volts grade and metal small slinkies dangling. Means were tested to thus induce long distance 'Airframe' into the sound stream by willfull methods. It was later found with other changes taking place in the overall setup, that the 'Airframe' inducers had once again become major spoilers so their artifact constructions were dissolved. Since then 'Airframe' has not been a problem, either more or less on a day to day and ongoing basis, with always some 'Airframe' sometimes quite advanced. Today the 'Airframe' is very advanced. The only change in the audiobilities of the sound stream from one end of the main floor of the house to the other is in volume, which drops somewhat, when departing the living room. A noticable decrease to dullness and a lack of sonic echoes happens when going into the utility room, but the sound is restored to more or less full, when going the few steps further into the small cavity of the main floor washroom where a 6 foot thin tuning rod now leans against the right back corner behind the thunder mug. a hexagon slinky stretched its length. - Finis - JAZZ IS BACK IN THE BALL PARK ------------------ Sept 13, 1995, 2:25 PM Wednesday afternoon. The John Handy Quintet plays again! It happened that a tape I bought four years ago, from a 79 cent discount bin at a K-Mart on Merivale Road in Ottawa, had on one side Gato Barbieri / Don Cherry, and on the other the main side of an LP recorded live by the John Handy Quintet at a Monterey Jazz Festival in California in 1966. The name of the Handy cut is 'If Only We Knew'. There is some history about the John Handy Quintet, and about this tape. The history of the band is that I used to gig with the quintet's bass player, Don Thompson. Don had come down from Powell River up the B.C. coast to get into the music scene in Vancouver, featuring himself upon arrival as a vibrophone player. He also played piano, and for a year he and myself and a handfull of others held forth on weekend gigs, plus later as the comprised houseband at the late night after hours Penthouse, in its Gold Room, in downtown Vancouver for $5.00 a night since it was a non union place and we were really getting into the developement of lyrical Jazz so needed a place to constantly play. This is circ. 1960. One afternoon, a jazz session was taking place at a downtown coffee house on Howe Street in Vancouver owned by a piano player, but there was no bass player present, too bad because some very hot chops were lined up ready to blow. So Don Thompson strolled forth, removed the giant accoustic bass from its lean against the wall, and blew everybody away with a very credible bass, since it was the very first time he had played the instrument. However, the accoustic bass's phenomenally pleasurable vibrations against the midrift of the player got to Don at once and thereafter he was a bass player at every opportunity. One evening a jazz session was taking place at a large all jazz club on West Broadway in Vancouver. A fellow who later has become a chief news anchor for one of Canada's TV networks, at that time was fancying himself as a trumpet player, soon to be arrived big time on the jazz scene. But, after playing for part of a set, Don Thompson got up from the audience where we were all sitting at a table, walked to the bandstand, snatched the trumpet away from the astonished player, and began to blow trumpet that astonished everyone! After, I asked Don: 'What's going on? I didn't know you played trumpet!' 'I don't know, man', was Thompson's reply, 'some people say the coronet is my best instrument'. John Handy, from San Francisco, came to that jazz club for a gig and picked up Don Thompson and Terry Clark (on drums) as two local sidemen for the gig. Handy was more or less fresh out of the Juliard school of music with new concepts for the sax. It turned out that both Thompson and Clark fit hand in glove with Handy's tenets, thus a new collaboration was born, Thompson and Clark heading south with Handy after the Vancouver gig, and shortly after the new John Handy Quintet was booked in Monterey (or was it Newport?), with recording engineers, who captured what many concidered to be an amazing piece of music, which was released as an LP shortly after the crowds went their way and the dust settled back to ground level at Monterey. The LP hit big on all scales on all telltales by the jazz and music critics and Downbeat Magazine. One last remark about the Vancouver scene, is that the drummer Terry Clark and myself occasionally handled gigs for one another if one or the other was otherwise busy, during a latter period in the Vancouver scene before I hung up my sticks and cymbols and retired from drumming for ten years at the end of 1960. (I started writing, it more and more took care of all of my activities). For a year and a half in latter 1971 through 1972 I drummed again for a concert Rock five piece band called Amethyst Starr Family. And have not done the deed since in a professional gig, but often think of getting 'renewed' with a hand-made new kind of drum set I would have to build myself to get into exploring rythms structures I can hear in the mind's eye but which can't be played on the normal embodiments of a drum kit nor drum shell designs. Sticks also, something quite radicially different would be created by hand to go with the playing the new kind of drum setup would require. Fantasies. Perhaps. Someday however when there is loot to spare I just might turn the corner into another room and start playing with things to see if the sonic fantasies actually work in physical manifestations. But enough of the rambling road. Now to the 79 cent John Handy tape from a rummage discount bin at K-Mart in Ottawa over two decades later. The tape was from a set of over 50 jazz classics, released by a company in Italy, and had recording qualities that were all over the map. In particular the John Handy tape was nearly impossible. I could not get it to even play a descernable sound when I first tried it on the Fisher Getto Blaster model 8400 which was used to inagurate my sonic experiments. A neighbor's $3500 system could not coax sound from the John Handy tape no matter how the neighbor's expensive stereo system was adjusted or equalized. All that could be discerned was a weak faint high pitched indication of the sax, when this tape was first tried with anticipation and immediate let down, nearly five years ago. So the John Handy tape became a major challenge for me, representing what I called the 'worst hardship case', with many long hours spent over many long months in those early experimental days, off and on, until I was able to coax sound out of the tape, and finally the drums. The cymbols were particular touph, they would be there then not as one test after another was tried and hours sailed by. Only on a rare occasion briefly was I able to focus in enough sound presence to say that the bass drum could be heard with a modicum of tone. One big day came when I had the Fisher 8400 Getto Blaster accelarated to such an extent that I actually heard the faint sonic trail of a propeller driven airplane, barely audible but there, passing up in the air over the festival while the John Handy Quintet played. It could also have been the Goodyear Blimp. (Earlier reference to the John Handy tape begins with topic: VIBRATING SNOWFLAKES - The Next Day, line 3820 in file SOUND1.TXT). Which brings us right up to today. Sept 13, 1995, 2:25 PM, Wednesday afternoon. I finished the last of two more changes to long thin wooden rods, replacing the thicker 6 footer standing up leaned against the wall behind the TV with Heart Shaped slinky stretched its length, for the slimmest rod I could get at the nearby Builder's Warehouse, plus created a second wall leaner of 7 1/2 foot length of the same kind of ultra thin wooden rod, alongside the original up the hall by the entrance to the utility area. So now there are two thin wooden rods nearly touching the ceiling, side by side almost touching, both with hexagram slinkies stretched their full length. These together really do work! Its a case of one plus one equals more than three. All of the standup conducers have had V shaped grooves files into both ends with a triangle shaped file to act as snags so the slinkies can be stretched between both ends. These two simple seeming changes brought bottom bass resonating into the new experimental sound picture for the first time. There is now plenty of lower and very low bass sound to crow about, enough to cause vibrations once again in floors and walls of the main floor of the house, with the TV on. In fact at one instance this afternoon the whole of the TV cabinate growled with a low roar of sympathetic sonic vibrations for a few seconds as I was deftly tuning the standup rod behind it with feather light taps of a fingertip. It has been quite some time since bottom bass has been heard around the environment, now achieved again, this time with wooden rods and stretched hexagram shaped slinkies forming a major new artifact for sonically conducing the sound stream. Feeling rather good about the better TV sound, I turned on again the dinky wall shelf stereo setup using two sets of tiny box speakers hooked together through a single chincy consol (Prosonic, bought a few weeks ago at a local Giant Tiger store for $49). This time, I set the smaller boxes on the floor within the spread of the two slightly larger tiny tower boxes, and when turning the two tiny boxes around to also face into the sound image, and reversing the leads, the stereo tape ran out. So not wanting to waste time rewinding I grapped a cassette from the tray of scattered casettes on one of the book shelves made of long slabs of cut plywood and cardboard boxes in the kitchen, and stuck the grabbed cassette into the consol. I was actually expecting Lee Konitz. But to my surprise it was the John Handy Quintet. It was loud and clear (though somewhat distorted). A few moments of fiddly with the exact placing of the four tiny speaker boxes cleaned up much of the distortion, and I was able to enjoy that recording for the first time in nearly 30 years since last hearing it as an LP on a giant stereo system, one which had, no lie, 64 4 inch tweeters all wired together on open tall stand up shells to comprese the 'quote' enlcosures, this pair ending up for 3/4 of a year on the stage of the famed Orpheum Theatre in downtown Vancouver as its main sound system for anything beyond sound coming piped from motion pictures per se, circ. 1966. That was an experimental pair (32 4 inch tweeters per device) to test concepts of open air resonances built by some one I know, and they worked ! But, back to John Handy at Monterey. Even the propellers of the airplane were heard to power overhead as clear as a bell and far away. And the drums were all clearly heard even though they did not rock the room as the drums (by Terry Clark) did in the original recording played at max on a super hi fi. As a final nice touch: the audience applauses were handclaps that went far back into the distance as a handclap low roar, and point sources, what you would expect from a giant throng at an outdoor jazz festival of international stature, the first time the handclap has not sounded like high pitched, intensly crisp frying bacon in your face, on this 79 cent cassette, barely barely discernable, in fact at first, over four years ago, nothing more than slight rushes on the tape sounding like nothing but recording noise, was eventually found to be audience applause, way back then nearly five years ago. One of the engineering features of the original LP recording was that the Handy Quintet was miked very close up, using mikes that did not hear distance. It was a new idea intended to produce better fidelity. Which is why, even on the original LP, audience handclapping and background stage noises are not very loud. The point being made is that this new sonic experiment, as it sits, has completely overcome problems that originally took weeks and months to begin to turn around in the first couple of years of sonic testing. After all, this John Handy cassette was my 'worst case tape', and I turned to it many times, to use its worsities to double check if any improvement of significant kind had been made in tests and experiments that were ongoing all the time. The fact is that ALL OF ITS PROBLEMS are overcome, being self evident the moment the John Handy cassette was turned on today, and wait a minute what is this! SURPRISE ! Now that the boasts are over, here is a bit of a resume as to the exact scene regards the main experiment as it currently sits in the living room, the John Handy tape finished, the tiny cheap Chinese consol sitting dormant on the floor, hair thin speaker leads coming from it to the four plastic tiny speaker boxes sitting on the floor. The four tiny speaker boxes sit in a line stretching roughly 6 feet apart, at a right angle triangle's diagonal for the far back corner of the living room straight to where the TV sits on its round glass topped end table. The row of speakers are out in the wide open almost in the middle of the the living room, about 8 or 9 feet out from the corner. All 4 boxes are turned toward the back wall, ie into the sound image, in entire reverse to any normal hi fi or stereo setup. The two tinier boxes are set about 5 feet apart and both are perched on the 6 inch ornate glass vinegar bottles mentioned many times in the past few weeks. Raised slightly to a 6 inch height, thusly improves the strength in the open roomy characteristics of the sound. The two tiny tower boxes, roughly 6 feet apart, seem to like themselves better sitting right on the broadloomed floor, turned upside down so the small bass ports are at the top of the tiny towers. One problem has been that the boxes tend to topple from the vinegar jar perches. This has heppened several times this afternoon, knocking things askew. Otherwise, balanced just so on the small perch offered by the top of the ornate glass vinegar bottle upon which is layed a six sided hexagram cut from stiff art paper to give a marginal larger support area under the speaker box, perched thus, these speaker boxes vibrate quickly, but the best sound occurs when there is no vibration felt in the speakers boxes, this is when the best accoustic sound stream comes more fully ranged top to bottom from the region comprising a large sonic window filling the air along the back wall and far beyond into the accoustically visible distance. This is not like any stereo you have typically heard, there is no flat sound wall. There is space, as if the band is live on stage. The only thing missing is really good fidelity, that, there is not, at this moment. Nor real strong power. The volume is of household level with a stereo turned on to higher listening levels but not so high as to invite the anti-noise bylaw cops. The consol's volume knob is gained to 3/4 to the top to produce this volume. Any more volume at this point causes collapses into fractured, high pitched, distortion, and sounds convert to light energy pressures felt in the ears. Update later in the evening. Later this afternoon I located two cowie type seashells of large size, about 7 inches long each, each of a similar basic shape but quite different in details in that one has small scalloped ridges forming a Golden Spiral around one end, the other has a tip that ends in a shiny point. I did not have enough happy lettuce on hand so have the two shells put aside until Saturday for pickup. This is at a wholesale Aquarium store on St. Laurent street in Ottawa. The young owner laughed when I asked if there were any more shells, and said the only place to go for a selection was Florida. I was directed to this place by the owner of a pet store on Ogilvie Rd. A young dog inside was being gripped between the knees of a lady who was buying her dog a collar. The poor dog's head stuck out backwards behind her fat knees. Meanwhile, every collar on the rack was being tried. The dog when it saw me eagerly wanted to move in for groovies but the lady got a bit upset at the dog, because she had told it to sit, and it instead wanted to say hello dog fashion. I asked her why she was slapping the dog on the snout and that was her reason. I wouldn't have minded if the dog had climbed up and sat on my shoulders, it was a neat dog. Think of George Castanza's mother, age about 30, to get an idea of this broad and her fat knees gripping the head of her groovy dog the dog's head poking outward behind her behind her fat knees. Even the pet store owner was amused by the ontology of THIS episode, as he diligently continued to try to 'make the sale' - a four dollar dog collar. And long minutes went by heading toward an hour as she tried to make up her mind. Me, the store owner, and the dog, ve r r r y patient. Between breaths he told me about the wholesale aquarium supply store on St. Laurent. He and she were crowded in a narrow isle, me peering over their shoulders trying to get information. The whole time, except when the dog managed to struggle free to give me a few licks, she had the poor dog's head gripped between her fat knees, backwards, trying on one collar after another, and moaning about the look every time. The middled aged bald store owner also moaning, but only when I was looking on the sly in his direction. Some pet owners, eh. All canadian. What a neat dog it was, if only she could have woken up, on the instant. You see, the way she had it gripped, backwards, between her fat knees, was very painful for the dog. And all of this taking place was the sake of 4 or 5 dollars. Canadians, eh. The idea with the two shells (with Golden Harmonic forms thus 5 sided math matrix) is to try them on the stairs where prior tests have demonstrated that 5 sided objects can act as purifiers of sonic fidelity acting at long distance. The best purifyer so far is a round flattish shell with a very large opening which when propped upright in the corner of one of the lower stairs noticably produces purer sound coming from around the corner at the other end of the hall into the living room, the purity heard most distinctly as well in the living room. I would like very much to lay my hands on a larger version of this particular kind of shell, since it is known by demonstrated fact to work so well but, alas, there just does not seem to be any vendor in the area who features 'shells galore'. The two put aside today will be most interesting to see how they work, for better or for worse, the moment I get my hands on them. I have had great luck in the past three weeks or thereabouts, predicting effects in advance. Most all of the improved changes made in the sound stream in the past three weeks were thought of in advance, and worked when tried. I expect the shells will also fit in this picture. The only thing left is to figure out some means to tweek the dangling slinkies on the stand-up rods in a continuing way. There is indication that the standup rod behind the TV will transform the sound when tweeked, and it is already apparant that one or both standup rods nearly reaching the roof up the hall will excite the sound stream in more powerful ways when their slinkies are tweeked to occilate up and down in a constant manner. - Finis - CHANCE ACCIDENT -------------------------------- Sept 18, 1995, 11:50 AM Monday morning. Well, talk about discovery by chance accident. The end of the short story is its finish. That is, the end is the result. Ahem, what this means is that two days ago a couple of hours were spent trying to get a stable system setup featuring very roomy stereophonic reverberating reproductions from a Mono AM radio station, (Energy 100, at 1310 on the AM dial in Ottawa) using the Prosonic ultra cheap shelf model system of two sets of tiny box speakers, and a single consul, made in China. The problem was in trying to perch the tiny boxes on raisers that supported each of the speakers up in the air. It was found that the tiny tower boxes parked on top of the two 6 inch ornate vinegar bottles, and the tinier square speaker boxes perched each on six sided ice cream sunda dishes, could be coaxed and ultra fine tuned into a reasonably fidelitic system with deep bass reverbs pounding in long distance echoes that hung in the almost mighty sound stream to the end of their time. The main problem was that tuning was accute, how many different placements for the speakers, their distance apart, their distances out from the end of the 6 sided star array on the living room floor, all had consequence. Many variants were standing around waiting to be tried, waiting to be discovered. The real problem was in getting the fucken boxes to stay on top of their glass stands. The moment bass vibes start to hork forth into the room, one or another of the boxes would topple, completely spoiling the effect. The expression, 'sick with frustration' took on new meaning as, in fact, I did start feeling sick in the stomach, the midrift taking on a knot that had a distinct sinking ill feeling to it as one attempt after another failed, to get the four boxes to stay perched when, just as the real goodstuff started to happen, a box would turbo topple off its perch. Finally, I just shut the whole thing down, pulled the plug on the consul, shut down the consul playing AM station ENERGY 100 at 1310 AM in Ottawa, and pulled the glass stands, and set the four boxes on the floor in a way that was least interferring with the sonics of the TV set. And so it sat until today, when I thought to give one more try to getting the tiny speaker boxes parked on stands. Didn't work. The moment bass reverbs entered the system a box or two would topple in the sudden turbo power's motoring force. And so I did not waste time, the moment I saw that the topples were going to be inevitable at this moment, pulled the stands once and for all, and gathered up the speakers to a clutch to just for the heck of it, try the tiny boxes all close right together. And what do you think happened! I put the two tower boxes about 3/4 of a foot apart on either side of the steel wire tripod that supports the outer end of the central wooden rod in the 6 sided star array, and heard a deepening in the sound, plus a clarification spreading forth in the sound's fidelitics. So not wasting a second, I moved the other pair, the smaller tiny boxes, into close quarters and found that they, about 3 inches out sideways from the tiny towers, kicked ass the sound with even more of the goodstuff. A re-enforcing accoustic cavity seemed to open up between the walls of each pair (tower and square) of boxes. These two cavities of accoustic resonance seem to be in the recurrance end, the net end effect of the accoustics, not due to original sonic generation. With the head very close to a cavity, subtely fine tuning the boxes, the cavity itself produces more sound than does either speaker box. Each speaker box pair is only two inches apart for the strongest positive effect to be heard in the combined 1 + 1 = more than 2 effect between them, in the accoustic cavities. The resonances of the accoustic cavities are synching back out into the main sound stream as a whole, inputting major re-enforcements of a most noticable kind, when listening at long distance away. But the accoustic cavity is a side effect, noticed only by very careful final tuning of the speaker boxes, at very close quarters, on the knees with head bent right to each box watching its minutest moves when being adjusted. The whole accoustic effect in the room is the real issue. Moving the outer pair (of tiny square boxes) out to proper stereo splay at about 6 feet apart, resulted in an immediate disappearance of any bass. None at all would be heard, even on a stereo tape. In fact moving the boxes out by more than an inch or two resulted in the bass simply going into hiding. To get the bass, the four speakers have to be almost like kids in front of a cartoon, as tight, side by side as they can sit. Here is the DEMO! A totally credible stereophonic scene in an AM Mono radio broadcast, with bass galore, reasonably fidelic high end, and reverbing echoes that continue through the main floor of the house to the ends of their time, heard when standing back and listening. The only thing not here, is a more airy live-in-the-room presence that was heard briefly when the four speakers were raised on perches in the air above the floor, an arrangement that has thus far proven totally physically unstable, therefore, alas, unusable. The speakers themselves are set parallel to each other, and facing straight ahead in a row across the main axis of the star array, toward the corner. The speakers are like little listeners sitting in a row about seven feet out from the TV set, which is on the glass topped coffee table in the corner. One interesting characteristic about the new setup now in place is the way the sound image, hence sound stream, behaves. When standing close to the speakers, say, about two feet away and towering above the tiny boxes which sit on the floor, the sound closes in to a focus at the center nub (criss cross) of the 6 sided star array and focuses down right to the floor under the criss cross, as its apparent source of origin. This is a location about 3 feet behind the speakers further away from me the listener. By stepping back a couple of feet, the whole of the sound image suddenly lifts up and moves right back up in the air to swell out and fill a whole large region of space seeming around 8 to 10 feet behind the star array, including well back into the beyonds of the living room wall itself, beyond the back corner where the TV sits. This is a most noticable effect. The fact that the Mono sound source is entirely resulted up in the air as a giant stereophonic image is most noticable indeed. It is completely up in the air, a bona fide projection, having nothing whatever to do with the local sound source generators sitting in a straight line little hutch of little tykes in front of a TV set on the floor. It is a full fledged recurrance, imaging itself up and out in space a long distance away and entirely separated from the source (the speaker boxes on the floor) generating the sound signal, from which not a trace of sound can be heard. So that is the end of this quick short story. Frustration yeilded chance action that led to accidental discovery of a very useful demonstration of many principles in action. Placing the 4 speakers close together on the floor is the discovery. Let's be honestly clear about what is going on. There are unpleasant sharpnesses and stridencies intermittant throughout the sound stream. An unfamiliar listener whose ears have not had time to attune, will at first find the loud sounds uncomfortable. The sound is not fidelic in the true sense. It is somewhat spongy, plus point sources fracture and clear as if in the manner of antenna or signal distortion, but the distortion is actually the system fighting past its inherent limitations to produce new sonics by recurrent projections generated in the whole environment, rather than from the sound generating source per se. What is most noticable is that large bodies of sound ARE reverbing with hang and long distance echoes, that all continue to the end of their time. This spacey long distance effect is totally impossible in normal expectations of any Mono source, particularly the broadcast of an AM station on the cheapest tiny sound systems money can buy, made in China, in particular since the system's 4 tiny speaker boxes are sitting totally together in a row a few inches more than 2 feet across, out in wide open, in the middle of a living room floor, rather than tucked high up in the air in the corners of a small wall shelf where the speakers are supposed to be to work their best. In this living room, you can look all the way to the left, or right, and audibly sense sound reverberations coming from farther than the walls. There is no accoustic frame around these kind of resonances. There is no such thing as a flat wall in these kind of resonances. An orchestra sounds like an orchestra, as wide as, and as deep as, an orchestra on stage, with you the listener not far back in an audience but right up there in front of the orchestra hearing what the band leader hears, even on old 78 rpm Mono recordings from the 50's. This is interesting because it can be assumed that some of the music was recorded in isolation booths but this is not apparent. In fact I can clearify the fidelity to one degree or another at once, just by hand tuning an object or two sitting on the work table here in the dining room where these notes are being typed into my main computer. One of the paper cutout small triangular tripods mounted on the second hand of a battery operated pulsed clock motor, is on a strategic position at the far end of the table on the opposite side of the room from the TV set. In this position, the tripod, which shifts position by 6 degrees abruptly every second, is breaking up destructive standing waves, the breakup leading to more fidelity and open roomy sound in the bass end of the sound. I mention this because its effect is particularly obvious. SEA SHELLS -------------------------------- Four days ago I drove over to St. Laurent Blvd. to pick up two sea shells which had been put on hold in a wholesale aquarium supply store. The shells were being sold for decoration only, these kind, apparently, are unhealthy and can't be used as orniments in non sea water aquariums, although this store also sells complete sea water aquariums and fauna including coral reef fragments with live polyps, anenomes, sea cuccumbers, crabs, shrimps, and incredibly bright colored reef dwelling fish. That is beside the point. The point, is the shells worked. The moment I walked into the house and set one on the front stairs to the second floor, I heard a way more stuff in the sound stream coming from the TV in the front living room. Bass frequencies growled into the open, that were not there before, when I placed the second shell, on the stairs. In sum total, the two 7 inch 5 sided golden spiral conch shells worked. In detail, one of the shells worked very well, and the other just marginally so, working in a contributing way when placed in an ultra fine tuned location, otherwise it is a spoiler. Whereas the other works no matter where it is in the environment, its best effects however being in a particular hot spot on one of the stairs leading upstairs at the front of the hall farthest up the hall from the livingroom, and aligned just so with its large open bandshell port sitting upright, facing a certain way into the sound stream coming from up the hall. The one that works so well has its end featured flat, with tiny scallops curled in a golden harmonic spiral. Needless to say, the rest of the day was spent in experimenting with these two shells. It was found that they could be placed in the living room on the table on which sits the sonic snowflakes plus four geometric paper cutouts that form a flow tube, on the table opposite the TV, but actually work to marginally produce better sonics only with the TV at a lower volume. At higher volume, the shells work best on the front stairs. One of the shells is a near rip off, it had been badly broken with a major piece snapped out, which had been repaired with a coat of glue then sealed in thick shrink wrap so its damage was not easily seen until unwrapped. The coat of glue may or may not be having an adverse effect on its sound. Notwithstanding, this shell comes to a point at both ends. The other shell has a blunt end with tiny scallops curled in a golden harmonic spiral, and this shell is very respondent, producing noticable effect in the sound stream no matter where it is placed, or even just held in the hand when walking around. Just in the environment is enough for the scalloped-end shell to have a positive effect. One effect noticed with the presence of these two new large golden spiral shells and their golden harmonic accoustic chambers is that MONO sound is greatly inhanced in terms of both high to low sound range, and pure fidelics. Whereas, stereo broadcast sound had a slight distortion, interfering with the pure sound. The shells also had a noticable effect on the upper high end of the sound, both constructive, or destructive. Just producing a shell out in the open amplified the higher end of the sound stream, the problem being that the amplified sound mainly included the unreal input of the TV cabinate itself, until sensitive hot spots for locating the shells on the front stairs were used, in which case the amplified higher end was partially purified. The point is, for the first time in the sound experiments with the 28 inch RCA Stereo TV, I had a means of being able to easily play with the HIGHER end of the sound, using the two new shells. So, back I went to the Wholesale Aquarium store the next day, Saturday, to buy the other blunt ended shell. Now there are no more there. But, what was immediately found is that the distortion obvious in the sound stream of a stereo sound source, was cleared up, by placing the two similar (blunt end) sea shells, about 5 1/2 inches apart, in the same area on one of the stairs at the front of the house. The 5 1/2 inch separation approximates the distance which separates a pair of human ears. That finishes up descriptions of the shell experiments. They work. It is not these particular shells that work. What has been verified is that curled accoustic chambers, and external spiral sculpting, based on golden spiral and golden harmonic geometrics, are positive conducers in sonic energy principles, the fact that a particular artifact from nature (the shells) works, is co-incidental to finding a truer embodiment for the use of golden harmonic principles in the positive excitement and long distance recurrances of sound. TALL STANDUP RODS ---------------------------- The day I went by the Wholesale Aquarium store to pick up the two original shells, I also stopped at the nearby Builder's Warehouse to pick up another 8 foot thin wooden rod, but being in a hurry grabbed one for its attractive wood grained look, and when getting it home, discovered it had a slight warp to it. Testing it as a standup rod with hexagram shaped plastic slinky stretched end to end (ceiling to floor) revealed that it worked poorly when the warp leaned in toward to the wall, and worked best with the slight warp bowing out into space, but getting the thing to stay upright with the warp bowed out was almost impossible. It would in fact stay upright for a time, then the slightest disturbance, for instance a puff of wind when the front door was opened, would topple it. So Saturday, back I went to Builder's Warehouse for two more 8 foot wooden rods. This day a whole new supply had been stood into the small bin. (These wooden rods are typically used cut up to make dowels for woodworking and cabinate making). This time I took rods out by the handfull, splayed them, and waved the ends as a single wad up and down in the air looking for wooden rods that had the least bend. I checked perhaps a hundred rods, via several handfulls, and came home with two that were perfectly straight and had practically no bend at all when stood upright nearly to the ceiling against a wall. I shortened them by a few inches by snapping off a bit from each end. To make groves in which to snag the ends of the stretched slinkies, I first tried sticking pins into the ends but these were unworkable, so tried cutting groves into the ends with a triangular file, but couldn't get the grooves deep enough, so used a kitchen knife with serrated edge to easily cut grooves deep into the ends of the rods. A couple of the ends snapped in such a way that the end split, and I was easily able to jamb the end of a slinky into the split, but this was by chance. Because of varying wood grains I could not just snap an inch off an end and have a usable split. Ergo the grooves cut with the serrated kitchen knife, as a final solution, beginning with straight pins that didn't work, and so on. I was spending time and again and again, restretching slinkies end to end on rods, and finally found that the kitchen knife with serrated blade could be used to easily cut into the very hard wood that these rods are made of, to make grooves deep enough to work. Here I go, rambling on about hardships. Enough. And so, that summaries the weekend's events. I have passed through several hurdles, frustrations, and I guess you could call it hardships in dealing with fragile embodiments to coax fragile ingredients out of fragile sound streams, with success. At this point, the only thing left is to figure out some way of tweaking the dangling hexagram slinkies to see if the tweaking adds power to the sound stream's important ingredients. Tweaking the slinkies on the 8 foot rods does not produce an immediate effect that is instantly self evident, whereas tweaking the ends of the slinkies that are dangling from the ends of the 6 foot wooden rods forming the star array on the floor in the living room, produces immediate changes for the better in the sound stream during the time the tweeked slinky oscillates up and down and vibrates. Whether or not the effect is sustainable by constantly tweaking one or another of the slinky ends remains to be seen. Whether an up and down oscillation, or sideways vibration, works best, or both, also has to be tested when the time comes. At the moment, it seems that pure up and down occilations (like a catepillar) along the sloping angle length of the slinky portion extending to the floor, works best. The question of tweaking a slinky of a standup wooden rod further away, up the hall, is interesting because of something that happened when a standup wooden rod with a slinky dangling down it was tried for the first time, leaned against the wall further up the hall from the living room. This was an original 4 foot square wooden rod of kind originally used to form the star array raised above the living room floor. As attempt was being made to adjust the rod to an ultra hot location against the hall wall, the slinky was brushed (accidentally tweeked) by a fingertip, and a whole new body of sound opened up for a few seconds into the sound stream, then faded again. It was a completely wide open BOTTOM BASS, where the bass drum in a rock band on the TV set suddenly became loud and clear banging away with huge kabooms, a major new octave, fully alive, in the bass range. It meant that the bass range information was there all along but only needed (needs) some excitement means and rejuvinating conducer to re-energize its presence in the resulting sound stream. I have not heard any such obvious transformation occur in the sound stream, since. But, know the effect is there, and is worth looking for, someday, somehow, by some controllable means. - Finis - Sept 18, 1995, 2:38 PM Monday afternoon. I have just tried a pulsed tripod under the center node, the criss cross of the star array raised above the living room floor by 15 1/4 inches +, (+ means a smidge above 15 1/4) and, yes, close up, the sound is substantially harmonically enhanced when close up, i.e, in the vacinity of the criss cross. But further away, for instance in the kitchen, the roomy long distance 'Airframe' resonances, have been snuffed. So the pulsed tripod is back in original position at the back of the table. However, it was noticed, that in monitoring my way around the star array of raised slinkies, that by taking position near the TV to have opposite perspective, with the sound image raised now out in the air over the opposite corner of the living room, is more fidelics, by quite a margin. This is not unexpected, in that the speaker fronts now face me and the sound image occurs behind their backs, in the position of me standing back in the corner of the room by the TV set, the fronts of the speakers facing straight to me. This is with the Prosonic setup horking away at loud volume in full stereo from an AM radio station's Mono broadcast. Golden oldies including rockers from the 50's, before the era of stereo, are played frequently so I can monitor that a Mono AM radio station (mono by nature) and Mono 78 and 45 rpm platters (also mono by nature) are nonetheless fully resolved into stereophonics in the roomy boomy sound stream's images. I don't know that 78 rpm platters are being used, I do know that I used to have many of these platters, and believe me the music was quaranteed 78 rpm, and guaranteed mono. Even Shaboom (from 1954) was played today, and for the first time, I heard it in full stereo. Did you know that every single note played by the orchestra and sung by the males, was written down on paper, scored to the final ounce in manuscript. You can hear the strict control exercised on every touch in the music in detail, when hearing Shaboom in the dynamics of full stereo Airframe. The fact of the entire sound image swinging around in the room as I walk around in behind the star array is not new, I used to do many fun tests going back to nearly five years ago playing with the sonics of sound images that were floating right up in the air and that moved around always on the opposite side of the sound generating sources as I walked around exploring this kind of environment. In today's notice, the fidelity itself was noticably improved when I went in behind the star array to the back corner by the TV and the sound image swung around thus to be on the opposite side of the living room. Such peculiarities of sound were first heard in a totally definative way by me back in 1969 in Vancouver. Now, make no mistake, I am not a Rolling Stones fan, even though acknowledging that every so often an interesting piece of music has come from this group, even if the music itself, as they played it, was the worst kind of raunchy roar and imposition, and often with song titles that begged the occult and devil worship, practices which I without question understand are a total waste of time, in concidering what Cosmic Law and the Law of One have to offer in an instant. In the fall of 1969, the Canada Council had financed a new enterprise for the West Coast, called Intermedia, to get around the problem of most financings going to Toronto and Montreal artists, poets, and art film makers, the West Coast chronically complaining about getting the short shift. The Poetic Galactic Council, for instance, was headquartered by several acting individuals, through the new Intermedia, on the west coast. One day I was pulled aside by the chief of this group who informed me they had decided I was Blake reincarnated. That was a peice of information I put on the back shelf and have left there ever since. I don't think so. Circ. 1969. So Intermedia was set up, to provide facilities (and sometimes materials and supplies) to West Coast artisans, who could participate in a fundworthy way, without having the actual largess of an official Canada Council grant. It worked quite well, for a short while. A large modern facility was leased on 4th Avenue just to the West of Burrard Street in Vancouver, just a couple of blocks to the East of the main hippy district in Vancouver at that time. I was called in one day for a meeting with the director of Intermedia, who made an offer I could not refuse. Though unable to provide funding, he was able to offer workspace, which I badly needed, for a project just beginning to unfold at that time, the initial unfolding taking place on a small kitchen table a few blocks further East up 4th Avenue in a hippy house occupied top to bottom by a very weird assortment of hippies. I was, yes, I admit, sleeping on a mattress on the concrete floor behind the furnace in the basement at that time, for a few weeks, and spreading out work on the kitchen table working every day on a new poem called 'The Proton People'. The offer from Intermedia was just what the doctor ordered, everything was moved into that new work area, a large two story high warehouse of modern construction with an upper deck built entirely around the four walls, the upper deck large enough to accomodate work tables built four feet deep, plus plenty of room to walk around the whole gangwalk. I got about 10 feet on the upper deck near the front entrance, more than enough to do my project. I found a suitable sofa to sleep on, nearby, and spent the next two months, night and day, working on the project, in the Intermedia facility. Circ. 1969. The point of the story is the following. Two or three of the projects taking place under the Intermedia umbrella were sound. That is, one for instance, involved a young fellow who was patching together small bits of stereo recording, and running them forwards and backwards, at different speeds, to comprise new compositions. The interesting thing about him was that he had a lyrical sense and was actually composing new sweetly listenable musics but with methods something akin to National film board sound tracks made by painting dabs on a film's sound track strip. Another fellow turned up from time to time trying Melatron experiments, this (the Melatron) is the same device used by the Moodie Blues and was notoriously difficult to master because of its number of knobs and dials needing to be set in accutely accurate ways just to get any sound worth while from it. Oddly enough, Intermedia at that time did not have many female participants. So 'fellows' are being cited for that reason alone. Another fellow, up from San Francisco, and on multiple grants from both Canada and the United States, involved him using Intermedia's two Sony stereo two-track expensive recorders with echo features, to experiment with echoes and feedbacks to produce new sounds. The problem with him was a lack of resistence in cranking up the Sony's, well past their tolerances, so that both frequently had to go out for repairs. He liked to explore the realms of total high volume distortions, in the middle of the night when the director in charge wasn't around to close down his cost-a-lot experiments. One thing he did do however, while playing with surround sound, something that was more or less brand new in the genre of stereophonics at that time, was in having a number of the Intermedia participants bring their best home stereo speaker sets to Intermedia, which he wired up in an unusual way (for that day and age), and taped looped the opening passage of the Rolling Stones 'Her Satanic Majesty' right up to the point where the Rolling Stones vocals start and the music gets really noisy. Prior to that point, a very distinct haunting opening interlude occurs with British schoolgirls singing in a very long distance background. In Intermedia, the fellow from the states tape looped this opening passage, and played it non-stop at high volume day and night looping over and over again non-stop at concert hall loud volume for the whole weekend in the big inner chamber of the Intermedia premises, people coming from all over town (Vancouver) to hear this astonishing (and pleasurable) piece of music played as an enormous body of sound precursur to surround sound. How he did it, nobody knew, but, the original Rolling Stones recording was somewhat distorted in its opening most listening passage, yet in the surround sound demo the fellow set up for the weekend in Intermedia, the distortion had been overcome, and it was quite a piece of music. The final point of the story being that the best sound of all was gained by standing in one position on the upper deck walkway, at the front of the building. What made me write about this, was in hearing better fidelity in my living room today, by standing by the TV set and listening to the enormous sound image take shape on the opposite side of the living room. Pursuent to this Intermedia story, is the actual project I had underway, it was a long poem of some 35 panels in which a metaphysicist shrinks the solar system to a dynamic system the size of a kitchen table, and expands a Deuterium atom to the same size, and inhabitants of the atom visit inhabitants of the solar system, and comparable inhabitants of the solar system send pen pal letters to inhabitants of the atom. Ergo, the name; 'The Proton People'. To illustrate passages of the poem I went around collecting pieces of art from over a dozen different Vancouver artists, and collaged them into a series of art panels, with the poetic text typed by hand on a portable Hermes typewriter. The Vancouver Art Gallery heard about the project and called me in with a proposal I could not refuse. It was that the gallery had for over two years secretly been contacting owners of paintings by American impressionist Paul Klees, a fellow who sold most of everything he painted to private collectors, such that a public showing of Klees works had never happened. The Vancouver art gallery was able to secure permission to borrow, with delivery of paintings by couriers to the gallery, of enough paintings, to mount the first ever art gallery showing of Paul Klees, the problem (as explained to me) being that not enough paintings had come in to completely fill the whole art gallery, the largest room was left over, so would I concider filling it with my 'Proton People' project just being finished at Intermedia. I agreed. It seemed like a very good idea. Another fellow, an anethesiast at St. Pauls Hospital, a part time artist, had put together a fiber optics art piece shaped like a large egg with fiber optic ends inside the solid cast plexiglass, the other ends of the optics underneath against different colored lights that were activated by the viewer inserting their forefinger in a galvanized electric skin response sensor mounted on the wall. That, the Egg, in the middle of the large room, and my stuff mounted on the walls completely surrounding the room, comprised the main gallery wing of the Vancouver Art Gallery during the three weeks the Paul Klees display was there before being shipped off to the next gallery for its world tour, originated as a world's first by the Vancouver Art Gallery. I can remember showing up downtown on Georgia Street the second day of the showing, and seeing dozens of school buses lining the street outside. There was a long line to get in. I waited in line. Inside, the line passed slowly through the wing which had my stuff on display from wall to wall, then slowly moved on into the inner galleries where the giant Paul Klees paintings filled big empty spaces on the walls. When the show finished, suddenly the artists were asking for their works back because some that I had used had been concidered the best of their kind by the various artists. So there I was, left with a sheath of broadsheets of artistically typed and layed out poetics with gaps where the art had been. The sheath went into storage along with a small steamer trunk plus a couple of wooden crates of all of my creative output to the middle of 1971, then accidentally got carted to the city dump when the apartment in which the stuff was stored was abruptly vacated by the breakup of a man and women, and everything left behind was carted by workmen to the city dump, including my stuff, by accident. The only record of the piece of work, 'The Proton People' as displayed in the Vancouver Art Gallery in the late spring of 1970, is a set of colored photographs taken by a friend of mine the day the display was set up in the main wing at the front of the Art gallery two days before the show opened. Its true, incidentally, everything, I mean everything, every draft, every unfinished fragment, every published piece of writing, everything of value including a couple of antique watches from the bit of dust that settled my way from my father's estate, went out the door to the dump that day in mid summer of 1971. All of my childhood and school photographs which I had collected one day from family albums, went along with everything else, to the dump. My creative history officially starts anew in mid summer of 1971, the day I heard the news by a distressed friend who told me the news, that EVERYTHING prior, had been carted to the dump. With no backlog of unfinished projects, no press clippings to cling to, no more articles or daily newspaper columns about 'a moi', no original recordings of poetry and music some released on 33 rpm disks some still in the works, no longer any photographic history, I started brand new that summer, age 32, circ. 1971. On the positive side, none of the activities prior to the start of 1971 had any virtue that was lasting or even assuredly correct, in terms of planetary translation and changes expected for the future, in both short term and long term perspectives. The change in state which was firmly forced as a fact of fate in the summer of 1971 was a major overhaul in all levels of thinking regards Cosmic Law and Earth affairs to a larger enterprise that extends beyond the Universe. The loss of cargo with its clinging past actually was a final solution to changes that started in earnest at the beginning of 1971, and are still continuing. Eastern metaphysics, Tibetan theory, and other old lores have little to add to the new picture now unfolding in progressive stages. Such is the way life can twist and turn toward a long distance finish that does not reveal itself until time unfolds the paths that fate and higher consciousness allow. Meybe what's in store is someday soon some will transform into radiant 4th dimensional beings, moving around the Earth at will being constantly busy, for everyone's benefit, for another 800 years per each radiant being. Hindu phantasmagorias, Catholic craven fears, the emotions of born again christians 'rapture' await, and other such delusions, are nothing more in the thoughts but momentary illusions that come into being when small reversed magnetic polarities originating in yourself snag the planetary magnetic inductions and generates out of thin air (so to speak) all of those thoughts which are random and meaningless. Being transformed into a radiant 4th dimensional being will not be the end to it, other snags will be encountered at new levels and will have to be understood and overcome, but, at least, in the 4th dimensional form, you will be one step closer to full and complete resurrection to higher dimensional everlasting life, and starting in the 4th dimensional radiant being form, the progress will be swifter and far more obvious. - Finis - TRIVIALITIES ----------------------------------- Sept 20, 1995, 7:15 PM Wednesday evening. It is nearing the end of September and once again 'Season Premiers' are in force. In this case, it is the opening of a new series, premiering this week on the: 'Fox! Television! Network! What it is is a new series, advertised as thus, with deep male voice over heavy lead mental music pounding in the background, and a young male, grovelling on the floor. I am doing a sinkload of dishes in the kitchen and this is what I have just heard on the TV in the living room: We hear: 'Space, Above And Beyond!' ... 'a man searches amongst the galaxies for the women he believes is still alive!' He says: .... "she's jest gotta be alive!, I KNOW she is!'. So, we KNOW for certain what kind of a series THIS is going to be. - Finis - MISCELLANIA ------------------------------------ Sept 26, 1995, 3:05 PM Tuesday afternoon. A fly has been riding the pendulum clock for weeks. I do not know if it is the same fly, or several flies. What I do know is the fly on the clock at this moment has become friendly. I can put my forefinger to within a 1/4 inch of its face and it does not move. A few days ago it would take off at the moment of any approach. This fly usually rides the preferred 5 o'clock position facing the living room, occasionally it is on the backside facing the kitchen, and today when I put my forefinger forth hoping it would hop aboard, (it didn't - not yet) when I moved away it hopped up onto the bigger geometric paper cutout, another preferred position to ride these days. I just had a quick phone conversation with a long time aquaintance who in the late 80's made frequent trips with his wife to the Laurentians north of Montreal in the Province of Quebec. What had made me curious about these trips was that I knew Visnu Devananda, a swami with a large ashram at Val Morin next to Val David in the Laurentian Mountains. Recently Val Morin and Val David made the international news due to the fact that a sect had had quarters there and in Switzerland, and had become a doomsday cult with some 6 dozen members being taken out of the picture in one day, both up in the Laurentians, and on a farm in Switzerland. So, since this was the first I had heard of that doomsday cult, which seemed to have had very high level activities with the Canadian Federal Government, I began to wonder if my friend had had anything to do with it. So when unexpectedly he called in today on the phone I screwed up my courage and asked. It turns out, according to him, that he and wife had many friends associated with the Vishnu Devananda ashram and also the other cult but that was not the reason why the frequent trips to the Laurentians back in the late 80's. But all of this is just setting the stage to the short story. Today I got around to telling him something I knew about Vishnu. It had happened in the mid 70's that I had gone to the ashram and stayed incognito for 8 months for the purpose of trying to get a handle on what constituted Eastern Law, from the point of view of someone who was increasingly coming across references to it and running into people who were believers or practitioners of it, but otherwise I knew actually nothing about what in fact constituted Eastern Law, in particular fundamental vedic yogi beliefs of the Hindu religeon. So, up to the Laurentians went I, one day, arriving unannounced, used only my first name, talked nothing of my past, stayed 8 months then departed the usual way telling no one, at 2 AM in the middle of the night hitching back into Montreal to end my one and only involvement with Eastern Law. I left a couple of days after being asked to take over as Treasurer of the International Organization, with a move to the Bahamas for me coming up. That was not what I wanted, so left as quietly as I had arrived. Co-incidentally, a telegram arrived on the same day inviting me to take part in some new plans that were beginning to be unfolded in the west. So, deciding to leave was as easy said as done. Getting west however was a different story. In the meantime, the very day I arrived, I got immediately to work cleaning up garbage and rubbish which had been accumulating on the grounds (65 acres) and in storage areas under the backside of the dining hall, and other mounds of decayed overplus. For instance under the dining lounge one day I began to haul out a coagulated mess of gelly and wires, which turned out to be a huge stash of old mattressed which had been stored there years before and forgotten. Most of the cotton stuffing had converted to a thick slimy greenish transparent gell. I pulled this stuff out, and with the help of a recruit who happened to have been wandering by, loaded it into the back of an International Harvester station wagon of 1950's vintage, and hauled the mess to the town dump, several loads to get it all. It turns out that in Hindu beliefs, nothing can be thrown away, it has to be kept, to keep the gods happy. I did not see it that way and so of course spent most of my time the first couple of months, hauling the gods garbages away. The grounds were littered with paper scraps, candy bar wrappers, and just about anything you can name. I cleaned up all of that, too, just to keep busy and pay my way since I was at the time working on creative writings and mathematical formulas and was therefore penniless. On the phone today I told my friend two things about Vishnu Devananda that had impressed me. The first was that one day in the fall a load of us had gone to Mt. Tremblay for a picnic and in the afternoon suddenly a rowboat was seen to be being propelled at rather high speed across the lake. How this was happening was that Vishnu, 50 years old and at one time one of the world's most famous adept Yogis, was doing a handstand on the back of the rowboat, his legs fishtailing back and forth vigorously through the air, the up and down pumping of the vigor propelling the old rowboat at rather high speed right across the small lake. It was the only time in 8 months that I had actually seen the swami do a yogi event, but it was enough to impress me that yes indeed he was no amateur when it came to physical agilities and such. A home movie was shown one day of him cleaning his inners, by swallowing an orange cloth of several yards, then pulling the yards back out of his mouth to yogi clean the pipes and stomach. The back door job was done by stooping in the ice cold head waters of the Gangis River, arse dipped in the ripples, somehow sucking in, then squirting a long spew back into the water that could put a fire hose to shame. How this was done was a matter of advanced yogi techniques, of which, only a few of the best could master, in India. He was dark skinned, with pitch black hair. He had two personalities. In western modern mode, particularly when any camera was focused on him, he would transform, become as good looking as a movie star, in fact noted for the amazing likeness to the looks of Cary Grant. However when looking back into the vedics and in discussing why, for instance, he could claim that Hindu Vedic was the best religion in the world because it was the oldest, he would transform in the opposite direction, his face becoming dark, twisted, contorted, his body writhing as he struggled to get words out in discordant broken sentences. He is the famous guru who made the remark one day up there in the Laurentians, we sitting there hearing this, that in answer to a visitor's question, 'what is the meaning of spiritual humility', he answered; "So, they named me Vishnu, because I am a God, but, so what, I don't go around the world acting like a god, and that is the true meaning of being humble". Needless to say, many of us just sat in the temple casting quick fleeting eye glint urgent glances at each other around the room, on the moment of that verrrry strrrrange remark. It is about the most innapropriate remark I ever heard anyone say. The other thing that DID impress me, however, to the utmost, was one day in the late fall, when the power had failed, and the Quebec Hydro had been hard at work since noon trying to factor the cause. For instance the main line into the camp (ashram) was 550 volts and a lineman outside the main gate had a 20 foot long pole, used to lift wires off insulators to empty standby grooves, with mighty scary loud BZZZZZZZ' occurring as a thick snake of electricity arced from one wire to another as the lineman lifted each with the 20 foot pole. I got to appreciate how much current was going through a typical small line of hydro poles up a gravel curve up a mountainside, in those days. Now it was twilight, the sun going down, all was quite, several dozen people sitting around the lobby of the main lodge, candles lit, since there was nothing to do because the power was out, when all of a sudden there was a horrific loud long cry piercing the quiet night, the echos of it diminishing long into the dark distances of the mountainside, a real hair raiser. Everyone in the room was struck dumb with the same telepathic astral/psychic hit, paralyzed in the intensity, could not move, strange eyes filled as big as saucers. Except me. I raced out of the lodge looking frantically to the left and right. There was no sign of anyone, except the swami, Vishnu, his pencil thin legs covered with dense back hair looking like spider legs, a round golf ball body perched on top, had come out of his cabin, his orange robe lifted above his waist, his black hairy legs propelling through the air faster than the eye could follow, running like the wind in the direction of the yell, screaming in a thick Hindu gutteral accent: 'Help that MAN! for GOD'S SAKE, HELP that MAN!", and the two of us continued running at top speed into the distant woods behind the dining room hall, where the cry had come. It turned out that a seeming abandoned old hydro pole back in those dense heavily overgrown maple tree woods, had a wire coming down the side to a large fuse sitting on the side of the pole, and this, blown, is what had caused the hydro outage for Val Morin that day, and when the hydro man had finally found it at twilight, had yelled at the top of his lungs in jubilation. When we finally got there, he was happily whistling to himself and wiring in a brand new modern fuse box. He had had time to get back out of the woods to his truck, and back, before we, out of breath, plowing and clawing our way through the tangeled folliage, found him. The most interesting thing about that event was that, of the hundreds at the ashram at that time, only two of us responded to what we thought was an appalling cry for help, we two were Vishnu Devanada and myself. His instantaneous reponse to help impressed me a great deal. It was beyond a state of grace, it was beyond being important, for both of us the response for help was totally fundamental. - Finis - SUCCESSS YES/YES/NO/YES ---------------------------- Sept 27, 1995, 12:05 PM Wednesday afternoon. There are three flies jockeying for position on the swinging pendulum. One seems to have first rights. When either of the other two approach, racing around the rim or running backside to front to back to suddenly appear near or at the hot spot at 5 o'clock, the fly sitting there, and the interloper, both instantly take to the air for a few seconds of tight circles in the air. This gamemanship goes on for hours. It seems perhaps two of the three flies have become used to me. One sitting in the hot spot riding the air, and another on the wall in the doorway to the living room, have both let me approach a finger to within a quarter of an inch of their faces. The third, on the other side of the doorframe, took off the moment I approached, hooked finger up in the air at upper lip level, homing in, slowly, checking. Regards the SOUND .... ! I guess I can say the experiment is a success. There is not much I would want to add at the moment to qualify the word 'success'. Everything seems to be working in Divine Order. It is the best sound I have had so far with any tests, well, actually, by far. The original challenge, starting way back when, over 4 years ago, when an urgent situation arose involving a Getto Blaster purchased with coins and small bills put aside from a near non-existent cash flow to provide background music while working long days and the wee hours of the nights on computer software. The point of being a software developer, or seller, is you have nothing to sell until the software works perfectly, and then, no markets unless you can make your software as competetive or better than others of similar kind. Hence the long long hours and weeks stretching into months as several years went by, developing software for IBM compatables. Hence the long hours, and a wish for nice music to help them pass quickly. The purchase was a Fisher Model 8400 Getto Blaster, purchased at a negotiated discount price of $369.00, down from $399.00 when it was pointed out that a competitor up the street was selling the same unit for $379.00. The unit sounded not bad in the giant warehouse retail environment in which it was being demonstrated, but when getting the thing home to a small low rental condo, hooking up, and turning it on, my GOD! what was that aweful racket! Nothing but screetches and shrills, no bass, nothing nothing that could be concidered listen worthy, not even with earphones. The sale was irrevocable so the unit could not be paraded back to the giant store with puffy breaths and protests. I was stuck with it. An emergency saga took place. Within two days the front of the plastic speaker boxes were festooned with brushes of all kinds, hair brushes, finger nail brushes, the dog's brush, you name it, over a dozen different kinds of brushes rummaged from every kitchen drawer and clutter box, were now festooned to the speaker boxes, attached in place with masking tape. Straight pins were also sticking into the wall in many places, each spot deemed a hot spot in that just the slight intrusion of a straight pin with round colored plastic bead for a top, changed the sound in the room in discernable improved ways, to try to kill the shrill. The fact that the sound could be changed with brushes taped to the speaker boxes led to a flurry of thoughts about new 'discoveries' new 'devices' brush-like, etc. But the fact that the sound COULD be changed, in particular by small pin sized objects stuck in the walls, was a challenge of major curiosity. Which led to a flurry of tests trying just about anything that could change the character of the sound of this god aweful getto blaster. This led quickly to the observation that anything six sided, in particular nuts for bolts, and lug nuts for attaching tires to cars and trucks, seemed to do more than other objects. Larger nuts, for instance hexagon nuts that plumbers would use on industrial sites, also proved positive. An idea was tried, to sprinkle salt on surfaces of the tables on which sat the getto blaster, with its volume cranked to the max, hoping to knock the underside of the table with a kitchen knife handle with the object of vibrating the salt into revealed vibratory patterns similar to bringing into the open vibratory patterns of violins by sprinkling sawdust on the violin's hotly resonating sound surfaces. The salt ploy did not work. The salt stuck together with static electricity and did not move even an ioto. The salt just sat there, sticky with electricity. So, a couple of large clear bags of round small plastic beads were purchased at a craft store, and when these were dumped onto the table's surfaces, and the table underside knocked with the wooden handle of a kitchen knife, the beads did move slightly, into more dense, less dense, spillage, but no clear cut pattern were evident, except that it was noticed that one cluster of beads seemed to have particially articulated itself into an incomplete six sided hexagram figure near the front edge of one of the tables. So carefully placing new beads in each required spot, to complete a hexagram image of seven nodes, resulted as each next bead was carefully placed, in a noticable improvement in the getto blaster's sound. This immediately led to another test, at the end of one of the tables, where extra vigorous vibrations had been noticed before. A hot spot for a center bead was found, then six more beads were carefully put in place at a radius of about 3 inches, and amazingly, as each new bead was set in place, the sound, most noticably, improved. That was the 'discovery'. Six sided matrixes WORKED ! I was appealed by the six sided facetings .... it facinated me. It was soon evident however that the round beads (which were actually faceted in flat surfaces around a round shape) could only do so much in re-constructing sound patterns from the getto blaster, so a search took place for genuine six sided objects, resulting in the arrival home from a craft store with a plastic bag of six sided beads called 'cartwheels' because the beads actually had a center hole and six round leaves each. These in tests led to the trial of filing the leaves with small hobby files including one that was triangular shaped, into facets alluding to 30 and 60 degree angles, as accurately as it was possible to file each cartwheel by hand, holding the thing in the fingertips and eyeballing the angles, making over 2 dozen files per bead. Experiments took place placing individual filed 'cartwheel' beads, now called 'snowflakes' around the whole main floor environment of the condo, anywhere the snowflakes seemed to have effect. At one point more than 250 beads were sitting around in hot spots, most now with dabs of honey underneath to keep them in place, otherwise, by now, the sound of the getto blaster was improving enough that the snowflakes could vibrate right out of place as soon as real sonic strength was gained. To repeat .... I was appealed by the six sided facetings .... it facinated me. Thus the idea to glue snowflakes together with crazy glue to comprise larger snowflakes (of 13 individual snowflakes) and giant snowflakes (with up to 36 beads glued together in six sided star arrays. Two noticable events took place during the trials and tests of this period. One is that a giant snowflake had been mounted on a small motor to spin slowly, controlled by a reostate, and in a test, with a tape of old rock and roll goldies of the 50's on the getto blaster, a sound suddenly entered the sound stream of such deep power and resonating low frequency bass, that one of the plastic speaker boxes, mounted on a spent copper wire coil temporarily, literally took off and travelled through the air, off the table, to the floor, with a mighty crash. No damage was caused, but it was one of those moments, oft repeated, when a chance occurance of a particular kind caused a particularly interesting event to occur. Tests using a spinning snowflake were soon abandoned due to the sheer difficulty in getting the things to spin at a wanted slowwww speed. During this time, a worn out vacumn cleaner motor was recommended, along with a reostate used to control ornate dining room chandeliers, and guaranteed by experts to do the job perfectly, to give extremely controlled slow speed rotation of a large snowflake. A test was set up in the kitchen to try the speeds. The moment the motor and reostate were hooked up, and the reostate turned on to its lowest level, the motor, plugged into the AC wall socket, roared to life, and the large snowflake vanished in a wink from existence. The ultra high speed scattering was so complete that only two snowflake fragments were later found intact in the cluttered kitchen, some of the other 11 snowflakes and parts were never found. In the main, all of those early tests, led to coaxing more bass out of the getto blaster, than bottom bass, then a better high end, then more high end, and finally, stereophonic fracturing, and separation of point sources of sound from just ONE speaker, and finally from information broadcast in Mono, or originally recorded in Mono. These earlier tests did away with the old concept of lineally propigating longditudinal sound waves as comprising all of a sound stream's information. In fact, the longditudinal waves and standing waves per se were of little to no consequence, per se. I saw pictures of images of six and twelve sided moire-like matrixes occupying space, the sonics recurrantly contained in sonic pancakes or lace doilies which took shape in space in a semi-constant way to form a resulting sound stream. And finally I was able to determine that priority events were occurring within these floating fractal images in reality that constituted sonics and sound. This was in learning that the sound 'crystals' could have dominant ecliptic axis', the axis recurring throughout a whole enviromnent being filled with a sound stream. The observation of 'ecliptic axis' occurred as a result of tests done this summer, 1995. Let's jump ahead to this summer, 1995. A new challange was faced with the arrival home of a 28 inch RCA Stereo TV on rent from a large TV dealer. Its sound system consisted of a pair of drivers which seem to be only about 2 inches across, sealed behind solid slatted speaker ports on the bottom corners of of the set, with no openings whatever to the speakers, and the whole cabinate of the TV itself sealed in a solid case. The sound system seems to have been designed to produce credible human male voices, and everything else is pointless. Female voices in particular were high pitched and at times completely distorted. And there was not a trace of lower bass, either in bass fiddles or bass drum, and tympanis were only in the highest registers, if heard at all. The sound crashed into a high fierce piss if the volume was cranked above a certain minimum level. This set arrived near the end of 1994. The sound was a major challenge all around. So work got underway, starting June 6, 1995, to see what could be done to improve this TV set's native sound. Today, September 27, 1995, I am listening to the result, even as I type. You could modestly say the fidelity is on par with a medium priced stereo system. But there is much more. At this moment it is clear all the way from top to bottom, with no holes, nor harsh areas in the sound stream. In particular the high end tones have been dropped into authentic ranges, no longer are strange distortions of a too-high timbre effecting the high end. The bass is very strong and clear, reverberating as bass should. The only thing not in place is bottom bass, but this, bottom bass, is typically the stuff only from more expensive and really expensive sound systems. There is Airframe - the fidelity and volume carry throughout the house, though, as typical, the volume is greater in the living room itself. And, it is stable. The sound is now much the same, continuing through the hours with little change. What has induced this final stage of stability, is an idea which occurred several weeks ago, the idea being that if the flow tube sitting on a table in the living room opposite the corner which has the TV, could be set up so that all of the center openings of the various sized paper geometric cutouts comprising the flow tube travelled a horizontal straight line exactly the miracle height of 15 1/4 inches, (which is now a signature ecliptic axis in this experiment coming from the fact that the TV set is sitting on a circular glass end table which is exactly 15 1/4 inches above the floor), what would result with the flow tube focused directly in harmony with this main miracle axis that is found in the sonic snowflakes which makes sound now in the air and filling the whole of the environment effected by the sound stream? (I yammed a pile of physics into a few sentences to shorten this summary). The trouble was, how to erect such an articulated flow tube. The idea gradually gelled to try using two steel wire tripods of the same kind being used to lift the six sided star array of 6 foot wooden rods with plastic hexagram slinkies stretched end to end on each rod, in a layer starting at 15 1/4 inches above the living room floor. The nearby White Rose Nursury and Crafts supplied two wire tripod stands for a modest price, and the nearby Builder's Wholesale store supplied a 12 foot long piece of galvanized steel wire the thickness of coat hanger wire, which cut in half with about 8 inches snipped off, and used together for extra strength, worked more or less perfectly as a straight line clothes line on which to hang the paper geometric cutouts in a flow tube whose central axis through the center openings continues exactly at a sustained height of 15 1/4 inches, (the height between the smallest cutouts at the near end, and larger cutouts at the far end), controlled by the simple expediency of hanging the steel clothes line from the tripods by the same thin brass jewellry wire that supports the rods comprising the six sided star array. This way, I could raise or lower each end of the steel rod, as much as needed to get all of the paper geometric cutouts to line up through their center openings in an invisible straight line at a height of 15 1/4 inches right through their open six sided center hexagrams each with six triangular darts facing backwards at 60 degree angles. At this moment, there are seven cutouts strung along the flow tube clothes line, the smallest at the front end, 4 3/4 inches in diameter, and the largest at the rear, is 9 3/4 inches in diameter. This clothes line array has made it extremely easy to focus and play with the flow tube in terms of distance apart of each cutout, and focus angle of the whole flow tube with regards to the TV set in the far corner, or to the central axis of the six sided star array layered in the air above the living room floor. As you can tell, progress happens, even when there are no updates. At the moment, the linear flow tube is cammed at a 30 degree angle aimed in more of a line straight to the back of the living room wall where the patio doors are. This is because the size of the living room prohibits any other placement. The best position for the linear flow tube is suspected to be straight off the end of the central axis of the star array of wooden rods and slinkies, but there is no way of getting the long linear flow tube to fit in the room there. Each of the paper cutouts is hanging along the clothes line at roughly 5 1/2 inches apart, a distance not suprising since this is roughly the distance apart between a pair of human ears, and has been seen before as an articulate distance in other flow tube experiments. However, this is not a law, per se. Randomly spaced along the clothes line can also produce positive results, the randomness selected solely by listening to results, as each paper cutout is moved slowly back and forth through a small length along the clothes line. Progressively larger spacing further back along the axis also seems to work. The result of the creation of this new linear flow tube has been substantial. Mainly, random object tuning throughout the environment has become much more accute, that is, a minor focus change in the position of some minor object such as a pencil on this worktable within hand's reach at the computer in the dining room, improves the fidelity and range of sound coming from the living room. A very minor, almost non-existently minute adjust with a big toe of a speaker lead on the living room floor, when done right, can boost in major ways the sonic resonances and power of the bass. What is important is that these improvements stay. Each such random object adds its thing and the sound stays more or less added until that random object is moved again out of its intense micro diameter hot spot. The result is that once a few minor objects have been rigorously tuned, the movement of other minor or random objects has little to no detremental effect. The sound stream is no longer verging on the brink of chaos at all times. The chaos has been localized into the specific objects comprising the environment's sonic tuning, and only when these are moved or disrupted, do chaotic results happen. The whole of this new stability has been imparted by the newly created linear flow tube whose main axis is at the miracle height of exactly 15 1/4 inches above the floor. At least I have to assume the new linear flow tube is cause, since such stability has not been hithertofore ever heard until the linear flow tube was created two days ago, and finally very finely tuned to the nth degree by me, earlier this morning. Here is what I mean by minor random objects, and micro fine tuning of such. Believe it or not, a small broken piece of Rotini (spiral pasta) rotated to a strategic direction sitting in a hot spot on the top of the Zyxel Modem in the dining room, has significant impact in the fine tuning of higher frequency sounds, such as symbols and violins, in the Airframe sound stream coming from the living room. A full piece of Rotini does not have the same sonic brain as does the Rotini fragment, in focusing the fidelity of higher frequency sounds. It has to do with curves, obviously, the point of the Rotini being simply that it is imparting a curve into the nature of disrupter objects useable as sound stream tuners, the Rotini itself meaningless, the kind of curve the Rotini fragment has is a clue to searches for more meaningful curves and spirals that can be constructively used to articulate better resonances at long distances in a sound stream. Yesterday the three sea shells from Florida on the front stairs were tuned and retuned in trying to extract extra iotos of sound from down the hall into the living room, but it seems the way they are positioned on the stairs at this moment are about as good as it is going to get, regards focusing the accoustic natures of these three golden harmonic shells and spirals. The main major change in focusing the good stuff leading to this crow I am roostering right now, was in fussing and fuming over the linear flow tube in the living room earlier this morning, moving each hanging paper geometric cutout back and forth by tinier and tinier amounts until no more change could be hear in the sound stream. Focusing the fragment of Rotini, which just happened to be sitting on the modem because it happened to be a kind of attractive orniment found on the kitchen floor, and its ultra fine focusing changed some degrees in the high end which were finally consolidated by more fussing with the linear flow tube in the living room. A couple of hours later, it occurred to me that I had been listening to stereo jazz and big band on the TV the whole time without regret, without real wish for more. And so, sat down, to write these notes. But, now, have to get back to work. What I am doing is finishing up a revision of our auxiliary program called TESTER sold as the extra in a more expensive package called Virus Alert Plus, for our Virus Alert anti-virus software, a brand new version being released, today. Hope the market likes it, and that competitors do not catch up for awhile. - Finis - ........ I must be suffering information overload. While deeply pre-occupied thinking of some TESTER program related thing, I am sure I heard a commercial on TV in the background, say: '.... for each of your family's 2000 farts, our new miracle formula is guaranteed to make your house smell BETTER! ' I don't know. Are adds going that far, these days? It getting harder and harder to tell, what with the lisps, and rasps, and faggy voices, and strange bird-like sing song intonals being used to market stuff these days, more and more of the words are being blocked by the subsconcious, and more and more of the blocked gaps are being filled with rumors from the id to make the commercials in some way enjoyable, even though the 'fill' can be far removed from the intent of the advertiser. 'And now, piano music from the romantic stylings of (insert first name here, last name here), music that will blow your mind!'. Phil Coulter I used to know. We used to hold forth at the Pnethouse after hours under-the table club in downtown Vancouver in 1960, me on drums, he on piano, until one day we made a test tape which Phil intended to use as an intro to Las Vegas, the intro worked, to Las Vegas he headed but with a different drummer, one who had a much more expensive and flashy looking kit than mine, and a name change, he originally was from Germany from a very rich industrial family, and now I see his new record being advertised hour after hour, day after day, in Ottawa, circa 1995, 26 years later! - Finis - MORE MISCELLANIA ------------------------------------ Sept 29, 1995, 11:50 AM Friday morning. This picks up on a short story reported in the prior update dated Sept, 26, 1995. There were four more incidents at the yogi Camp in the Laurentian Mountains straight north of Montreal Quebec I wish to report, now that I have had time to think about it. First off is that after three months, I was offered a nice big room right off to the left behind the front desk of the main Lodge. This is because someone swiped a day's receipts from the cash drawer, the young French Canadian girl who was in charge of the registration desk, announcing, after everyone had been called together for an emergency meeting, that: 'Tonight I check for the cash but all of the money in the drawer it is missing'. So it was felt someone should be on hand more than before to keep an eye on things, so I was asked in the knowing that it was not me who swiped the cash and I was not capable of committing willful felonies. Thus, presto I had a nice large room with plenty of wall space and a large work table to start a new project, which was to explore aspects of the Golden Harmonic Ratio, and numeric permutations, in particular in regard to how these ratios tied in with geometric 5-sided and 6-sided images. I was using for calculations a circular slide rule, a device with inherent limitations as to intrinsic accuracy nevertheless it was possible to follow certain mathematic permutations and ratios with meaningful results. Pentagram magic and Knights Templar were NOT the purpose in THESE explorations. But back to the swami's ashram in the Laurentian mountains north of Montreal in the Province of Quebec, circ. the fall of 1974 and winter of 1975. My intent was to find new aspects that could be concidered a part of Cosmic Law, thus translating the miss-use of 5 sided images and the pentagram out of the realm of promiscuous occulties and black magic esoterics. The work on the wall gradually unfolded as several months went by, into quite a display of art, in that I used colored art pencils to grace information on each page of small and large sheets of paper, including brown wrapping paper when supplies got short, and knew that I had new information aboard, except it was all lost four years later in a house fire on an executive estate of 10 acres immediately west of Calgary, these colorfully artistic sheets, plus most everything else I had put together and accumulated since the summer of 1971, went up in flames when stored in an attic over the 5 car garage. It was the second time in my life that a major accumulation of creative efforts was lost to mayhem, in that the house fire had been deliberately set by a temporarily derranged former associate of a number of like kinds to myself, who had decided to try and destroy what he could not have, before coming back to his senses, ergo the fire, an event for which no one was charged because it was said by the RCMP to be an act of a group of weirdos who were trying to destroy records. Can you imagine! The very opposite to destroying of our co-creative records was what we (all of us involved) had in mind. We had nothing whatever to do with the fire and those present were desparately trying to put it out. So many years of effort lost to mayhem, and, then, false accusations that made the press. Fortunately, I was out of the main picture at the time so my name never got smeared across Canada, but, unfortunately, some new axioms in plane geometry, worked out in 1976, were lost, the only records I had of these axioms in boxes lost in the fire. One of the axioms could reduce work using the Law of Cosines through 35 steps, to just 7 steps, to solve a complex geometry problem of common kind. I do not to this day know how the axioms worked, since everything had been detailed to the nth degree and the info dropped from mind, since a record existed, whenever needed, but that record lost in the fire the authorities said was self set to keep certain secrets secrets, the secrets being non-existent except in their strangely perverted religious fundamental baptist minds of the Alberta RCMP. The fire was in Alberta, circa 1979, the home province of Bible Bill Eberheart who founded the first back to the bible radio broadcasts and whose chief assistent became the first Socred Premier of Alberta, whose son is now the head of the Reform Party of Canada, a party rooted completely in fundamental Baptist tenets which seem to also include stark white supremacy notions. This was the climate in which our place burned, and guess who got the blame, by guess who, you've got it, baptists forming the hard core of the authority structure in that province at that time, including chiefs in the RCMP. Talk about licking wounds and keeping our mouths shut, at that time. Boy, did we stay silent. You didn't know WHERE the police were going to strike from next. There was no moral or other values involved, no crimes or felonies were occurring, none whatsoever. Many fundamentalists in their religions, will KILL to maintain their beliefs. When individuals stand up saying they know NEW inputs from the heavenly realms, inputs that will put to the grave most all of the former fundamentalist religious beliefs, you have a very serious problem to be faced with no thought of escape by those who have been put on Earth in Divine Order, in sacred trust, to broadcast the new inputs into the faces of the masses. Those most in opposition are those most fundamentalist. It stands to reason that they are also heart and parcel of the authority stuctures in most countries in the world, including Canada, a Catholic regime, with serious Baptist understructures rubbing elbows with the Catholics who also hold on tight. Regards the property on the slope facing the Rocky mountains west of Calgary: when first acquired it was a rental property until the owners an elderly couple, decided to retire in the Kooteney area in the mountains of BC and offered the property at a low price that could not be refused. A deal was struck, money changed hands, then presto out of the woodwork came the secret hidden papers, a third morgage held by their church the Seventh Day Adventists, whose amount boosted the purchase price to full top end of current retail value. It was no bargain at all, but we honored the deal. The problem was that it was against the law for churches in Canada to hold morgages on property which they did not own, and to loan money to individual members of the church, neither felonies seeming to be of the slightest interest to authorities who were all in on their own deals involving churches and religions in the province of Alberta, circa the early 70's. So there was a lot more at stake to this property than just a mere fire. Coverup by official malpractice not the least of its karma. But, back to the story, circ., the fall of 1974, up in the Laurentians north of Montreal, at the 65 acre ashram of swami Vishnu Devananda, a place which had nothing whatever to do with the 10 acre estate in Calgary Alberta. One late afternoon in the late fall, at the ahsram, a tour bus loaded with weekend stayers from New York City arrived to be registered and consolidated at the desk in the main Lodge, all of this taking place with me being called out of my room where I was working on some math, to open the gift shop for one of the new guests who wanted to buy something to take back to friends in New York City. This was a brassy gal of about 35 who was one of the first in America to start teaching sex education to kids in grade school and had a strange abrupt manner about her that precluded the normal give and take of men and women interchanging and exchanging. At this time the gift shop door could only be opened by me, the key had been appointed to me for safekeeping since in weeks past odd things had been disappearing in stealthy ripoffs from the gift shop. Something happened that caused a distraction and we all left the gift shop, me shutting the door. It was 3/4 of an hour later when the dust had settled regards the distraction and I went back to the door of the gift shop to get my keys. The gift shop door's key was still in the lock, more than a dozen other keys hanging from the chain. The key in the door was bent at exactly a full 90 degree angle, the bend so flush to the metal of the lock that I had to pry and pick to extract the remaining key shaft still in the lock. It was the first time that I saw without question metal bend, on its own. I figured the negative static being induced into the room by the persona and being and acts of that women from New York City had to somehow be in the cause. She was no pleasure, and had been making everyone, including her friends, very tense, a sharp contrast to other women who when present seem to have nothing but good things happen around them in their environment. It was negative ionnic static in the frequencies of the room that had caused the metal's bending, or so I think in simple levels of how can metal bend like that, on its own. Perhaps the ionnic static had passed from my fingers when first I opened the door, because at that moment things were tense in the room and all my inner guards were up. Wiffs of black magic were lurking around like real crisps. Ergo the inner shields were up in full operation. (Nowadays things are different. When crisps are lurking around, I tend to drop the shields entirely and let the radiants in full range spectrum on all frequencies move out to push back and to dissolve the lurks and its impositions, so as to do some Cosmic good, to try to help by the invisible factor in translating the situation for First Cause in Reality. No more need to duck and hide, like in the old days now almost forgotten when I was much younger and more unaware, back then). But, back to the story. Now to item two, at the ashram in 1974. Another interesting event occurred around the same time period. It had happened that the swami had decreed a couple of years earlier that since the ashram was on the side of a small mountain it would be ideal as a ski resort to earn extra income during the winter. That first year a large swatch had been cleared of maple trees down the main slope, and a cross country trail hacked through the forests up in the further areas of the property's 65 acres. The following fall, when some well wisher had donated funds sufficient to go ahead and get the slopes and other things ready for installation of ski resort and tow bar ski lift facilities the following year, work again resumed to finish off the main slope. Mainly, it was in getting rid of the main bumps, reducing them to exciting moguls rather than dangerous dips, and so on. One mid afternoon I was coming down through a path weaving through real thick goldenrod that reached over head, and came out into a clearing about half way down the slope. There was a crew of seven people who had been recruited by the camp manager to get rid of a particularly large boulder sitting right in the middle of the main downhill ski path. There were large pieces of lumber lying about, helter skelter, long iron bars and pipes, large blocks of wood, shovels, pulleys, the whole collection, almost like building a pyramid. It turns out the crew had been hard at work since right after breakfast and no matter what was tried, the giant boulder had not budged so much as an iota. It was round, taller than a human (you couldn't see over the top), it sat in a depression wedged in dirt and other rocks that were buried, and couldn't be left there since it was more than big enough for skiers to pancake right into it full stop. The fellow who was supervising the clearing of this boulder was quite frustrated, because even the best levers and pulley arrays and the digs they could muster, had not budged the giant boulder by so much as an inch. So, me, striding up and feeling momentarily as cocky as ever, said let's try something else, and got four eagerly willing guys and girls plus myself to lay shoulders against the boulder, and said, ok, on the count of three, and, then; one, two, three! I let loose a mighty intone, an OOM-EEN AUM-EEN as loud as I could intone. What do you think happened! The giant boulder sailed right up out of the cavity as if becoming weightless, and started to caroom down the mountainside, bouncing faster and faster down the slope, the whole ground trembling so hard we had to plant our feet for balance, huge booms echoing down the ranges. The real problem, was that the giant boulder was heading straight for the swimming pool. I started running down the slope at top speed yelling No! No!. At the last second the boulder hooked a left angle bounce and came to rest about 6 feet off the shallow end of the olympic sized swimming pool, and became an immediate new decoration, sitting there. The crew of seven were amazed to the state of being dumbfounded. I walked away from the mountain side wondering deep inside 'I didn't know I could DO that !', the eerie effect of the giant boulder suddenly becoming as if weightless foremost in mind, and the sudden departure of the boulder's path straight to the center of the pool also in question, in that the ground down there heading straight to the pool, was perfectly flat, covered with thick green grass. P.S. I almost shoved over a horse. There were two horses at the ashram, one a dark young stallion of nice disposition, and the other an old gray mare who had become mean due to the increasingly painful sway of its old back. Occasionally the young stallion liked to get loose and eat the lush thick green grass beside the pool, but the young man and woman assigned to caretake the horses thought this was not allowed, in that in Hindu land, animals were thought to be the opposite products of gods when walking around holy land, unallowed, such as the ashram. So a fuss was always made to get the horse back into the stable. One day I came walking down the mountain side and there was the horse calmly munching the grass rip rip, big mouthfuls at a time. Since no one else was around I became possessed of doing the right thing, and started ordering the horse off the grass. But it would hear nothing of it, just kept head down pulling one rip after another of delicious greenies filling its mouth, munching. So to make the point, I got alongside the horse and hands planted on its side, started shoving. All of a sudden it started to keel over. Had I not quit on the instant it would have toppled right into the swimming pool. I didn't know until then that you could shove over a horse. But also, I decided that that was going to be the last time ever I did some act because of someone else's ideas that were not my own as to what constituted the right thing, to wit, the best long green grass on the property most suitable for horses not allowed for horses because some invisible Hindu god might get upset. That was not my belief at all, yet I had acted against the horse at that moment because of someone else's views of such pre-concieved beliefs. I left the horse to enjoy its respite, and secretly hoped every day after, that it could get free long enough to enjoy a good meal in that long rich green lawn grass, before the snows came. P.S. Again. I noticed one day a porcupine down beside the front steps to the dining hall. Since it did not seem in any hurry to escape I went inside for a plate of hindu food (meat was not allowed there) and offered it to the porcupine. It would not eat from the plate. Instead, it took from my palm, standing up like a cat and with tiny black fingers comprising the paws, slowly pried apart my fingers to get the last food bits. Its quills were strange to stroke, you could only stroke them backwards. The procupine moved always in slow deliberate ways. Most of the members of the ashram kept their distance because after all it was an animal and against the beliefs of their religion to show kindness, but others were in admiration that the porcupine trusted me enough to feed straight from my hand. I was the only one to get near it, and fed it twice a day for several days. Until suddenly no sign of it. A few days later the sad report from up the road, a neighbor had seen a car careening at high speed along the gravel road and take straight aim at the porcupine killing it in an instant. T'was sad to hear. More P.S. There was no blue cow there at the ashram. There was a statue of a blue Krishna, a blue boy playing the flute and many of the ashram members came by every day offering food and flowers to this blue ceramic statue of Krishna playing the flute. More B.S. er P.S. Camp rules required every member of the ashram to be on hand for early morning meditation at least once every three days, if you missed, you were out. So I took to attending meditation every third day. But further, instead of going into a yogi torgue with climped fingertips grounded on splayed knees trapped in a pretzel manner, anus planted hard against the ground short circuiting everything below the Scorpio center, found a comfortable spot at the back wall of the meditation hall where my shoulder blades could fit comfortably between two supports, and so sat upright, legs straight out in front, looking around the whole hour to see what was going on. What I saw going on, for the most part, is everone falling asleep, nodding off, their heads dropping further and further into their chests then suddenly jerking upright, again and again, as the hour progressed, the swami himself falling to sleep the fastest, and jerking upright the most often. One day I started playing with colors. Knowing that thinking PINK can infuse positive spiritual flow and principles of universal Christ love into a container, I usually thought pink during those meditations, but one day started playing with bright purple light, thinking of it, seeing it in mind's eye, having it flow forth, and so on. Just quietly doing it. No big deal. However, when the meditation session ended, the camp manager who had been sitting right in front of the swami, and was also one of the most frequent of sleepy nodders, lept to his feet and came racing back to me wild eyed and breathless as I slowly lumbered stiffly upright, he exclaiming 'Wow! it was the most fantastic thing! you wouldn't believe it! wave after wave of intense pure purple light flooding over him and filling his every innermost visions, because of that, he KNEW! that HINDU! was the BEST religion in the world because of THAT kind of experience! And he's right in the middle of it, SPECIAL!', he finally proclaimed, wild eyed, departing at high speed. And I, staying completely silent about the cause, urgently thought oops, oops, a backfire! I won't try THAT again! If not the right circumstances, such experience can be very misleading to spiritual miscreants and spiritual abusers of Cosmic Law, giving them something that can be used for the wrong thing when intending to pass on something good. The bright purple radiation at that time was supposed to dissolve paranoia in all who happened to percieved it in the room! Not intensify their most paranoic religious beliefs. As you can see, short circuits do happen. P.S. One more story of energies and effects of energies gone awry. Every so often the Hindu community of Montreal would throw a festival upstairs in a big banquet room on the second floor of the YMCA on a saturday afternoon. And certain amongst us trusted enough to drive ashram vehicles and go along as assists would go to Montreal for these festivals. The first one was a major learning curve. Things went fine for the first couple of hours, a great feast present of very tasty foods, nice people of many races and colors including me moving around enjoying the company. Everything was peaceful and calm, until the arrival of another eastern sect group of about a dozen and a half individuals who suddenly arrived in the room. I do not know who they were except within a couple of minutes I was in desparate ways, hurrying out the banquet hall looking to the left and right up the long corridor for a men's rest room. Couldn't find one. Too late, urge came to purge. Helplessly I let loose a mighty hork splashing onto the marble stoop of a big brown wooden door. What a mess. Looking up, there was the sign to the men's washroom, on the door. I had no choice but to go find a janitor and explain that a 'regrettable' had occurred. Then made my way back to the banquet. Shortly after, the new arrivals left. And soon enough things were back to normal. Once again I dived into the food, enjoying every bit of tasty treats that Hindu cooking allowed. Suddenly, again, an attack of strange eerie vibes. A moment later back came the mysterious sect sweeping in through the door. Once again unmistakable inner frequency clash. And there was I, moments later, racing back up the hall toward the men's rest room. Didn't make it. Once again a huge hork spewed onto the carpet. This time not even enough time to focus toward the marble door stoop. This time the mess was much worse, a ghastly pizza covered the thread bare YMCA corridor carpet from wall to wall. So once again, I was back up the hall to the other end looking for the janitor to explain once more what had happened. This time I used my senses. I went outside, and waited in one of the cars, until the others arrived ready to go home back to the ashram. Two others in the car were also ill from the strange vibes in the YMCA banguet room and horks were left along the autoroute highway up into the Laurentians north of Montreal to Val Morin. A third thought provoking incident occurred in the late fall just before the leaves turned to bright colors. A young new arrival had been sent up to the top of the rift being cleared up the slope for the ski lift tow bar, to burn a huge pile of slash and cutup trees and logs up to about a foot and a half in diameter. In the early afternoon I was asked to go up there by the camp manager to check it out, in that no smoke had yet been seen. So up I went. When I got to the top of the climb up the mountainside I found sitting on the ground a young fellow in a deep funk, figuring he was a failure because a fire had not started, no matter his best efforts with newpapers and a small can of kerosene, furthermore, it was starting to rain, not a slight drizzle but a very cold downpour. Up I came, heard his deparate story, said don't worry, where there's a will there's a way, and got busy finding a small cavity under the thick pile of green underbrush where rain was not pouring in, shoved in a few sheets of damp scrunched up newspaper, and since the gas can was empty, used just paper, reached in with a paper match that had caught fire despite being damp, then got a corner of the newspaper lit. The young fellow was not impressed at all. Until ten minutes later when the fire was roaring 50 feet high in the air. All that was left of that soaking wet green underbrush and tangle of logs was a depression of grey ash in the ground. Everything, every bit of the pile, was consumed in the mighty flames. Despite the cold steady downpour of drenching rain. I, of course, had occasional pause to stop and wonder, for years after, as to how I set a soaking wet pile of greens fully aflame. What, actually, had occurred, I wasn't sure. Except that I had spontaneously demonstrated on the spur of the moment to a deeply discouraged spiritual seeking soul that where there's a will there's a way, works! even if it seems impossible because of pre-concieved beliefs that continually go unquestioned. Incidentally, at that time, there was a young mexican women up from Mexico City, and her older brother. It seems the family, of conciderable wealth, had sent both up to the ashram in the Laurentians, with the intent of trying to get some sense into the young man's head. She could barely speak English, or rather, she spoke English very well but could barely speak it without an almost undeciferable Spanish accent. He was a very good looking young fellow, a poster bill-board type who could have advertised the most elegent of men's clothing, or after shave lotion, the problem being that he was so good looking he had, it seems, never had to concider his acts, according to his sister, and so had become a CAD of despairing proportions to his family and friends. She on the other hand was the opposite, a heck of a nice person, also very good looking, definately Mexican, who immediately got to work volunteering services with whatever was needed the moment she arrrived at the ashram. He on the other hand declining all invites to do any work, until finally the swami, who was in on the family's deal right from the start, deemed that the only purpose to which the young fellow was suited, for his spiritual path, was to finish festooning the concrete statue of Genish the elephant with bits of broken mirror. This project had been started several years before, and only about 2/3 of Ganish had been festooned in what most worshippers concidered a very boring task. Well, so did the young fellow, he spent most of every day sitting at the base of the large concrete elephant occasionally breaking a piece of mirror into smaller pieces, every so often gluing a piece or two to the statue, and the rest of the time talking a full line of sexual come-ons to every girl who walked by. Ergo, enter his sister. Day after day, I would happen to be walking by this path alongside which sat the elephant, and hear her going at it full intensity trying to set him straight. And very secretely admired her, for everything she said seemed to be just about right on the money when it came to trying to set straight someone's smutty sexual attitudes and misconceptions based on physical good looks and conceits. The two left after about three weeks, and I do from time to time wonder how she made out, what kind of a life she has had, hoping it has been fruitful in a positive creative and constructive way because she did seem to have such penetrating insight into human behavior. I really admired the way she hesitated not, in boring right in on her brother's dilemmas. Love one another, serve one another, is a Law she seemed to have in heart without question. What's more, it didn't seem like she was wasting her time or her life doing this favour which her cad brother had not yet percieved. The point is, if someone becomes a prodigal son, or daughter, you have to let them fall through the cracks on their own, until they come again to their senses. If time is wasted on the impossible, both loose. And finally, it comes to the camp manager, and me, he a former school teacher of 26 from the wealthier jewish section of Montreal, who had come to the ashram not speaking a word of French and 6 months later was the camp manager dealing with French speaking souls all day long in getting co-ordinated things like Hydro 550 volts installation, DC 8 giant CAT bulldozers up into the backside to cut the service road to be used to install the ski tow, negotiating the purchase of a $150,000 dollar snow cat, etc. This machine was concidered such an investment, that only the camp manager and myself were allowed to drive it. I used to take it out and do the run downhill flattening the snow after every snowfall on the cross country ski slope, only he trusted to do the steeper downward runs on the main ski slope. This machine, from Sweden, was quite the toy to drive at times nosing almost straight down, winding amongst trees crawling downhill through a narrow trail that jigged and jagged amongst the tall Sugar Maples and outcrops of rock, as I fought the hissing pissing hydrolics of the steering that moved the double pair of crawling tracker treads. I never have otherwise driven heavy equipment other than a twelve passanger van. PS, the skiing never got opened that year, lack of money stopped the ski tow's erection. But, back to the main story. The camp manager's learning of the French language in such a short time (less than six months) was very impressive. Some of his spiritual and occult beliefs were not. For instance he recruited me to help momentarily in the cutting up of some large felled maple trees, not an easy job since the trees had been felled earlier by a yahoo with no regard as to how to untangle and cut up the trunks. So here we were, planning each move, cut here, cut there, he handling the industrial-sized chain saw, the same as used by loggers. At one point there was an X cross situation that was hard to figure in terms of just what way the logs would tumble after a cut. He said wait, I've got an idea, I'm going to do THIS, and leaned in punching the chain saw to full rev and inserted the blade in at a sharp angle, me reacting in alarm shouting NO! DON'T! because he had inserted the blade directly under me where I was standing bent over studying the situation. Sure enough, the chain saw bucked. At full rev the blade shot up and whambed me with such full force right in the gut that I went sailing backward head over heels from the blow, landing on my back, feet spead-eagled up in the air, thinking nothing but doomsday. The full rev of the chain saw still dying, I willed myself for a looksee down, and NOTHING! My white tee shirt was sliced open across the middle. I yanked the tee shirt up to my neck and looked straight down, eyeballs extending on tubes of a telescope to magnifing the vision, and saw only across my stomach above the navel a scratch exactly as if I had run my fingernail across the skin, and nothing more! I was completely unharmed, even though the chain saw's blade at full rev had hit me so hard it had knocked me several feet backwards off my feet. The strangest thing of all was that seconds before the hit, the last thing spoken by the camp manager was in a completely transformed slow voice, a voice that was unmistakable, the voice of an individual from Vancouver 3 years before who, only 24, had announced that only HE was powerful enough in the world to take over and be in control of all of the world's occult and metaphysical societies, a power he said he had to do this being so complete that nothing, NOTHING would be able to stop him and anyone who got in his way was expendable, a young fellow of 24 who otherwise made his living operating a back hoe he owned. Such are the dillusions of fantasy and ego. Nonetheless, it was HIS voice that spoke seconds before the fully revved chain saw tried to slice me in half up there on the mountainside in the Laurentians north of Montreal. The most obvious thought provoke of that situation being the most obvious: HOW HAD I SURVIVED ? The concept of instantaneous force fields was still not in my ken at that time. Boy, was I puzzled, left deep in thought whenever I thought if it, for months after. One last remark regards that 8 month period of time. I received a telegram in my post box in Val Morin, asking me to make a phone call at 3 PM in the afternoon to a phone in Denver Colorado, on a day that was soon coming two days hence from the day I got the telegram. So I quietly packed everything, took only what was rightfully mine, left everything else behind, returned to the ashram, neatly organized on my cot and work table, and at 2 AM quietly slipped out the front door of the lodge, walked the two miles to the main highway and hitchiked into Montreal. At 2:30 the next afternoon I located a main public lobby of a high rise office tower in Montreal to make the call in annonymity in full view of the public. There were 12 pay phones in a row along the main lobby wall of this huge government building. At the end was a cigarette machine. I was a smoker then, so deciding to pick up an extra pack because the machine had my brand, set my current pack which happened to be in my hand, on top of the machine, bent down, fed coins, got the new pack, reached up to get the other pack, and it was gone! In the few seconds I had been bent over, someone walked past the machine and ripped off my pack sitting on top of it. First interference from the negative. Then it came time for the phone call, me emotionally hyped with enthusiastic expectations, fed coins into the pay phone at the other end of the row of 12, right against the wall, but the party I wanted to reach was not in so I was clued up to be back at that very same phone an hour later and wait for it to ring. After whiling the long hour with a cup of coffee in the nearby restaurant, I went back to the phone to wait for the call. What do you think had happened! The reciever was sitting on top of the PHONE, its torn-loose metal cable dangling in the air with tattered ends sticking out hanging to knee level in front of the metal box. I couldn't BELIEVE IT ! Of all of the times for the negative to strike from the no zone, this was it, one of the worst acts of aweful timing I ever saw. It took several hours of frantic phone calls to the original number to finally re-connect to someone home, and it was decided because of the degree to which the negative was able to home in and peer right over my shoulder, close tracking, that I should wait, keep myself busy in Montreal for another three weeks until conditions were more favorable to try connecting again to Denver. So, at this time, being stone broke only a few dollars in pocket, I holed up in the men's hostle of the Salvation Army overnight and lined up in the labor pool the next morning at 5 AM and 2 hours later was on my way to a job site for the day. The labor pool payed $2.00 dollars an hour, but by the time they deducted what they wanted for expenses, I was taking away somewhere in the range of $12.00 to $13.00 dollars a day for a full day's work, just enough for meals, and an overnight stay at a men's hostle. Three weeks passed, I made phone connection again to Denver, this time the party I was hoping to speak to was on the line, the line having a strange deep long distance echo effect to it as we talked, I was instructed to go to the airport and wait until I heard my name called, sleeping overnight upright in a chair in the main cavern of the airport, the next day heard my name called, went to the counter, and a ticket was waiting for a direct flight to Calgary. I was on my way again to a new phase of life. And so, this concludes a few remarks about a few spiritual mysteries, occurring in a brief period of time as one phase of my life. Make of the remarks what you want to make. For me, each of the events caused a change in beliefs, in acceptance of higher Cosmic Law at work effecting all life on this planet. Minor re-edits, June 13, 1996. - Finis - QUARANTEED PROJECTION ------------------------------------ PLUS SONIC ECHOS Sept 29, 1995, 10:55 PM Friday evening. Now to come up to date and finish off what I sat down to write this morning, notes that never got written, the whole day spent getting side tracked, reviewing old history at the ashram. Yesterday I spent more time playing with the new clothes line linear flow tube. I settled in on the Glen Miller tape played on the Prosonic setup of four speakers through one consul, but kept running into an annoying situation, that although the left hand pair of speakers stayed perfectly in place the tower box sitting on top of the smaller box, raised in the air on a six sided soda glass, the right hand boxes would not stay paired using the only other device on hand a larger six sided soda glass. The moment any real good stuff started up in the sound stream, the tower box of the right hand pair would topple. So out I went to the nearby Salvation Army store but no luck, no six sided soda dishes, but a four sided dark green goblet was brought home which was a complete spoiler when tried. So I gave up, and rummaged from upstairs an old portable radio with a black leather case which had been picked up some three years ago at a yard sale for $5.00 and didn't work, you could hardly hear a thing. This time, I removed the screws to pull away the back cover and discovered that the ariel had fallen loose, only 2 very tiny wires still connecting the thing to circuits and three more were sticking out uselessly. I was able to re-attach the ariel coil to its mounts, and found that a plastic covered wire with alligator clips at both ends, one end attached to a loose arial wire, the other clipped to a cross support of a metal support stand used to raise the slinky array arms, boosted the arial gain enough, so that at top volume for the radio on an FM station I was able to get enough sound volume to do some tests. The whole thing was very fragile. The radio lay on its side, the speaker end raised two inches in the air on a six sided aluminum hydro extender, and the loose leather flap of the back used as a 90 degree angle support opened out on the floor. It had only one speaker. This speaker was a tiny two inch jobby. Nonetheless, I was able to coax and recoax the system until I got some sound that was tolerable to hear including some bass and drums. When a credible listener came into the room later, I plugged it back in and said this, despite the fidelity, clearly demonstrates the principles of sonic projection. Would you agree. The listener was standing in the kitchen doorway. He came in, turning toward the two corners of the room, listened for a moment, bent over and listened closely to the radio lying on the floor, stood back and looked again into the corner where the stereo images were coming from, and said yes. The mystery was, that the radio was placed under the outer end of the main shaft of the star array and the radio's speaker was pointed straight up the line to the TV right in the back corner to where the sound was coming from. Which is why the listener had to first double check if the Prosonic set was playing, and then had to bend in close to hear that the radio yes an impossible apparent situation was source generating the whole of the sound, the stereo sounds fully up in the air at normal stereo view. When moving to another position, this listener then heard the sound coming from behind the TV, but kept looking to the corner to the right, because it was there where he had heard the sound before moving, when this observer just happened to stand slightly to the left of the radio on the floor for just a few seconds. He was a bit puzzled. From the point of view of the new listener, who now was standing about two feet back from the radio, the perspective was precise, in that the sound was coming from a large region behind the TV in the corner, an area 10 feet or more from the dinky generating source lying on the floor near the observer's feet. My hear was the other corner. Emitting the sounds, the corner which houses the TV is actually about nine feet away from the radio laying on the floor, all of the sound forming up in the air in stereophonic resonances from a corner, being generated by a tiny two inch tweeter in open air form which itself, only produced a volume so weak close up you could barely hear it. It was only when you stood up and back, that the sound from the speaker would completely vanish, and seconds later, a brand new deeper stronger louder image would start coming from 'elsewhere' in the living room. This did not happen until one special place was found to position the linear flow tube, on the floor at a tangent of 30 degrees angle to the length of the living room, the end with 3 smaller paper geometric cutouts facing toward the TV set back in the far corner. Lined together the flow tube and the array of plastic snowflakes on the table were in a parallel line facing toward the TV. It took a couple of hours of work to get a decently listenable sound out of the original shrills and near non-existent volume of this old piece of trash called the radio. But, the experiment WORKED ! The sound image was issuing from an area that was back a full ten or more feet (to be behind the TV) recurred from the actual sound generator source, ie., the tiny two inch tweeter of the leather covered radio propped on its side on the floor under the outer end of the central shaft of the star shaped array, an act, which looks to be yes impossible. Me, the creator, sat in a chair against the fireplace watching him in slow motion and heard the sound come from the other corner to the right, correctly imaged due to the fact that the sound swings around like another Moon on the other side of the Earth, the Earth being the sound source and the real Moon being you the listener. The phantom Moon on the other side of the Earth is a SONIC ECHO ! I just did a quick test and it seems that the echo stays back at the same distance no matter how far on the other side of the sound source you the listener are standing. It would have been interesting if the sonic echo moved back in proportion to the distance away you the listener are from the sound source, since this would be in an accord some what like the behavior of laws of gravity but that does not seem the case at least in the small confines of the living room and kitchen of this three bedroom two story modern house. Perhaps however the sonic echo principle is very much in accord with principles of electrons in an atom in that only two electrons can occupy the same physics atomically, one with spin UP, the other with spin DOWN. It can be pictured that spin UP, and spin DOWN are analogous to the real and phantom Moons on either side of a point of center linking a straight line between you and that sonic echo, for example through the center of the atom generating the source of action some acts of the Fine Structure Constant in this view. - Finis - THE FLY CONCERTO ----------------------------------------- Oct. 1, 1995, 2:20 AM Sunday morning. I think I have just officially made friends with one of the flies. Earlier this evening, while sitting watching an Agetha Christi movie on TV with Jessica Langsbury and Geraldine Chaplin, (and also studying the sound stream) a fly landed on my knee. I was wearing a pair of comfortable summer shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt. Thinking this time, instead of get lost, that perhaps this fly was curious and not looking for salt or something. So I let it cruise my knees and legs for a short while, and then, when it was on my big toe exploring, I reached down with an open hand and sure enough the fly hopped onto my hand. I raised my hand to chin level and the fly after exploring the open palm, some fingers, the back of the hand, the front again, hopped onto my chest and began to explore the ranges of my tee shirt, eventually moving down to the shorts area, exploring every part, out to the rim of the shorts on the left leg, across and about the bumps in the middle back and forth, then the other leg of the shorts, then took off. A few moments ago I was sitting again in the chair watching a bit of TV thinking of how that fly had seemed to be intent on exploration and sure enough suddenly I felt a telltale light touch behind my right shoulder. An extensive exploration took place there, then the fly moved down to my left leg, behind where I could not see, but slowly I put my opened hand down there and presto! the fly was sitting on the edge of my thumb. I raised my hand right up to eye level to say hello to the guy what do you guess, without wasting a second it jumped right onto my eyeglasses, right onto the middle of the left lens, took a good look, ran across the lens onto my nose, out to the tip, paused at the tip for a moment, hopped to the right lense, then took off again into the air. Even if I am just an object to it, an item of curiousity without feeling or friendly vibes, nonetheless, there is a form of intelligence operating within this fly. At this moment, there is not a part of myself that has not been carefully explored by it. Plus so far, three times, it has instantly hopped aboard the moment I have offered my open hand. I wonder if they can hear. There is more, once again .... back in the living room, the moment I sat down the fly appeared on the tile face of the fireplace. Out went my hand, with me whistling three notes to see what would happen. Who knows if the notes had an effect, nonetheless after a moment the fly hopped onto my thumb and there I sat my thumb with fly sitting looking at me not 4 inches from my face, for over two minutes. Then it took off. I am thinking it might be the fly which has been riding the pendulum all these days, because it took off in the direction of the kitchen and instantly encountered another fly in the air in front of the pendulum resulting in several tight mid-air circles then one fly took off and the other landed on the hot spot on the pendulum, did a quick check behind, then back out it came running, to rest, riding again on the pendulum. Since things can happen so fast with these guys I don't know which one of the two, the one that left me, or the other that was homing in on the pendulum, ended up owning the turf. I am convinced enough of 4th dimensional ties to assume that the fly left me because another was thinking to hit the pendulum. Once, five years ago, in the summer, two neighborhood youngsters had stopped by, and in the kitchen in came a hornet. The two young kids 8 and 9 years old started to hop up and down, squeeling about the threat, while I kept saying there was nothing to fear, and moved forth, coaxing the hornet back out the open patio door. A moment later a second hornet flew in, this one heading toward one of the kids and me in the dining area by the kitchen door, the kid making a yelping grab on my arm, definately fear, and I said there really is nothing to worry about, watch! At that second, the hornet did an abrupt U-turn in mid air, and arced straight back out the patio door without an inch of deviation from the glide path. A long silence. How did you do that, the kid asked in a low almost adult voice so much was her intelligence engaged at that moment. When you know how, you won't have to ask, I replied. Well, here now is how. A second of pure thought, thinking nothing else but the hornet heading out the bright sunlit open door of the patio, resulted on the instant in the hornet getting the picture and acting on it. I have sent moths back out the patio door here in Orleans by doing that, knowing the moths don't have a chance, once inside in the house environment. I have had monarch butterflies come to my outstretched hand from a long distance in the woods, and once had a giant sphynx moth investigate my open shirt pocket, and a humming bird once also, but in these cases I was surprised and not doing anything to try and will it. I remember back in 1976 in a house in the south end of Edmonton near the airport a dog had been got, a dalmatian pup of conciderable pep with a fellow volunteered to look after it, a good gesture since this young fellow not 5 years before had stalked the mean Vancouver streets at 2 AM swinging a motor cycle chain on the look for revenge but all it was was a young creative fellow who had temporarily gone sour due to the scene of drugs and 2 years later after he came into his senses, at age 21 had co-supervised the exterior renovations and painting to the mansion of the Governor General of BC, a job so well done that it made press. Now here he was in Edmonton with a number of other young men and women wishing to work together in a humanitarian society with world views its scope, but again starting to feel sorry for himself over a slight upset. Ergo the dog, to help restore his feelings of care and compassion in caring for it. Here was the problem. Downstairs was a workshop set up to make handcrafted colorful leather goods being sold in stores and on strings glittering with watchstraps, purses, pouches, and guitar straps, in the big bars in Edmonton. Downstairs would bound the dog, puppying like crazy for a few moments, then after the buzz, when interference set in, it would be time to send the dog back upstairs. Except one afternoon, the pup would not go up the stairs. The problem was several men and women in their twenties, all in on the act, each giving different instructions to the poor dog and the dog knew not what to do. I finally broke forth and stepped in, since matters were quickly starting to get out of hand with disputes as to who knew best how to command the dog. No one did. I said just a moment there is no problem, and at that instant, the dog turned and bounded right up the stairs, without pause. Many puzzled looks cast my way of course. I said the simple obvious fact, that all I did was hold a pure thought of a picture of the dog bounding up the stairs, in my mind for a second or two, the dog got the glimpse and knew exactly what to do. Sometimes, the simplest of pure thoughts can be the most meaningful of all. The point is, for those thoughts to be so pure, there is not a trace of emotion. Just the Will and Desire for Action, presented in a pure image that is obvious, in self evident truth. Sound a bit like god to you? In fact much of what constitutes god acts upstairs, are in similar ways totally self evident, even if the reason is not abundantly clear to the outer mental mind of the ego. That wish to know all, mentally, is a short circuit of major kind, a wish that most humans have on this planet, unfortunately, but not predestined or fore ordained. Getting rid of the wishes of the outer ego is hard for most people to grasp, let alone, realize as a concept that needs urgent attention. But concider this, if there are strong emotions attached which change willy nilly, suspect that the ego is right behind the scenes pumping electrical patterns that are causing the emotions to erupt, fueled by inputs and memories gained from the five physical senses, senses which are not active in Cosmic Law. In Cosmic Law there are 110 senses and emotions are replaced by intents and purposes that have feelings and sensations which are stable and constant for long periods of time, for instance hours, rather than the seconds in which the lower emotions change tones randomly out of control. This does not mean being up there on a mountain top alone being one with the universe or becoming something even more ridiculous like a cosmic egg. You can be doing anything in the real world, washing your car, cracking jokes with the neighbors, trying to dig a rut under your tire with a piece of wood to get traction in the deep snow. Anything you do can be done with those same strong constant stable emotions that are also you upstairs in the higher dimensions where the real stuff of life is happening all the time. In fact, the more you put to rest the turbulences of your emotions and random mental thoughts, the more you begin to percieve glimpses of REALITY, beyond the veil of the physical 3rd dimensional world. Seekers of ghosts you must not become, let the ghosts sort out their own miseries, they have the chance, just like you. - finis - THE PENDULUM FLY ----------------------------------------------------- Oct. 1, 1995, 12 noon Saturday. I realize in reconcidering some of the notes written late last night that some of the remarks regarding friendly flies are very risky, in terms of testing a reader's crediblities, questions, and beliefs. Other remarks regards events of days gone by in previous years still stand, because I have had a lot of time to think about them over the years, short term and long, and the recorded remarks are what I know about the events. There is no need to feel cringe about running risks reporting them. On the other hand there may just be more to the fact than myth regards a friendly fly in the living room. This morning when I came downstairs at 11 AM after writing until 5 AM, and sat down in the chair in front of the TV, seconds later, touch, touch touch, touch, a fly was back on my kneecap and leg. When I looked at it, it flew to the edge of a file drawer lying on the floor in front of the fireplace temporarily as a sort catch for sifting through stacks of computer backup disks. I whistled three short notes and extended my hand. On the instant, the fly lept to my thumb. I lifted it to face level, we studied each other for a moment, then away it went into the living room somewhere. I noticed that at that moment there was no fly riding the pendulum so perhaps we are again dealing with the same guy as was featured last evening as taking stake on the hot spot on the pendulum. Which immediately raises another question, what to do next? It seems the fly is able to percieve sound, if not to actually hear sound. No question that the fly took to my hand the instant I whistled the same three notes tried several times last evening. The problem is, what to do next. If the fly is responding, what next to offer in response without just continuing a pointless game. It comes back to an original problem regards the little brown dog named Quasar when he was a three month old pup who first arrived home to our house from the Humane Society 12 years ago. A month after taking residence, one afternoon in coming home, what had occurred was that every piece of laundry, every piece of clothing, every piece of bedding, had been hauled out and placed in a precise pile in the middle of the hall of our large A-frame house of 4200 square feet on a 3rd of an acre on the shore of the Ridea River South of Ottawa. When I walked in, there was the pup, tail wagging a real boogie, anxious to show off his handy work. After suitable praises and dog pat rewards, the pile was again dissolved and everything returned to its place. Two days later, in coming in the door again in the afternoon middle, the pile was back, even bigger, and this time, two pairs of sneakers were sitting right against the edge in perfect place, left shoe beside the right, toes pointed in to the center of the pile. The consciousness and work it took to place the shoes, one at a time, was unmistakable. I started thinking a great deal about how to help this dog communicate in a higher way. I thought of computers that have big touch keys that form phonetics or words, but could see problems in coaching the dog as to how to touch a key with a toenail or paw, in that this dog all this time has shown a dislike to having a paw held and moved. Furthermore, the cost. I do remember otherwise, one day, the pup still only a few months old, lying on the floor busy on a bone but using a piece of wood (a small stake used off and on as a tuning device in a loudspeaker experiement), using the stake as a tool, propped under an elbow and across the other leg, as a device on which to prop a bone straight upright so he could chew on it without having to twist his head. I watched, It took Quasar the pup about 30 seconds to get the piece of wood propped correctly in place so he could place the bone on it. I have not seen him do such things all that frequently, but often enough, when driving along in the car, he will use my right arm as a prop for leverage for a paw to then torgue into a tight turn to nibble an itchy in a hard to get to spot in his rear areas while I drive. I once tried to teach this dog to count, years ago. We got to number eight, me blinking a number, then another, to count to eight, the dog immediately responding blinking to five, slowing down, by then a delay to each next blink, till finally when he got to eight it was a long delay of several seconds, his eyes a swimmy look of concentration, the lids fluttering, until finally, squeeze, eight! It was a count of five, and then three, by me with eyeblinks, as I said 'five' then 'three' equals eight, which he did, then I just said 'eight' and the new count started, ending as I have just reported. After that, he would sort of give up and walk away as if loosing interest when eight was called, but then a few minutes later he would be back on his own intensly blinking, say, two, then five, then a pause, then seven done slowly in a row with fluttering lids. He continued to do counts by eyeblinks until about seven years old, but always at around five to six maximum. At first he imported great intensity into the act of doing counts but gradually as I realized that this could not continue without full time honor, it faded to where eyeblinks that count don't occur. The same concentration is seen these days when beating his tail to the count of a music on TV or on a tape or radio station in one of my sound tests. He likes swing. Anything of swing sets his tail in motion, staring at me in deep concentration his tail can often fall to just a twitch, until I say such things as 'that's right, wagging your tail', and gesture the beat, and instantly the tail revs into full swing body-wrapping from side to side in strong keep beat. He gets into deep concentration modes. The first time I saw him do three four time was to a waltz on TV, mastered perfectly the first time without help from me. The most interesting beat was once, for Dave Brubek's Take Five, he got the 5/4 time signature right with his tail after a bit of practice and was very happy. Twitch twitch twitch pause .... Twitch twitch twitch pause .... That was how he mastered the 5/4 signature, three beats, and a pause through two more. Basic 3/4 time is fun to watch when the dog does it. Pause twitch twitch pause twitch twitch pause twitch twitch .... The most difficult time beat cooked by his tail was recently this month, in 3/4 time, played by a marching band with a four-four beat also in the music. It happened about two weeks ago he came into the dining room where I was here at the computer and captured my attention, and showed me his tail twitching back, forth like a stiff piece of iron, hesitantly, but correctly, on the three four beat, until I said 'that's right, 3/4 time, and hand gestured the beat, and so he caught the full rhythm in big swing, standing with head cocked slightly down and to the left concentrating, but the tail swinging free in the air in full side to side unhesitant whiplashes. He was, well, proud, of fathoming the beat, in that there were 2 different time signals, the 3/4 he was beating by far the most difficult, for instance from a dancer's point of view concidering. Oh, well, what to you know. After writing the above about the dog I went back to the opening sentences of this report and started re-reading about this fly who seemed to hear the whistle this morning. Yes, what do you think happened ! Suddenly, touch, here is the fly, sitting on my left arm, here in the dining room! This is the first time a fly has ever lit on me in the dining room. Right now it is on my right shoulder. And now it is gone again. It has been dusting me the whole of this new writing. Here, now, is an instance of a higher dimensional fact. No whistle, or anything, except thought. Last evening at 2:30 AM I was sitting in the living room thinking I might prove to myself that flies could hear if I whistled in the dining room and the fly came in, because a fly has never been on me in the dining room, until this moment. Hmmmm. As has been often said about this modern age of change, Miracles shall follow Miracles for those who have an eye to see and an ear to hear. The world looks different for those who know how to observe. REALITY is ever present for those who know how to look. The fly is back, on my right shoulder. Well, well, well. After finishing the last sentence, I got up abruptly, forgetting the fly, and felt it take off my shoulder as I headed into the kitchen, the fly flying in front of me chest high. Oops, I thought. But meybe not. At that moment another fly in the air suddenly became contested and the two flies did twirls in midair for a moment one landing on a nearby open cupboard door, the other on another open cupboard door further away. I stopped in the middle of the kitchen, held out my open hand, and whistled three notes a couple of times. Sure enough the fly on the further door took to the air, into the living room doorway and back into the kitchen to land on my thumb, me standing in the middle of the kitchen with my thumb out, but only for a second, at that moment Quasar the dog came slowly up the hall and around the corner into the kitchen. I immediately left to come back here to write about this! It had heard and responded! It immediately landed on my right shoulder as I began to type this paragraph, and has just now taken off flying past my face. What do we have here, a fly who is a Johnathan Livingstone Seagull? I'd better describe the fly a little more. It is not a blue bottle or that size. It is small, very small dull amber transparant abdomin, tiny white dashes on its faceted eyes which are a dull dusty brown color. I sure don't know the species name, but they are common. Needless to say this is facinating. In fact I do not know if the fly is responding to the whistles, or to Will Desire and Action in pure thought. There is no question however, that this fly is demonstrating consciousness. Oh, yeah, forgot to mention, I think it is the pendulum fly because during this time no fly has been riding the air on the pendulum. A quick question in intuition tells me that the fly is responding to both whistles and pure thought. I am going to call it the Pendulum Fly. It happened at this moment that my brother came into the room to have me ZIP up a file ready for upload on the BBS to a programmer. I had just told him about the interesting fact that for the last two days I have been playing with a fly and moments before, to my thumb it had come when I whistled in the kitchen. My brother standing at the fridge door in the kitchen, whistled, with hand out, and said, nope, I guess not. But I said yes, here it is, showing him the fly on my left elbow as I stood leaning over the BBS computer. The fly had landed on my elbow just seconds after my brother had whistled. Now we both think there is a Johnathan Livingstone Seagull in presence here in the fly world. I mentioned earlier two flies in the kitchen. The second is still parked on the open cupboard door, it has not moved. The fly let me touch it. I went into the kitchen for a moment and when wandering back the fly was sitting on the edge of my orange colored office chair. I slowly reached forth a finger. Instead of taking flight when the finger was about a quarter of an inch away, the only fly that will do this - the fly stayed put until I touched its leg, then took off. At this moment it is back on my right shoulder. Here is a pledge. I won't diatrab and ad hoc ad lib ad nauseum any longer regards this facinating situation. If something occurs of an extreme nature, I shall report it. Otherwise the Pendulum Fly and myself shall just be private friends. Now the fly is exploring my computer keyboard. Well, ok, here goes. Only a minute has passed. The fly was sitting on the mahogany plywood surface to the right on the work table. I pointed to the lower right corner of the keyboard. The fly lifted and came over landing and running to the keyboard corner, then took off again. At the moment it is on my leg. What do I do next? What is my responsibility, now that I have engaged the friendship? Good lord, talk about spiritual responsibity, being sure that what is being reported to listeners is correct. Now there are TWO flies in the dining room. Does this blow the whole scene. I don't think so. I have just touched both. It comes back to something I learned about spiritual trust, one evening, back in 1982, in the A-frame house on Holburn Avenue on the shore of the Rideau River. It happened that during the winter, field mice had moved in. At first it was not so noticable, a mouse suddenly running between your feet when sitting watching TV. A mouse seen to scurry up the flatstone face of the fireplace to the mantle. A gradually increasing pile of body wastes in the hall closet the mice had chosen as a biffy. The wastes were no problem because every so often I would vacumn the mound of pellets in one corner, and wash the crystallized spread of urine in the other corner. The main center for the mice seemed to be in the basement up under the rear South East corner of the living room. There were sounds there. Half way along the East wall which continued to the dining area at the front of the house, a hole was drilled through the floor to allow quick access straight across the living room to the biffy and the fireplace. The hole was a perfect engineering job, about 1 and 1/2 inches across, drilled through thick carpet, rubber under-mat, and two layers of wood. In the kitchen a hole was drilled against the wall beside the fridge, and on the opposite wall, a hole was drilled beside the hole in the floor for the stove's power cord. I began to notice mice popping up through one of the coils of the stove. The mice were coming up the hole, into the stove, out the top through the coil, taking a foot wide hop across to the counter, then boogying the counter for bits of food and goodstuff. Whenever I happened to step into the kitchen, a mouse sitting on the edge of the stove would let out a shriek and all of the mice on the kitchen counter would take off in bedlam disappearing one by one into the coil of the stove. I learned, as an observer, that the mice always had one sentry posted by the escape route to sound an alarm! Leap for the moment to the present. Flocks of sparrows, and the pigeons, also have sentrys. When the bird feeder gets filled, the sparrows always back off, some into the higher branches of the tree, others into the shrubs and fences behind the tree, and usually a big flock taking off at high speed straight up the row of back yard fences. Then I wait, back in the patio door, and sure enough a moment later, a sparrow appears on a branch near the feeder. A moment later it lands on the feeder, and a moment later it begins to feed, another sparrow nearby, letting loose a sound that causes other sparrows to immediately start hurring in from hiding in the shrubs and fences toward the feeder. But the pigeons differ. One comes down from the roof of the house, a moment later, another, then moments later the rest, all of this in silence. These pigeons all eat on the ground under the feeder. The sparrows and starlings eat anything. Every so often there is a mighty screetch, and all of the birds take off in bedlam in one direction or another, a mystery at first. Until I learned they flew away opposite to a threat. It happened one day that just as I was ready but not yet out the patio door to fill the feeder, the screetch was heard, and every bird took off at high speed. I continued out to the feeder but immediately heard a loud cry coming from along the fences and sure enough it was a blue jay flying flat out heading straight for the tree, making a heck of a racket. Why the other birds depart the moment a blue jay or two arrives on the scene I don't know, but depart the birds certainly do, every last one of them every time. Once, there was a mighty shriek, and every bird, over a hundred took off in what seemed a blind panic, which instantly caught my attention standing in the living room working on a sound test. I went to the patio door to look out but saw nothing, until a moment later a hawk glided in over the tree, past me at the door, then lifted up in the air currents to disappear over a house two doors away. Boy, I sure knew that day why the birds had instantly vanished. But, back to the story of the mice in paradise, on the shore of the Rideau River back in the winter of 1982 Late one night while working in the dining room on mathematics and geometry my single minded concentration was gradually absorbed by something else happening in the background. It was a puzzling commotion sound coming from the kitchen. I got up to take a look. Not yet reaching the doorway to the kitchen, I saw over two dozen mice racing back, forth having a great party on the kitchen counter, the foodstuffs and edible bits in great supply still left over from dinner. But, they weren't eating or hauling away cargo. It was a mouse carnival underway on the counter, mice racing each other, dancing together, like a carnival. I saw the sentry, standing up by the coil on the stove. I waved to it, a gesture, just indicating that all was ok. The mouse sat down and didn't shriek. So into the kitchen came I very quietly, and so for a couple of hours marvelled over this new situation at times standing right over the counter watching the mice at play running back and forth right under my face sometimes less than a foot away from mice at play. Once I arrived on the scene they began to chatter loudly and openly, all pretense of furtiveness and stealth completely abandoned. What a party! An element of complete trust had entered. It was a sad dilemma because I knew it was an impossible situation. During the recents nights I had been woken up several times by a sudden sharp spear of pain on a fingertip while lying asleep, and once, the spear brought a drop of blood. So I knew mice were nibbling, but had no idea until that night just how many mice. The next day the first of the mouse traps was set with cheese beside the hole beside the fridge. Snap. An hour later another snap. A few minutes later another snap. Into the third day. On the third day juveniles began to appear in the trap beside the fridge and that was the saddest of all. And then finally, no more mice. How I wished there had been some way of keeping this mutual occupation of the same evironment intact, without the risk of sanitary and health complications. Back to the present. The fly who has learned to land on my hand when I whistle is called Louie. In the kitchen for a moment, while I was standing there, suddenly two flies were on the edge of the open cupboard door about a foot away from where I was at a standstill. Each fly let my finger approach, one took off before, the other letting me touch a wing, then both were twirling in tight circles less than an inch apart in the air about a dozen times then both landing again less than a foot apart on the edge of the open cupboard door. I held up my hand and whistled three times. One took off and disappeared. The smaller came straight to my thumb. This, the smaller one, I am going to call Louie. I think I am going to call the other one Hortense. Whoah! A bird has just flown up the divide between houses from the back yard to the dining room window in front of me, fluttered hovering in the air a few seconds facing in the window, at eye level staring straight at me, then did an abrupt U-turn flying back to the back yard. It happened so fast I don't know if it was a sparrow or a starling. This has not ever happened before. Something is going on! P.S. It is being said by choice sources since the early 70's, that as the human consciousness is being raised from within in the fast lanes in the re-awakening to higher dimensional REALITY, so too shall the animal kingdom's conscousness and intelligence also raise up. The first clear cut indication of this I saw that left me without doubt was in hearing sometime during the 70's a report in the daily media that Bears in a region in the Eastern United States had learned how to understand the shooting season, the locality on the join of three states. When shooting season on Bears opened in one state, for a couple of days before, Bears were hurrying across a bridge to another state night and day, until the second state's hunting season opened, and the Bears hurried across another bridge into the third state, to wait it out until open season occurred there, then the Bears all returned to the original state. This was not just a few Bears. And the phenomena so unusual, so unexplainable by science, that it made the international press as a definative piece of news. P.S. there hasn't been a sign of any fly in the dining room for over half an hour. Oops I spoke too soon, one just went by at a 100 miles an hour past my eyeballs. They must be able to percieve thought. Actually I lied. The bigger one has been sitting by the screen of the monitor for the in-house creative BBS for over an hour, it is still there. It was LOUIE who just did the fly by, ahem. Actually, if you want to know what is REALLY happening, the flies are buzzing in my higher frequency, a fact of safety for them in that they sense perfectly the absence of malevolency but just love in the radiations my higher frequency is imparting into the enviroment. Thus, you have just had, a hint of what Triune beings can do in the meely teeming world of a third dimensional planet. - Finis - ODYSSEY ----------------------------------------------------------- Oct. 1, 1995, 4:25 PM. Sunday afternoon. The odyssey to the illumination of the flies actually began several days ago, after an occurance that had stewed away in the background of thought for a couple of months due to an unmistakable anomaly, then re-enforced by the act of initially making friends with a fly riding the pendulum in the doorway to the kitchen, and finding it respond. What had happened earlier is that during the summer there were no where near the number of flies about at the height of summer, nor mosquitoes. Flies in particular though were not abundant, so few that the 2nd yellow fly swatter had hung unused on a hook under the kitchen sink until one day a number of flies in the living room decided to hit on me all at the same time, it seemed. Touch touch touch, pester pester pester, until finally I got annoyed enough to issue fair warning, and when the grace period in the warning was used up, swatted two flies. From that second on, not a single fly landed on me. Days went by and many flies streaked and landed around the room, but not one more had become a pester. Why? Then not too many days ago a dismaying thought occurred to me, causing a slight twinge of guilt. It was: what if the flies were trying to be friendly. If so, I had knocked off two of them for entirely the wrong reasons, due to preconcieved beliefs. So, that is what set in motion the motivation to find out more about flies and just what they were conscious of doing. If they in fact wanted to be friends, not pests, then, so did I. The result of that simple decision is what you are reading now, described above for the past few days. How much further this can go, who knows. The fact is, Louie has just flown in, swinging back and forth several times in close short haul in the air not an inch from my eyes, touched base on by shoulder, and is off again exploring the dining room. How many times have you had a fly deliberately buzz your eyeballs, causing a slight zig zig sensation to your perceptions. This was done deliberately by that fly, not necessary intending to cause a teeny bit of brain chatter, but the fact of saying HERE I AM in such a precise concrete way. THAT was an act of consciousness. Now, the fly is on my knee, sitting there. I do not regard this in any way a pester. It is Louie, I can tell now, by its smaller abdomin. Oho, Hortense has arrived, for a second she was sitting on the other side of my knee, both there on my bare knee as I typed thinking them nothing but simple good wishes and welcome. Yes, there is love and honest pleasure to share in the animal kingdom, even among flies. Now, let's try to extrapolate that back to all humans. Hmmm. It should be possible, and could be done. All that is needed is for those humans who know who they are, not to be pesters any longer, especially pesters who are lethal, for the wrong reasons, due to preconcieved beliefs. - Finis - As you now know after perhaps suspecting for awhile, there is a purpose to every one of these short stories, and moment by moment diary expressions. They are like parables, each makes a point that sets the reader up for an illumination, and then more story and diary details, then another point is made, and more illumination occurs. Even if the reader assumes everything written in these Updates is fiction, it is still unlike any fiction anyone has read, assuming they like the writing style. If instead the reader takes it to heart that the stories and descriptions are REAL, then it is a whole different substance. A reader can not go through these Updates, particularly the last two, without being changed forever in consciousness. The reason is that most of the points made are exceedingly not verbal and have main communication in the form of analogy and metaphor, further, if the points were made just as statements of fact or declaration, who would care?, who would understand. Well, mostly, no one. For good reason. REALITY cannot be taught through books, but only by experience, and inner direct illuminations and awarenesses in expanding perceptions. The stories can point the way to share similar insights and awarenesses of self in each reader. But, as said, the writing itself cannot open the door to REALITY like a roadmap that does not change once printed on paper. Hence, all of this work, writing, is no easy task, particularly when you concider language and the limitations of English to describe things that are otherwise understood in a 10th of a second, in self evident truths, by each individual, in their own spiritually correct inner higher frequency ways. That, above, points to the main fault of the Bible, the old testimate records which seem to be historical fact, perhaps not. These bible stories were of events that effected kingdoms and nations and most of its study has been concentrated on the establishment of facts to prove the insights, not the best way to go in this day and age in that no two nations can agree on anything for the most part, and there are hardly any individuals who can agree on all things without conflicts. But mostly, the Biblical accounts are now ancient. The stories in the above writings called the Updates effect only each individual who happens to read them, and do not try to include nations as metaphorical facts, in the purposes of the individual stories. The reason behind the scenes is that this writing brings Higher Cause right home to each individual, where REALITY is found within, nearer than your hands and feet. It's a startling point. You cannot be a part of a vast inter Galactic Cosmic Family and progressively evolving system and purpose if you do not know how to be a part of your self, in Divine Order, which is pure and without illusion or deciet. Forget the scare shrieks of alien abductions and alien takeovers. A few tin cans and rust buckets creeking their way here from the aftermath of the Luciferian Rebellion, do not REALITY make. They are like you, marooned and stranded at a partially sealed planet hoping for the statics and corruptions and the misconstrued thoughts of the rebellion to rub off, so these pests too can come back to their senses. Sound and sensation that is pure, is a holy grail of everyone everywhere. Did you know that every thought you have, and emotion, is a sensation. Yes it is a pure and simple fact. Lousy sensations are NOT a part of First Cause. It is as simple as that. Strong sensations ARE, when you become inner dimensionally strong enough to handle commands and effects strong enough to rock your whole body like an earthquake, except from within. Elements of change and clearing. When you become strong enough to endure THAT kind of intensity, you also become strong enough to help change the planetary frequency to where it should be in preparations for things to come involving the new age, which in fact, involves not just lakes and continents, but Galaxies. I can't say certain things, because Higher Cause is monitoring every word. So everything written has to be willfully interpreted into English enough not to lead people astray or the writing become messianic, leading to followers. No way. I can't say anything more to make things plainer at the moment, without ranting, or risk severe reprimands from upstairs. Lets go in peace. - Finis - NOT GUILTY ------------------------------------------------------------- Oct. 3, 1995, 1:15 PM. Tuesday afternoon. I have just sat and watched the fury er jury's reactions, er, results in the O.J.Simpson trial, and when hearing not quilty across the board was moved to slight tears, so intense the relief. Not huge wracking sobs, just relief from the building stress coming out in a slight flush of bad amino acids in the brain flushing out through the tear ducks, and I did not mind at all, tears trickled down my cheeks and I was VERY relieved. It started when the white bronco was being pursued along Los Angeles freeways, gunboat helicopters swooping in and around in the air, urgent shouts of 'get in for a clear shot' and other commands seeming to be the intent, with O.J. in the backseat and a desparate friend driving, his life also completely on the line in an instant doing this heroic act to help, a voice almost undescribable in despair speaking through the car phone, describing that O.J. was in the back, a gun to his head, O.J. annunciating only a single clear thought, that if he could make it back to his estate he might be safe. The unmistakable urgent intuitive thought suddenly struck me with unquestioned import, the question was: What if O.J was INNOCENT. From that moment on I saw innocent only, and for me it was very easy to see conciet and manipulation take place in the court room as one sample of blood after another was paraded into view, analyzed to the nth degree by experts, the presence of O.J. blood in the DNA's without doubt, O.J's blood seeming to spread creeping across about 1/3 of America before the last samples were called in as evidence, the entire question being how did the O.J blood get there? Every step of the way it was easy to see malpractice as to how the blood samples got there, without preconcieved beliefs. I noted the cracks in the holes about the integrety of the blood, rather than that it was his blood in evidence, which so many American's seem to be taking for granted without question, due to their intense brain-locked pre-concieved beliefs which have nothing to do whatever with REALITY. There was no blood to begin with, two tiny dark dots in the stairwell driver side of the white bronco, scrapped into a baggy by detective Furman holding up the baggy, announcing this was the evidence that was going to send Simpson to the electric chair, the two scraps later turning out to be two drops of dried coffee but by that time blood had appeared in the passenger side then on the dash and finally it covered the front of the white bronco the blood growing like a sin in quantities as the trial progressed. And everyone seemed to lap it up, see he's guilty look at all that BLOOD! I had not the slightest doubt that the justice system was capable of doing what it wanted to, to, or for, anyone it wanted, there in the states, the final question being could a jury also take the bait and do what the negatives most wanted. Luckily, it seems not, anymore. Let's hope it stays that way, and that further change toward positive points of view prevail, so that someday, soon, the mass consciousness really begings to understand that REALITY exists above and beyond all other perceptions, including beyond all and any pre-concieved beliefs. - Finis - RAMBLING CONFESSIONS -------------------------------------------------- Oct. 3, 1995, 2:30 PM. Tuesday afternoon. The reference to wracking sobs, or lack thereof, is also in reference to the day John Lennon was shot. For two days I spontaneously broke into wracking sobs lasting a moment or two, many times, for two days, so deeply did I feel that he did not deserve it. The main fact is that I was secretely rooting for Lennon, with all of my hopes. His first new song, 'Imagine there's no Heaven', was close enough to certain points that it was just a few steps away from being able to declare through statements in song, and a more beautiful music, the existence of REALITY. There has been some karma between Lennon and myself. In 1969 at the so-called Peace Festival at Varsity Stadium in Toronto in the fall of 1969, now later called 'The Rock and Roll Revival', amongst other names, I had been called from Vancouver to be the between-acts stage filler, something akin to Satchananda the Sivindanda Yogi graduate come to the West who had done between-acts stage fill at the original Woodstock peace festival effecting 500,000 attendies. Incidentally Sivinanda went straight to nowhere for several thousand more years, when kicking the bucket, if certain Cosmic sources are listened too - Sivinada had nothing to offer pointing to the existence of Cosmic Law, so don't bother with him. The same for Lopsided Rampa er Lobsang Rampa, intense kiddy sex vibes and astral travel encounters for sex at all ages, as taught by him, do not a saint make. Now that he has kicked the bucket, hopefully those who were hooked on his frequency, including police chief detectives and leading child psychiatrists, can get free to restore themselves to correct soul evolution and inner translation back to Cosmic Reality. At Varsity Stadium in Toronto on that bright sunny day in the fall of 1969 for the John Lennon Peace Festival, I had been called onstage to recite some creative writings and thoughts as the filler between acts. Earlier I had already been called out, in the name of Greydon Moore, and had just got going when a next band was ready to go, and so left the stage. Things kept going from bad to worse, as the so-called Peace Festival progressed, getting more and more sabaritic and diabollic, until a point was reached when I actually left the stadium in discouragement, was out front on Bloor Street talking to some friends when I heard my name announced over the gigantic P.A. system. Back in I went. When I got back on stage, two things; the stage was utterly bare, not a speaker, not a microphone cord, was present, the entire stage cleared to get ready for John Lennon and Eric Clampton. Secondly, the entire place out there in the audience was complete bedlam. It had happened that Alice B. Cooper had just finished, doing such lesser non-niceties as throwing live chickens from the stage, which would arrive back on stage from vacinity of the near front audience completely plucked bare of every last feather, and still alive in agony, the audience screaming in sheer pleasure of the worst kind. And so on, I could not stay for more, and had left, getting only so far as the front street when hearing my name called. So out I came onto the bare naked stage, walked to the front edge wearing my green sarape made of drapery material, sat down with a portable mike, feet dangling over the edge, 35mm movie cameras being raced into place with men and technicians running, and with a portable mike in hand began to read some poetry. Like I say the audience was in complete bedlam. I read what I wanted to say, got up, and left the stage. The audience was in complete SILENCE! There was not a single sound to be heard anywhere! I was struck by this, so deep that it moved back and forth through me for years after as to whether this was a good thing or bad thing, in that a stadium audience had been struck totally silent in a living stone by some things said by me, whether it was just me, or by higher help. Now I believe it was a good thing. But back then, was so caught by suprise I really did not know with certainty one way or the other. Lennon and Clampton were down below in the dressing room frantically rehearsing a few cords, in that Clampton's plane had arrived late to Toronto. It was said that it was down there in the dressing room that Lennon was turned on to heroin by Clampton, which led to a Lennon saga of degeneration, disintegration, and decay, for Lennon, until one day he stood up from a street curb in New York City and announced he had had enough, and immediately started to work on new music and a fresh vision, the first out being 'Imagine there's no Heaven'. Like I say I was really secretely rooting for him, for the best there could be. P.S. I never got paid. The crash of the festival in Toronto was so complete after OKO came out and started wailing mindlessly and shrieking into the microphone, none stop, so completely, that within a half hour most of the stadium was empty and the producers of the show, myself, and the PR staff were sitting in a morose row half way up in one of the rows toward the back of the stadium, all sitting quietly staring at our feet. The woman who had run the whole of the publicity one of the most silent. Another fellow who I knew well had been back up in the recording booth during most of the afternoon with the Capital Records recording team and reported, when it became obvious that no new Capitol release of Lennon and Clampton was going to be possible, that he (my friend) saw, for the first time in his life, a man actually tearing hair out by the handfull, the Capitol Records recording engeerer literally began tearing hair out by the roots by the handfull so complete was his disbelief when ONO had started wailing like a demon. It did however, happen later, that I heard, via the grapevine, that Marshall McLuhan wanted to see me in his world famous Coach House Institute attached to the University of Toronto. At first I didn't believe the reports, until a 3rd report came in via the daughter of Pierre Berton the two of us just happening to be going upstairs in an elevator at Rochdale College and she mentioned it too. The next day I wandered forth at 10 AM, followed many paths through the heart of University of Toronto's downtown campus area, came up the wide cinder driveway leading to McLuhan's coach house, and entered to a secretary at the main floor. I then gave my name, she phoned upstairs, and told me go right on up, Marshall's waiting for you. He sure was. Publishings, and a 33 RPM recording of poetry I had done (with music accompany), were spread scattered on his desk. He had been looking at this before I arrived. Some of my stuff a surprise to be seen, due to limited circulation or printing in small quantities. He said he wanted to get straight to the point, would I concider attending some of his seminars with the point of view of giving a few of them for him. I was very surprised, said I would give it thought, left, but knew that what I really wanted to do was get back to Vancouver where a box load of poetry notes stored in a house was occupying all of my private time and thought, and shortly after left for Vancouver in a car load of hippies and since the depart was in the middle of the night never had the courtesy to call and say goodby to Mr. Marshall Mcluhan. Incidentally, I had for the first time in my life a co-called psychic vision that was complete and real. Sitting up in the dismal digs where I was temporarily having to crash at Rochale Colledge, due to being completely stone broke after the Varsity Stadium fiasco, I suddenly had the thought that I had never seen in my life (age 30) a major fire in a large building. I sat there thinking of what such a fire could be like, seeing a solid red brick warehouse-like building of about 5 stories going up in a blaze, flames arching out through open wide windows along the side, the roof going up in towers of pitch back smoke, and so on. The flames I imagined were coming out one main side of the second and third floor. A short while later I heard many fire sirens in the distance, but nearby enough that I got curious and went out following the vapor trail of sirens. Soon enough I came out onto narrow streets in which a five story garment manufacturer's premises were going up in smoke, a major three alarm fire. Shortly after I got there flames started pouring out the windows alongside of the 2nd and 3rd stories. It was not just like, it WAS, the images I had seen in my private thoughts a half hour earlier in Rochdale College. I noted this, as being the first official occurrence of a legitimate vision in advance of an actual fact. I don't have too many 'visions' even now, but when I do, they are correct. But, back to the circumstances after the Varsity Stadium Peace Festival. The real problem had been that I had not recieved a cent for appearing at the Peace Festival at Varsity Stadium and was stranded in Toronto for a couple of months stone broke until arranging a ride with a car load of hippies heading west, us three guys taking turns driving, the three gals taking time to enjoy the ride. The journey stopped in Calagary where the carload decided to stay. I continued on foot hitchkiking, got a ride with an old transport truck from the 50's hauling three tandems fully loaded with cattle, the whole thing so rickety, each time a cow kicked a side of the wooden slats the driver's rig bucked and jolted in the air, a very rough ride, the old rig outfitted with 11 gears and three gear shifts on the floor, the transmission so worn the driver propped one knee on the steering wheel, the other on the dash for force to depress the clutch, and used two hands, arms swinging in wide sweeps in the air again and again, just to shift the thing between two gears, grinding the whole time. What a trip. The one thing I remember about the driver is he was very friendly and nice and also the closest I ever met to someone just like Slim Pickins the hollywood movie actor featured in the hydrogen bomb warning movie called Dr. Strangelove. The driver had the same kind of voice and 'hayseed' natural style as did Pickens in all of the movies by Pickens. Such go stories when one becomes autobiographical. These things just reported happened. I was 30 years old. To finish off the story of this saga, within two days of arriving in Vancouver I had got to work on a new project which came to be known as the 'Proton People'. In hindsight it is a very difficult, unappropriate piece of writing. I had a look at a copy of it, photostated from an original in the National Archives Library on Wellington Street, the day Governor General Bill Schreyer came over hand extended and introduced himself to me, one day in the early 80's, in the lobby of the National Archives in downtown Ottawa on Wellington St. up the street from the parliament buildings. This winter, 1995, I finally got around to reading the photostats, and can see nothing in that long poem called the 'Proton People' that can be salvaged. It's illusionary history not worth recalling. Not only that, some of it is badly written, certain insights intended long forgotten, not the way it was remembered from 25 years ago. Let's leap back to original intents regards the O.J. Simpson not quilty verdict, my tearfully relieved response, and the wracking sobs of deep felt sorrow that followed the assasination of John Lennon. The second fact of karma involving myself and John Lennon was that a small radio station network in Eastern Canada and the US, anounced that it was going to go modern, future, and toward world peace, starting with an FM station in Montreal boosted to 200,000 watts and going on the air at midnight, linking in with the Lennon and Oko peace bed be-in in Montreal. I did not hear the broadcast, of course, being in Vancouver on the West Coast, but was told by many that my recording of a poem called the 'Planet Man', went out over the air to a massive audience in the east starting at midnight, it went on as the opening message at the moment the first of these 5 new boosted stations went on the air, the main act then broadcast live from the John Lennon bedroom in a hotel in Montreal, fostering notions and concepts for world peace. It was these two facets of karma involving John Lennon: the Toronto Varsity Stadium Peace Festival, and the new 200,000 watt FM station broadcasts later involving Lennon, with again my poetry (with music) called 'The Planet Man': that set me to sorrow for two days in emotions when Lennon was subsequently shot just when it seemed he was ready to get going with a brand new vision that could help a lot of people come toward their senses. One of the most close tracked occurrences of unique events so un-coincidental as to be seriously concidered supernatural, occurred in the summer of 1959. It had happened that I had gone back to high school that year to finish grade twelve ready for university entrance, having dropped out of high school two years earlier a few weeks before final exams to pursue a yearn and interest in modern drumming as a would be musician. (Liked some of the music but didn't like the life style so abandoned that (my one and only career) after four years). But, back to the summer of 1959. I had worked part time during that year as a driver and assistent for a small dry cleaner in Kerrisdale district where I was living at home, 'interesting' things about the dry cleaner being a Hungarian husband and wife who ran the place, who mentioned that their only son, a piano player, had become a famous musician named Freddy Martin, of the Freddy Martin Trio, and it was true, Freddy Martin's recording of 'The Flight Of The Bumble Bee' still gets played on the air. Back to the summer of '59, I had frittered away parts of that school year due to lack of interest so needed a couple of summer suplimentals to get passed to the level of university entrance. I could not get it on, not a book was opened, and after a few weeks into the summer decided to make some quick cash and hitchhiked into the interior of BC behind Kamloops to the area called Merrit where a big forest fire had broken out. I spent three weeks up on the lines with a spade, and carrying a back pack of water with a handpump in crews putting out spot fires after the big blazes had passed through. But the advent of summer supplimental exams was creeping up to where I had no choice but depart. The forestry handed me a check of astonishing amount, I got paid for 24 hours a day due to reasons of where we had to go each day to fight the fire, etc., so with the large-dollar check in pocket but not so much as a dime in cash, hitchhiked out from Merrit to the main Fraser Canyon highway heading south, and got stranded. All the rest of the day, and into sunset, I stood at the side of the road in increasing despair. Just as the last run of sunlight was fading a grey van passing at high speed suddenly hit the breaks with a high pitched squeel and smoking tires, skidding to a halt sideways, the van backing up to me and in I hopped, the driver explaining that he NEVER, repeat NEVER picked up hitchhikers but when he hurtled by and saw me standing there, reponded with a oops and came to a stop. Yes, he was in fact heading to Vancouver hallelulia my big problems were solved. In the middle of the night we reached the outskirts of town and suddenly realized it was time to determine just where we were going, me in particular, what part of town was I going to so he could get to the most favorable spot to drop me off. I said I was going to the interesection of 43rd and McDonald in Kerrisdale. There was a long silence. Then he said in a mystified voice, but, I'm going to the intersection of 45th and McDonald. Sure enough, I was heading for one house off the intersection, he was heading for the corner house facing 45th, on the intersection. So here were the two of us, deep in thought, driving through Vancouver in the middle of the night, he having driven non-stop from Prince George, except for the moment it took to pick me up stranded all day on the side of the road up there on the highway at Spencer's Bridge, a 3 week beard growth, and face and clothes grimy and black from soot and no baths fighting the fire. It was a most unusual co-incidence. Some cross talk had occurred upstairs in certain telephone lines in order for him to have hit the breaks spontaneously in a completely uncharacteristic way to pick up a hitch hiker who was heading into the big city to a home address only two blocks away from his own home address. Neato. It is nice when REALITY can connect on the physical plane as precisely as that. No questions asked. Nor any problems. That was in 1959. - finis - GOOD VIBES ON THE FLY -------------------------------------------------- Oct. 4, 1995, 11:45 AM. Wednesday morning. I am busily flagillating myself with an invisible whip to try to get back to work. It is one of those uninteresting unlikable projects that is getting done, but sandwiched between other unlikable unexciting projects. The project is in sorting a 9 year accumulation of backup disks, mostly 360K (earlier) and 1.2meg. These accumulated ad hoc for 6 years in the low rental condo, and went into boxes when moved to here, then a full three year new accumulation has gathered on a step-tiered glass shelf here in the dining room, the ongoing accumulating eventually spilling over into two full cardboard tray boxes, plus a wooden box holding 400 diskettes, and finally two more naked stacks on the floor, by this time a mumber of them 1.4 Meggers. A few days ago I pulled several drawers from a file cabinate sitting in the garage. It is a super well-made cabinate, core dumped by a government branch moving from downtown Ottawa to new office tower digs in Hull across the Ottawa River, and the core dump being sold off at fabulous low prices by a furnature dealer in downtown Ottawa. I picked up one of the cabinates in 1980 and have kept it ever since. As for computer diskettes, it, being a file card cabinate, is wide enough per drawer, two divides wide, but not tall enough to store the 3 or so thousand 5 1/4 inch floppies. Nevertheless, I realized the other day that if I used the drawers laid out on the floor, just for sorting, I could clear through the backlog that had been building for nine years. Sorting the diskettes from the last three years building up in the dining room was not too hard, only taking a couple of days of desultory work. Moving the older accumulation from upstairs to a work area in the front hall is a different matter, for some reason this work has seemed particularly arduous and unenjoyable. So at the moment the front hall is littered with many small piles of sorted diskettes laying around, and more than half the rest are in two cardboard cartons brought from upstairs, ready to sort. That is what I have to do now, sort. One more boxload remains upstairs. Hence, the invisible whip, trying to flagellate my motivation. Regards the flies. Monday, I was not able to get near a fly enough to touch a wing. Today one of the flies let me touch a wing again before it took off. I think this extra friendly fly is the one named Louie, but am not sure, since at the moment there are a total of five flies around the environment. One interesting thing did happen on Monday, however. It had happened that a tiny extremely sore red spot was rapidly developing on the flare of my right nostril, due I believe, as an aftermath of the French Nuclear explosion on Sunday. On Monday, sitting in the chair in the living room, a fly spending most of its time sitting on my right shoulder hopped over onto the sore spot and busily buzzed it three different times with its mouth pad, its body rotating in a circle around its mouth as it buzzily buzzed. This the three times, was the only face contact by a fly that day. I have to tell you that it took complete maximum restraint to handle the intense itch this treatment caused, but managed, and let the fly do its thing. Oddly, by next day the sore spot was completely gone. Usually it takes four or so days for such a sore spot to run its course. Also, oddly, those three times on the nostril flare of the right nose is the only face contact made since Sunday, and throughout yesterday and today, not a single fly has been on my right shoulder or chest or face. And then, today, a short while ago, one of two flies sitting on the edge of an open cupboard door, let me touch its wing. The other took off as I approached it. Like I say, I think I have found Louie again, just for a moment. Oho, a fly has just touched down on my right shoulder here in the dining room, then took off again. I think Louie is back in the picture. And now, here he is, sitting on my right shoulder. I will keep you posted if anything NEW is learned, about THIS interesting situation. Hortense had a slightly bigger body but was the same kind of fly, which is why I am assuming that Louie is male and Hortense a female. It is not sexist, no male preference, just the anatomy of the flies makes me deem that the extra friendly one is a male who has been named Louie. Interesting that perhaps the mightiest hurricane (named OPAL) ever to hit the American mainland, is now moving in on Lousianna and the Florida panhandle, one day after the O.J. Simpson trial abruptly ended. Planetary observers such as myself tend to watch for such co-incidences. It is not hard to link up Cause equals Effect in even such things as the circulation of weather patterns due to massive movements and changes in the positive and negative frequencies of the planetary mass consciousness. I have twice seen clouds form low overhead in totally clear skies and produce thunder lightening and rain then evaporate just as fast as they formed, the clouds ovular in shape, always with white frosty edges fingering out around the edges of the central circular body, in tiny straight filements almost like frost. Most interesting was that clear sky could be seen around the edges of the cloud's shape, the cloud sitting stationary the whole time. (Check 'Omni' in the 'eclipse.htm' page of 'cosmicastronomy.com' for white cloud manifestations over Whitehorse Yukon Territorities. If you can find the 'Omni' descriptions after this nearly cryptic direction stated immediately above, it probably means you were meant to read about the mysterious white cloud). This summer, two interesting things happened here in Orleans with sudden unexpected weather. I was inside, and suddenly had the idea to go out to check how some flowers planted from seeds were doing, ie, did they need water. It was mid afternoon on a weekend. As I stepped out the door, a sudden wind sprang up. By the time I got to the end of the sidewalk and stepped out past the two car garage, bits of sand and stone were peltering my face. A huge vortext of dust and candy wrapper papers was building up in the middle of the T style interesection directly in front of the house. Quasar the little brown dog looked urgently in one direction, then another, and dived for cover under the car in the driveway. And a neighbor walking by suddenly bolted for her front door. I raced inside shouting to my brother catching a cat nap upstairs that: Wake UP! Wake UP! I think a tornado is happening. Down he came at once. By the time the two of us got back outside the wind had stopped, and bits of paper and such were settling out of the air back onto the street. What was this, I don't know, it was so unusual. And, there were no reports whatsoever of any unusual weather or winds in the Ottawa valley that day. On another day this summer, the forecast had called for calm, balmy, clear skies, nothing at all incoming, when suddenly out of nowhere a local disturbance started up in the Ottawa River valley at Pemberton, heading straight East. By the time it reached Ottawa travelling at 80 klicks per hour gusts of 90 miles an hour were being reported. It passed right over head, lasting less than 5 minutes, but by that time realtor and plaza signs were blown helter skelter, stop signs were bent right over, the local Petro Can Service Station which had a large wrack of soda pop outside the front door, saw the wrack roll off and blow away shattering most of the pop when the wind rolled by. What had caused it? The weather offices had no idea. Three years ago, when our small software business had suddenly been hit by malevolent attacks from an American competitor and one unpleasant emotional jolt after another was flooding our peace of mind, after a particular bad jolt of unexpected news regards the American competitor, a weather cell over Gatineau across the Ottawa River started to build up moving this way dropping hail. It came across the Ottawa River and swept straight up the hillsides and over this house then dissipated and vanished. A quarter mile wide swath of hail the size of marbles was dropped along an extremely narrow strip over Orleans, including here, taking out all of the greens in my backyard. No other such narrow swath of hail has been reported for the area in the three full years I have lived here. The swath reported by the weather watch was reported as being no more than 1/4 of a mile wide. There has been occasional hail, but effecting a wide general area, and nothing dense enough to trash yards. So, the mighty hurrican moving in this very moment on America I see as not of random cause due just to greenhouse heating. I percieve it to be caused to grow out of control, by thought of teeming millions via the mass consciousness in the planetary frequencies. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. A planetary translator or a group who happen to be working together, can, effect, change, to dissolve or dissipate a threat, if done right, at the right moment, in actions in their higher consciousness. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. In 1975 in Halifax Nova Scotia a hurricane of deadly force was being tracked moving in off the East coast straight toward Halifax and forcasts of the worst potentials including fatalities were being blared non-stop over radio stations and TV. A planetary translator who happened to be there at the time (not me), suddenly announced it was not right, it should not happen, and said they had done something in consciousness that might help. We waited. Sure enough within 15 minutes changes in the status of the storm began to be reported. By the time it hit the mainland a couple of hours later it had pettered right out, winds maximum to 75 miles an hour blew over Halifax but that was all that was left of that storm. It happened just two days after this planetary translator arrived in town, a storm out in the Atlantic suddenly gaining fury, then heading straight for the source, in an inter dimensional tussle in the frequencies caused by the planetary translator's sudden arrival in Halifax, at least, if you believe that Heaven is on Earth and Heavenly beings are walking around doing the work of god even while doing daily actions of normal kind in the flesh, then concider this story of the planetary Translator who arrived in town in Halifax, and dissolved a hurrican threatening to strike mayhem, the planetary translator doing the best to dissolve the threat being caused by the translator's arrival into a teeming mess constituting the city's mass consciousness at that time, circ. the summer of 1975. Me in the know because it happened that the Planetary Translator and myself were at that moment sharing a motel room and I was getting blow by blows, by the minute, from that Planetary Translator, as they happened, the translator at that moment intent on having a witness who could be implicitly trusted to note remarks about what was to happen, before they happened. Oops. Have I said too much? No I have not. One story about a planetary translator is peanuts. Planetary Translators have been on Earth since before the dawn of recorded history, working all the time, to steer this planet towards First Cause, and Reality. Concider Moses. What must Moses know now, if incarnated, after 3500 years from a time period first recorded for that being in the histories of the Earth. Moses is not that Planetary Translator reported above, but, the being who was once called Moses, and that Planetary Translator reported above, do indeed know each other and work together from time to time trying to set things straight on the planet at the present time. Hint hint. You in fact may be involved, in your higher frequencies and being. Do not be surprised, if in fact you are intrinsically involved. Basically, everyone is involved, even the decrepid Pope, to one degree or another, in one higher state of being or another, in helping to get this sorry planet and its rebellion mess aftermath straightened up. Forget the guru who has convinced his followers that all that is needed is for 7 thousand meditationalists to yogi hop simultaneously through the air, landing on their anuses with such a jolt that it will create sufficient power to raise their leader back up into the heavens to resume his place as the ruler of the universe. What kind of a ruler of the universe needs that kind of power to resume rule of the universe. Ouch, my ass hurts. Mine too. Do you think it was enough? is our leader still sitting present with us? cackling and babbling? P.S., during the time I have written the above, the fly has been coming and going, parking on my right shoulder for a moment or two, then departing into the hinterlands. Interesting fly! No where else, but my right shoulder. And no other fly in the dining room. Like I say, there ARE frequencies involved. This fly is right in on a frequency of implicit trust. It (I am assuming) KNOWS that no harm will come to it by me. And its the male, so I assume it must be Louie. Well, we ARE back in business. A fly suddenly landed on my knee. I held out my open hand and whistled three times, and the fly hopped to my forearm, then suddenly took off, and there it was tussling in tight circles in mid air with another fly who took off and vanished, one of the flies landing nearby on the outer edge of the old dining room table forming the support surface for the BBS computer. I help out my open hand and whistled three times, the fly instantly flew onto my wrist, stayed a moment, then departed in the air again. It is reassuring to know that even a common housefly has consciousness of a higher kind, beyond pre-concieved beliefs. In fact it is nice that a metaphor and model of a housefly makes it possible to easily talk about problems of preconcieved beliefs. It is nice. After flying close to me right past my two eyes, the fly is parked again on my right shoulder. Then touched on the same spot as before on my forearm, and is now back on the same spot on the edge of the dining room table set against the wall. Another fly has been clinging to the side of a hand made oak wood speaker box that has been stored for over three years here in the dining room, and the fly is peering this way. Lets see what happens next. At this moment, both flies have completely vanished. Well, I held out my open hand and whistled three time, in came a fly buzzing my palm a couple of times, touched my right shoulder, landed on my knee, and took off again. After several minutes with no fly present guess who arrived back to sit on my right forearm, going for a ride as I move my arm and do things. This fly is still there, on my forarm as I type. I am sure it is Louie, the smaller body is the right size. Louie has just taken off and is vigorously rubbing his hind legs, sitting on a piece of paper hanging loose from the dot matrix printer. I have just touched his wing with a thumb. He then took off. .... Well, after a half an hour I came back into the dining room and Louie was parked on the back edge of my orange office chair, I held out a finger and touched him, he took off swirling around in the air, I held out my open hand and whistled, the fly came and landed on my chest. N'ouph said. .... I am watching the hurricane reports on CNN. When first I reported comments about it, it was aiming toward the Gulf Coast, winds sustained at 150 miles and hour, with gusts to 175 miles per hour, moving at a pace of 23 miles an hour toward land, and building in power as the minutes pass. It must have been around 1:30 PM when I remembered the hurrican situation in Halifax contended by a Planetary Translator and so wrote about it, realizing that there must be something I could do through the higher consciousness to help. Easier said than done, I have no idea what the Planetary Translator had done to dissipate the Halifax hurricane in 1975. Nevertheless there are things I tried and did through my own consciousness, assuming that other planetary translators and observers are also at work trying to help, a devastating hurricane, potentially the mightiest ever known, is not in the best interests or wishes for First Cause. At 2:45 PM I have just heard the latest, from CNN News on channel 33. The storm is fading. The west side has collapsed. The sustained winds have diminished to 135 miles per hour. The hurricane is still moving landward at 23 miles per hour, and unfortumately tornadoes are already being spawned inland. Lets see what happens next. Why potentially the mightiest storm in American History. At 2:30 the Pope landed on American soil and blessed the ground. The arrival of this mighty black master at this powder keg moment of transition in time in that country has to have impact in the inner frequencies. And in the midst of this, Planetary Translators, and Observers and members of the Messiah Task Force in the Higher Dimensions, work on. .... At 3:25 PM, hurricane OPAL has dropped to a catagory 3 storm, with winds sustained at 125 miles an hour, and is starting to slow in speed toward landfall. And now its women advertising Preparation H for painful hemorrhoids on TV. It used to be men with strange twisted grins explaining how the stuff helped them cure their strange twisted grins. And now women, with strange sing song bird-like voices, are telling you that only Preparation H can do the trick, a sudden change in consciousness, not being mentioned, as the best cure of all. Such cures are free for the asking from the Supreme Creators Alpha and Omega. .... At a quarter to seven PM the eye of OPAL has hit shore and the machine has revved up back to winds of 145 miles per hour. Very bad, but better than before, better than if it had kept building pep for three hours nonstop before landfall. On satellite you could see a sudden poof where much of the storm swirling to the west clockwise suddenly vanished, and a short while later new clouds began to form swirling anti-clockwise to the South West. That is how such storms can be diminished, or even dissolved, by intervention from sources beyond the known laws of orthodox physics. - Finis - REMARKS ---------------------------------------------------------- Oct. 4, 1995, 10:50 AM. Thursday morning. Just a couple of quick remarks regards flies. This morning while sitting watching news CNN Channel 33 to pick up on the latest news from overnight, regarding hurricane OPAL, the flies were back, with revealing new information. It started when Louie suddenly landed on my right shoulder. Not knowing quite what to do, I started rubbing my two hands together. Louie suddenly did the same. We did this, me rubbing then Louie too, three times in a row, then Louie got bored or perplexed, and just sat there, on my right arm just below the shoulder. In fact as I type right now, here in the dining room, a fly is dusting my right shoulder. Now it is gone. Meanwhile, back to the point ..... It seems that flies may have the same kind of instantaneous telepathic hit mode that birds and fish do, in flocks or schools that teem in large numbers, in which all of the flock or school changes direction simultaneously in mid flight, or mid swim, by a single cue that shoots through the group at once as a single idea. A recent Bay of Fundy special a few days ago featuring migrating flocks of small birds from the far North, who all gather in one place on the Bay of Fundy, more than a million, and load up with mud shrimp before winging a non stop 90 hour flight straight to South America, can band together in flocks up to 150,000 birds, who all seem to act as one mind in that they turn and swing back and forth in a beautiful ballet of art in motion, no birds in the gigantic flock singly on its own. Earlier this morning two flies landed, one on each knee, the landing on each knee was simultaneous, which is what caught my attention. A moment later both took to the air simultaneously, one from each knee, the two flies vanished into the air not seen, then suddenly both landed simultaneously again, one on a knee the other on my stomach. For a minute both just sat there and then as if on a perfect telepathic cue both began to vigorously rub their forelegs, and on the same frequency, both again stopped on the same instant. Now, I have seen flies before, take to the air simultaneously, and so on, but today for the first time saw a sequence of events in which acts took place that were not random or independent between two flies. I am also forming the opinion that when two or three flies take to the air and twirl in tight circles, this is not combat, or mating ritual, the flies are playing, it is the same kind of spontaneous frollic that dogs do, playing and tussling in completely harmless fun. I think this, because of realizing there is no way the flies can harm each other when twirling in tight circles in the air, they have no weapons, there is nothing with which to combat. Plus, in watching closely with patience, I see one fly suddenly launch at another and the two twirling in the air, then a moment later the other launch at the first and the two in the air again, twirling. It looks to me like they are having fun, playing. All these years I always took it for granted that the flies combated, territorial disputes or whatever. Another pre-concieved belief has been laid to rest, today. .... Well, another secret just revealed. The pope has Parkenson's desease. He is reading from a prepared manuscript, addressing the U.S. nation, on TV, and his left hand is trembling in the rythmic palsy characteristic of the desease, at an advancing stage. It is not recent, he has been afflicted for some time, and not a peep has been said about THIS from the Vatican. Until the moment of this live broadcast. Now we see. Hmmm. .... In a close up camera view front on, we see three deep lines of furrow etched deep in his forhead, and a flare of large veins sweeping out to the left, just the one side of his forehead covered with thick lines of veins splaying out, demonstrating a horrific degree of off balanced inner deception, er, decreption. The stress that can cause such explode of veins only known by the withins of the pope, himself. Nice guy. Or if you want to believe, the closest to Christ you can ever get on this planet. But, don't forget, that belief in closeness is entirely SELF PROCLAIMED ! Hint. Hint. Even David Maynes of Toronto's One Hundred Huntley Street proclaims the same thing. In fact, Maynes proclaims that if you give him money, he will personally mention your name to Jesus. I do not know what kind of jesus Maynes gives the tips to, but I do know it is not the Chief Commander of Cosmic Affairs for the Planet Earth, once known as Jesus of 2000 years ago, and in a different form before as King David, who walked and drove main streets of Canada and the US for over 30 years trying to line up a handfull who could get it on directly with First Cause. Money was scarce at the start. A 1961 green Pontiac was used for 10 years, the speedometer going three times completely around the clock, until the day the Pontiac was pancaked in the side by a Catholic coming through a side street intersection ignoring the stop sign at 80 miles an hour, sending the passanger to hospital for a patch up. Exactly one year later, to the same day, and same hour, one week later, at exactly the same intersection, another Catholic came roaring up the sidestreet and pancaked the side of the Chief Commander's car a second time at 80 miles an hour, this time sending a passanger to hospital for a couple of days. In both assassination attempts, the Chief Commander was unharmed, because of a force field. In both hits, both cars were completely totalled. These are the only two accidents the Chief Commander (he is not me) had on Earth driving a car, in those days of a 22 year period in which 1971 and 1972 are key turning points. I may have let to much dribble from the unnatended mouth in that last paragraph, but I am going to let the remarks stand. - Finis - DOGBEAT ---------------------------------------------------------------- Oct. 9, 1995, 5:07 PM. Monday afternoon (thanksgiving day). And there he is, the little brown dog named Quasar, standing in the living room, wagging his tail in 4/4 beat in perfect synch to the 3/4 beat of the 'Star Treck - Next Generation' theme music, a symphony. He did it entirely on his own, caught my attention, and wagged twice as hard when he saw me watching. You really have to admire a dog who tries so hard. I'll fill you in on some more detail as to exactly what happened. Sitting in a chair watching the opening of a Star Trek episode, suddenly, as the theme music started, around the corner into the living room came the dog, straight up to me, tail wagging, the dog looking at me intently. I noticed his tail was in complete synch with the tempo of the music, so said, 'wag wag' whereupon the tail started to beat with twice the swing, or rather, confidence, the whole time in perfect tempo. It was, as already said, a 4/4 beat, with the tempo of the 3/4 beat of the theme music's symphonics. No twitch twitch pause twitch twitch pause in THIS beating. This is new, that the dog snatched a tempo and handled 3/4 time, using a 4/4 beat. Yesssss verrry interrrresting little dog. He came and showed me. The other evening, an after dinner dog party started up out back shortly after 7 PM. It happened that across the narrow stretch of park out behind, both of the neighbor's two big dogs (one a sandy Laborador the other a Collie), were out in the yard at the gate barking loudly. Next door to us, the new neighbor's two large dogs (a male Laborador and female sandy Border Collie, were also both out in the yard and all four dogs were barking a cacaphony. Straight to the patio door goes the little brown dog named Quasar. I threw open the patio door and at once Quasar starts to bark too. What is so noticable at this moment is that across the way, both big dogs are going woof roof in deep strong barks, next door the two big dogs are also going woof roof in deep toned barks, and at our patio door our little brown dog is also going woof roof in deep strong barks, a full two octaves below the range Quasar usually uses to speak dogtalk. All told it was quite a racket, soon quelled when laughing neighbors next door calling across the way to the other neighbors also calling jokes and me too in the midst, at the patio door also cracking one liners, as all of the dogs were quickly rounded up and ushered inside. I still remember the loud deep barks of Quasar standing at the patio door being one of the boys with real big, real deep, resounding echoing dog barks with the same tonals as the other four big dogs. Until then I didn't know a dog can fake its barks. - Finis - ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS ------------------------------------------------- Oct. 10, 1995, 1:35 PM. Tuesday afternoon. I have lost a la