Crunching the Super-Narrative – the Strange Case of James Casbolt, aka Michael Prince (of Lies) - Part 2 of 2

Tonight, the part of James Casbolt’s clone will be played by a young Tim Robbins.

MICHAEL. PRINCE. IT’S A WHOLE NEW TAKE ON ‘BAD.’ [PART 2 OF 2]

To the best of my knowledge – and in the gap of 5-or-so years between his first two interviews with Miles Johnston – James Casbolt,  who at some point along the way had started to do some more radio interviews and was becoming known by his other name Michael Prince, became ‘discredited’ in certain online conspiracy circles. Given that he had never provided any genuine concrete proof or evidence of anything in the first place, one can only wonder exactly how such a thing could happen.

Back in early 2007 (I am basing my dates here according to comments on an old Above Top Secret forum discussing this matter) Casbolt posted a number of images on his now-defunct website, which he offered as evidence of his claims with regards to alien contact and cover-ups. Some of these images started to circulate around the usual fringe ends of the internet. I don’t personally recall seeing all of these images, but according to Miles Johnston and other online commenters  (who are often the anonymous experts on these occasions), most of them were very quickly debunked as either pre-existing UFO pics – some of these, I believe being from the super-credible Meier/Adamski canon – or screen grabs from episodes of The X-Files and other sci-fi shows. According to a commenter on the ATS forum, Casbolt’s supposedly real photos of the interior of Dulce Base – which had apparently been passed on to him by high-up secret government sources – were swiftly identified as being from a perfectly innocuous underground subway in Stockholm, Sweden. Casbolt had either been very gullible in trusting his sources – as he later claims in the video interviews – or extremely  disingenuous in posting the pictures in the first instance.

Another image attributed to Casbolt – of an allegedly Annunaki being named ‘Lord Enlil’ – was soon identified as being a slightly altered image of Zbigniew Brzezinski, the former United States National Security Advisor to Jimmy Carter. What was so terrifyingly alien about the image? Brzezinski’s eyes had been digitally slanted and shrunk down, to make them look weird and creepy. One has to wonder how this image fooled the keen assassin’s eye of Casbolt himself.

“First The Project For The New American Century gets out and now this.”

A far more interesting – though similarly debunked – image shows a profile shot of a peculiarly-hued woman who has either green or bright white skin color depending on the image you happen to have stumbled across. For some reason (no, I know the reason – it’s a reason called ‘the internet’) the image seems frequently to be tagged as being that of an Annunaki-reptilian hybrid – despite the text box attached to the image describing the species as a ‘Nordic’ or ‘Tall White’ – in other words, the typical humanoid-looking and vaguely Scandinavian-in-appearance contactee-loving space people of yore. Looking beyond the flattened catlike nose, Hitler hairdo and eerily menacing glare of this alien woman, one is struck by a strange impression: she looks like one of those blank-eyed, bony-featured supermodels you can see images of online, wearing peculiar outfits seemingly not designed for humans. Indeed, an ATS forum on this image quickly ID’d this extraterrestrial visitor as a likely Photoshopping of a Polish model named Anja Rubik. There’s every possibility a great many catwalk models are actually Nordic Tall Whites… but I suspect that’s a heated discussion to be left for another day.

When super models go vegan.

Both of these images came with textual references to an organization going by the acronym SAALM. This, we are led to believe, stands for ‘Supreme Annunaki Alliance of Lord Marduk.’ despite some nonsensical detail about it online – which Casbolt was also unsurprisingly associated with – needless to say, no such organization exists. (Unless it actually does. In which case, I will obviously wind up looking like a right proper fool one day.)

So. At some point after his general debunking at the cynical hands of the internet – or at least in the eyes of anyone who was paying his story any cursory attention – Casbolt appeared to disappear from the conspiracy sphere of the online world. As someone who had found his wild tales mildly diverting, I assumed he was done with whatever wool he was pulling and had retired from his parapolitical prankery for good.

But then, in 2011, Casbolt made his return. His story remained largely intact, but had now taken on a number of new dimensions. Let’s look at some more aspects of how this epic has developed, as laid out by Casbolt in his Bases 9 interview – which was released in mid-2011 – and the far lengthier and more in-depth Bases 23, conducted between England and America via Skype, which hit the intrawebs a few weeks ago. The 2011 interview sees some of Casbolt’s more racially-fixated ideas begin to leak out which would be fully laid out in the recent session: as he refers to ‘The Odinist Fellowship,’ whose plan for the human race is to perpetuate endless warfare via Nazi brainwashing and assassination. More on this in a moment. But first, another brain-boggling claim from the Casbolt interviews….

It’s Lawrence of Arabia–I mean Supriem Rockefeller.

Apparently, there’s another guy out there who looks exactly like James Casbolt. Or, more precisely, someone who is an actual clone of him. This Casbolt doppelganger is Supriem Rockefeller – the alleged son of banker David Rockefeller. A man who, like Casbolt, has supposedly made some elaborate claims about being the antichrist who is set to soon usher in the End Times. Some cursory internet investigation suggests that this younger Rockefeller-cum-Lucifer Casbolt refers to is not related to that well-known family in any way and is actually a conman and smalltime crook from Louisiana called Kris Raynes. A number of photographs online that are purportedly of ‘Supriem’ appear to show one of either two things: that Raynes/Rockefeller bears a quite uncanny resemblance to Casbolt/Prince – or that these pictures of Raynes/Rockefeller are simply staged photos of Casbolt/Prince purporting to be Supriem – a further two aliases for Casbolt to add to his list.

Is one a creation of the other? And if so, which of these four identities is real, and which are fake? Believe it or not, two book-length texts exist online about this Supriem character alone – neither of which appear to make any reference to his resemblance to Casbolt or their corresponding talk of occult bloodlines and antichrist claims. This whole twist in Casbolt’s tale seems designed to create further cognitive dissonance – and throw up more unanswerable questions in the mind of anyone (such as myself) foolish enough to attempt to delve into it.

I really can‘t go into everything that’s in these videos. You could always watch them yourself. Bases 23 itself comprises four parts, and is nearly four hours in length. Watching the most recent 4-hour session, it appears Casbolt’s relocation to the United States and time in the army has brought about some changes for him. Once slight in figure, he has bulked up considerably and now has the look of a bodybuilder, or nightclub bouncer. He also has a frequent and pronounced smirk as he speaks, which marks a noticeable change from his previous interviews, where he was almost completely emotionless in his delivery.

Six minutes into this interview you find out he’s actually the chosen vessel for Lucifer. Or at least, some people think he is, if they’re not thinking it’s Supriem Rockefeller. Jesus, Lucifer, and Thor are all one and the same person – the Illuminati messiah – and Casbolt is one of the elite 42 individuals selected by the evil powers-that-be to become the antichrist spoken of in ancient religious texts.

Fourth Reich Nazis are attacking the ‘racial melting pot’ of the United States, and there is a forthcoming nuclear strike planned for the American Midwest. Casbolt has chased an alien wolf in Malaysia, rogue werewolves in South America and hunted an ‘octoform’ in England. He has an ET-tech gun which he calls ’Drago’ and uses this to assassinate cyborgs. It fires bullets which ‘are blessed by something to do with the Vatican.’

While training with the US Army (of which he claims to have been a member throughout 2012, although there appears to be no actual evidence of this) he used the Spear of Destiny to levitate. He also clarifies that the Forth Reich are ancient Reptilian cyborgs with cloned human skin. Oh – and there are several time-traveling cyborg clones of him. And he has a photograph taken recently of his military buddies standing with a man who might be Albert Einstein. There’s psychics opening jump gates to travel through time and space. He has cybernetic enhancements which relate to his Odinist bloodline, which are made out of a cold fusion alloy mined on Iapetus, one of Saturn’s moons. Casbolt was sent there to find this alloy, which is where he came into direct conflict with giant diamond spiders, which are what you might expect them to be from that description. Cybernetic reptilian limbs are sent through time by Knights Templar in 1812, to be grafted onto human super soldiers in either the present day, or the future of 2212. All of this adds up to the overall Nazi plot to depopulate the Earth, ship all the non-Aryan people off-world to some other place, and create a paradise planet where everyone walks around naked having orgies all the time. Yep, that’s actually what’s going to happen. Hitler surely would have approved. Oh – but then, he will probably drop by to see this glorious new Reich for himself once it‘s been fully implemented. Seeing as how he’s still alive and living somewhere near Aldebaran in the Taurus constellation. (That is probably one of the least mad factoids Casbolt comes out with.)

Casbolt’s bloodline is massively important to this whole saga. He explains that he can trace his ancestry back to  the Spartans, the earliest Freemasons, the tribes of Dan, the Merovingians and Atlantis. The Illuminati, as Casbolt delineates it, is comprised of two warring bloodlines: the Jewish Zionists descended from King David and Jesus, and the Fourth Reich Aryans who are white Aryans descended from Odin.

As to what side of the fence he’s on with regards to the two sides of ‘the war’… well, that seems a mite tricky to pin down. In his first interview from 2006, he alludes to Jewish ancestry and wears the Star of David. Only now, explicitly discussing the agenda of the Fourth Reich Aryan Odinist Nazis (to give them their full title) Casbolt seems now to be aligned with whoever these modern far-right occultists are. Here’s a brief quote from him – or, at least, someone alleging to be him – from his participation on a forum discussing his claims on David Icke’s website: “But the Jew always thrives off the back of another person’s work like a parasite.”

Yup. This poster professing to be Casbolt was recently suspended from the forum due to his persistent and offensive racist diatribes. I guess you know you’re making a mark on the conspiracy scene if even David Icke’s people think you’re a bit extreme.

Casbolt goes on to better explain the Jewish Zionist agenda on film – and I quote him now, from Bases 23, part one:  “The Jew wanted to give the Black in America prestige, like in the areas of sports and entertainment and that was purposefully socially engineered so the Black could get prestige and interbreed with White women and the plan was to submerge White blood by mixing the races.”

He then goes on to refer to ‘Vril power in the blood’ and claims the Jewish plot to bring about apocalyptic race war is laid out in the protocols of the elders of Zion – not stopping for a second to acknowledge the fact that this notorious anti-Semitic document was proven to be a racist hoax which was picked up on and used as propaganda by the Nazi party during World War II.

A lot of Casbolt’s ideas at this point seem to be very heavily derived from the writings of Helena Blavatsky, particularly with regards to her ideas about ‘root races.’ A word of warning – theosophy is probably not the best place to go if you want to learn about racial politics.

A month or so ago, I was alerted to the fact that Casbolt had an account on Facebook. Taking a look at his wall and postings, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual to note – there was very little reference made to his video claims and most of the posting seemed more to do with his recently completed tour of duty in the US army. Checking back a few days later though, I noticed post after post presumably written by Casbolt himself (or, perhaps, one of his mind-controlled ‘alter’ personalities) containing screeds of absolutely blatant, inflammatory, extremist-Neo-Nazi-type commentary. For all Casbolt usually seems to remain more or less impartial with regards to his take on ‘the race issue,’  there was little ambiguity to be worked through in these Facebook comments. Perhaps fortuitously to my cause – and as I was already compiling notes for this article – I cropped some of his declarations for posterity. According to these statements on his Facebook wall, any person who wasn’t White should bow down and serve him. Women were inferior to men and should only exist ‘to pleasure their husbands in the bedroom.’ He also went on to call all Black people ‘jungle bunnies’ and ‘a genetic accident due to interbreeding with monkeys.’

A few days after these postings, Casbolt’s Facebook account had been shut down. I have no knowledge of why.

The issue of culturally available scripts needs to be addressed again. Casbolt’s whole story reads like a cobbled-together collage of any number of fictional sci-fi narratives. If some talented writers were to reassemble the super soldier material and the drama of the Illuminati bloodline war, then they’d be on to a smash hit in whatever medium the narrative was disseminated. But then – isn’t that exactly what’s happening here?

Given his professed Norse heritage, mightn’t Loki the trickster-god perhaps be working through Casbolt, helping to accelerate the novelty? Are we witnessing the birthing of a new mythology here? One that will swallow up occult Nazism, global lizard takeover, grey alien abduction and every other twist and turn of conspiracy lore?

Or has Casbolt been fed contradicting timelines and philosophies, with no one taking the time to explain to him that they when crashed together, these narratives wouldn’t all pan out and gel coherently together, like real stuff in real life? Is he a patsy, now compromised by the conspiracy, another Bill Cooper, Paul Bennewitz, or Bob Lazar figure? Are anonymous parties taking advantage of Casbolt’s possible mental illness, and providing him with ‘exclusive’ information that props up, justifies, and reinforces his warped worldview? Maybe he was loony before he started releasing his ‘life story’ – but now he’s even loonier in a different fashion.

Casbolt appears now to draw every little snippet of his script from UFO and alien conspiracy hyperbole, far-right extremist rhetoric, religious, mystical and occult lore, pop culture undercurrents and multifarious fringe ideologies all stemming from the last few hundred years of human history and just ties it all up… and puts a big bow on top.

So. Where’s the root truth? Maybe some of what Casbolt, Stanga, and others say is true, I hear you wonder. But how can we separate fact from fiction, truth from lies? I think that’s the key problem. You can’t. There’s simply too much of this to parse. Any actual potential nuggets of truth get lost in the layers of mental illness, thinly-veiled bigotry, made-up stuff and sucked-up cultural disinfo.

Indeed, the immense epic Casbolt presents sees him suggesting at one point in the most recent interview that the Marvel superhero movies of the last few years were in fact based on the government programs that were designed years before to turn him into a cyborg super spy. Alas, Casbolt may perhaps be genuinely unaware of the fact that the super-powered likes of the X-Men and their ilk have been around in comics since the 60’s. Similarly, when Miles Johnston raises the perhaps obvious synchronicity of the number 42 figuring in the elite’s plans being a number that is used for great comic effect in Douglas Adams’s Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy – Casbolt claims to have never heard of the joke that ‘42’ is the answer to life, the universe and everything. Which came first, the chicken or… the story about the chicken?

But – to Devil’s Advocate this up again – assuming every word is true – what can any of us do about it all? Casbolt offers no solutions to this saga of terror, other than warning that we’ve got roughly 20 years left till the full plan comes to fruition. Prince of Clowns or Prince of Lies, Prince Casbolt shrugs his way out of it, consistently using phrases like ‘I think,’ ‘I believe so,’ and ‘I believe’ (although given that there’s less discussion of bases here, he seems no longer to be so ‘basically’ minded)  – as if even he’s not really sure of how all the puzzle pieces in this lumbering timeline of Draconian deeds and ubermensch Sturm un Drang fit together. We merely follow him, plunging ever further into this primal, Jungian Shadow-side of the alien phenomenon, awaiting apocalypse or worse.

You can take into account certain factors relating to the solidification of this super-narrative. It seems likely that it has in some way been squashed into a more coherent shape in recent years by the ever-advancing algorithms of the internet and the proliferation of such extensive testimony of unverified – and unverifiable – eyewitnesses to high strangeness – both credible and incredible. Eventually, the online linking and clicking of the worried and dispossessed draw the conflicting and contradictory threads and tangents of the stories closer together; until the point when they begin to knit, intersect and become almost indistinguishable from one another, like a beautiful but mad patchwork quilt threaded together from a million different types of material.

And this is where we stand now with the problem of ufology: right in the middle of a world where Nordic space sisters, baby-eating Reptiloids, time-traveling space Nazis, cyborg super soldiers, cloned Grey MILABs,  9/11, JFK and religious cover-ups are all part of the same epic, Ragnarokian, comic book End Times crossover.

We must protect ourselves from the assimilating evil of the super-narrative. It would be wise to find our own answers and try to keep them simple and true.

But if you ever find yourself battling giant spiders on one of Saturn’s moons, don’t worry. That is just a dream.

Right?

__________

Colin Reid is a writer with a long-held interest in paranormal, fringe and ufological topics. He does various things in the world and he might have a novel coming out this year. He will also soon be video-blogging his own actual thoughts out into the wider world of the internet. He can be contacted via Facebook where he uses his mind-controlled alter-personality name of Colin Spiderboris Reid.

(Credit is due to Project Psycube and the members of the Altered-Soldier Facebook group for invaluable research assistance and support during the writing of this article.)

Crunching the Super-Narrative – the Strange Case of James Casbolt, aka Michael Prince (of Lies) - Part 1 of 2

(new intro)

Combining bits of every conspiracy theory ever told into one “true story” of which you are the star? BAD IDEA.

THE ARTIST FORMERLY KNOWN AS MICHAEL PRINCE SINGS A FAMILIAR SONG. OR TWO. OR EIGHTEEN. [PART 1 OF 2]

Let me tell you a story. A really big, complicated story.

There’s this guy called James Casbolt. Originally from London but now living in San Antonio, Texas, Casbolt – who nowadays prefers to be known by his birth name, Michael Prince – is a seemingly mild-mannered, softly-spoken fellow who first emerged onto the online conspiracy scene back in 2005, when he began posting chapters of what later became his ‘autobiography’ on his now-defunct website and in a variety of other places. This text, either titled ‘Michael Casbolt MI6 Buried Alive’  or, to give it its catchier moniker, ‘Agent Buried Alive’ was a short but lurid volume which is still available online in certain corners of the internet, or as a free downloadable PDF book. In his 2006 account, Casbolt details the circumstances of his younger years spent as a mind-controlled and brainwashed agent of various sinister worldwide intelligence agencies.

The central thread of Casbolt’s claim is that he was trained and eventually used by these aforementioned agencies as a genetically, cybernetically, and psychically enhanced sleeper assassin – essentially, some real-life fusion of Wolverine and James Bond – who was tasked with taking out security threats to his masters’ enemies and killing drug dealers and terrorists while he was at it.

 “You can trust me: I kinda look like that dude from ‘Lost.'”

Although I had read Casbolt’s accounts in detail myself a good few years ago, upon revisiting ‘Agent Buried Alive’ – in light of watching a recent series of video interviews with Casbolt – I was initially surprised to realize that I had failed to notice this was the same guy who had come out with the same dense, multilayered conspiracy narrative I had read about several years before. For me, the original roots of these narratives had blurred in my remembering of them to form part of a vast, over-arcing super-narrative the ufological world seems to have gotten itself into of late.

And it seems this blurring of narratives isn’t just going on in the my head as a follower of these stories. It seems the oracles have gotten their facts mixed up in the fiction too. Before you judge me for making what sounds like a potentially brain-bending story even more brain-bending than it  needs to be… well, ultimately we have James Casbolt to blame for that. As you’ll come to understand, fact-checking any element of the Casbolt/Prince accounts – or indeed keeping track of his distinctly loopy timeline – is a tricky and slippery business to pursue.

But then: let’s skip straight to the facts of this tricky and slippery business. James Casbolt has been conducting this series of extensive video interviews with Miles Johnston who is a UK-based investigator into a variety of fringe topics and one of the founders of the organization AMMACH (an acronym for ‘Anomalous Mind Management and Contactee Helpline’). One of Casbolt’s most remarkable claims sees him casually confessing on camera that, while he was under the control of his personality-altering mental programming, he believes he killed roughly 200 people. If we can set aside the deeply problematic issue of this man calmly admitting to murder for a second… we’ll discover that his Bondian hijinks are only the tip of the iceberg.

Because of his all-important familial and racial lineage, Casbolt was selected prior to his birth to become part of the semi-mythical ‘Project Mannequin’ under the directions of factions of MI6 and the CIA. This project, supposedly run by the NSA, is to quote Casbolt, a “mind control and genetic manipulation program,” which is centered around the AL/499 facility, an alleged secret underground base located somewhere roughly beneath the village of Peasemore in Berkshire, England. According to Casbolt (and some other corroborating accounts which we’ll come to in due course) the Peasemore base is a dark haven of MK-ULTRA brainwashing where “programmable generated life forms” – essentially, the Greys – are created in genetic labs. This base is also where abducted children and adults are tortured, programmed, conditioned, and killed.

Essentially then, Peasemore base is the British equivalent of the notorious Dulce base in New Mexico – and shares many of the same horror show accounts of child sacrifice, alien experiments, and attendant Reptilian overlords. That is… if we are to believe these accounts, or indeed, if we are to believe that such bases even exist.

And here begins the epic crossover. Casbolt’s accounts of occult Nazi-derived, CIA-patented mind-control programs specifically echo the accounts of Fritz Springmeier, Arizona Wilder and Cathy O’Brien among others. Stories of fringe figures who have alleged dark deeds done to them by Illuminati agents in order to slowly bring about the evil agenda of the New World Order.

This isn’t just a story about an underground base, though. The dizzying width and breadth of Casbolt’s first written account takes in references to all of the following: the Illuminati and childhood sexual abuse; teenage drug trafficking; the Kabbala, occult freemasonry, and the Nephilim; hypnotic triggers, mind-wipes and his ability to see radio waves; getting buried in a coffin filled with snakes as an 8-year old, later teenage violence, juvenile delinquency and his time in a young offenders’ institution… all of this leading up to Casbolt carrying out his first assassination, at a mere 16 years of age.

But beyond this confounding grab bag of paranoiac scenarios, what immediately becomes suspicious about Casbolt’s account? Possibly it’s the fact that his story has changed and mutated from that of an account told by an innocent brainwashed victim of these nefarious mind control programs, as laid out in his 2006 book (which he concludes by speaking of his benevolent relationship with the ‘good’ Pleadian aliens), to that of an elistist controller of information and a disseminator of confused but clearly racist propaganda, where Casbolt shows his true colors by repeatedly using a number of public forums to blame “The Jew” and all nonwhite people for most of humanity’s ills.

Miles Johnston, Casbolt’s interviewer during the so-called ‘Bases’ videos – who presents his interviewees’ often shockingly dark and/or insane-sounding tales not as pure fact but more as fragmented pieces of a wider puzzle – has suggested in at least one other online presentation that he believes Casbolt may have plagiarized his tales of the Peasemore base directly from Johnston’s own first Bases interview, originally recorded way back in 1995 and re-released online in 2010. In the first Bases interview, Barry King – who claims to have worked as a security officer at the base for several years during the 70s and early 80s – recounts information almost identical to Casbolt’s initial testimony. King and Casbolt both seem to concur that Peasemore – and similar other installations – are controlled by a hidden Nazi presence.

National Socialism figures heavily into and forms one of the central threads of Casbolt’s endlessly baffling saga. And a saga it is – going all the way back to King David, Norse Gods, and Jesus.

Already I can sense you prickling with suspicion and intrigue at all this thrilling and disturbing information. I’m sure you’re thinking, Hang on… What do you mean… and similar frantic, unfinished questions… Well, hang on a little longer – the rabbit hole has hardly even been fully dived down yet. Plus we haven’t even got to the bit where Casbolt fights giant spiders on one of Saturn’s moons. Or the part with the time-travelling cyborg Nazi Reptilians. Or the werewolves. Believe me, it gets very complicated.

***

Casbolt’s first video interview was recorded on the fly at a UFO conference held at a college in Truro, Cornwall in 2005. In the interview – which appears to have been largely unplanned and is recorded in a hallway with some amount of background chatter going on nearby – Casbolt further elaborates on his accounts – calmly explaining the grim bleakness of his dark life in a measured and fairly emotionless tone. Here, we might observe Casbolt’s demeanor a little, as it will turn out to contain several clues. He wears a Star of David around his neck. With one hand he incessantly clutches a bottle of water; with the other, he gestures as he speaks – seemingly performing subliminal Nazi salutes. Miles Johnston made this observation with regards to the salutes elsewhere online – and unbelievably, both of these seemingly random and perhaps preposterous elements do factor into the wider story.

That reminds me: before we non sequitur our way to the diamond spiders from Saturn (David Bowie would be proud), here’s a potentially interesting linguistic thread to derail the saga….

Upon slogging through the hellish punishment of this and later video interviews with Casbolt, I began to notice that he makes repeated use of a particular lexical filler. Put simply, this is a word, sound, or generic phrase most of us will use in conversation as a mechanically-rattled-off placeholder, which unconsciously slips out when we’re temporarily lost for words. We frequently use such an expression  as an emphatic utterance to reemphasize our point of view. It is spat out to try and keep the audience hooked onto our voice so those we are communicating with don’t lose connection to our communication, as we battle like animals to re-stake our claim to agency onto the world.

The word Casbolt frequently repeats is ‘Basically.’

So, indeed, you might feel inclined to inquire at this point… ‘basically…’ what’s so significant about that generally meaningless spoken word used here by Casbolt? What on Earth could the word ‘BASE-ically’ have to do with secret underground… BASEs?

Okay. So Casbolt repeats the word ‘base’ all the time. Even when he’s not actually talking about bases… in a series of video interviews called… Bases.

But, now. That’s really not that interesting, right? Surely we’re clutching at straws here, by hinting at some NLP-style subliminal programming? Am I just guilty of noticing some accidental pareidolia here? The recognition of seeming patterns and hitherto-unexplored possible connections between things that might not actually exist? Is this synchronicity, or mere pattern recognition? More on this in a moment.



"it's not mental illness if they believe it"

Stepping sideways for a moment away from Casbolt and his self-reflecting meta-saga – which has barely got going at this point yet has far-reaching consequences – let’s take a look at another interviewee of the Bases series of videos who first appeared online at the beginning of 2012. Sarah Stanga is a youngish British citizen who, like Casbolt, makes wild claims of being taken to secret underground bases at various locations around the world as a child and tortured as part of Illuminati mind-control programs to create potential super soldiers. Her accounts also bring in a heavy dose of Satanic and ritual black magic, as well as the use of ancient alien stargates to summon dark, demonic beings into this human realm.
Retelling both Stanga’s and Casbolt’s accounts at length – as well as attempting to take into account all of the other base visitors who have gone on record in recent years – would take all year and far too much of your no-doubt valuable time. Suffice it to say that both of their accounts – and those of several other AMMACH interviewees, not all of whom are based in the UK – cross over and share a notable number of synchronous details.
In her AMMACH interview Bases 10 – The Sarah Stanga Blogs, Stanga tells her extraordinary story of how her life was all-but destroyed by gangstalking and gaslighting – these being specific terms for organized stalking and coordinated harassment – carried out by Illuminati witches, negative astral entities, Draco reptilians, and a seemingly endless parade of elements related to alien interference, Monarch mind control and Satanic ritual abuse. Watching Stanga’s interview and any portion of her blogs, one can’t help but be struck by a number of things. Firstly – and by her own admission – Stanga clearly has certain mental health issues and has in the past had issues with drug and alcohol abuse. Indeed, unlike the reserved yet coolly confident Casbolt. everything about Stanga’s mannerisms, speech patterns, and body language scream out the pain of someone who is still desperately mentally unwell – or at the very least, still deeply troubled by a number of psychological problems. As Stanga records her thoughts in the blogs, she frequently mentions or alludes to unseen entities around her in the room, which we are told are attempting to psychically attack her.
Oh – and the other tellingly weird thing about Stanga, which brings us back around to Casbolt, who she name-checks as a victim of the same clandestine military programs she suffered under?
Drumroll please…
She says ‘basically.’ A hell of a lot.
So much so that, after a fashion, it starts to sound like a sort of Tourette’s on her part. And yes – she does talk about bases. But not as much as she repeats that word. Basically.
So what’s my ‘basic’ point here? Are these ‘baseless’ allegations? Watching a number of the interviews carried out by the AMMACH folks in the last few years (and yes, there is a great number of them, done at great length – but don’t worry, dear reader, I watched them so you don’t have to…) several things become apparent which I feel I should draw attention to.
More than a few of the interviewees constantly repeat the word ‘basically’ (though none with as much frequency as Stanga). This may mean absolutely nothing, but I find it strangely suggestive of some weird trickster element sneaking into the mix: the playful messing of some buried intelligence, attempting to rise to the surface to pass comment on the bleak supernatural weirdnesses these troubled characters allude to.
Disregard these ‘baseless’ observations for a moment. Let’s vector in on the personally subjective psychology of these individuals. And for the time being, I’m going to go absolutely crazy and extend this once-in-a-lifetime offer to ALL UFO/alien/spirit/channeled intelligence contactees and experiencers. That’s it… dontcha feel special right now? I’ve singled you all out!
IF we assume SOME of these people are not ALL completely crazy (an issue I’ll touch on properly in a second) then what does this odd subliminal affirmation of the ‘basic’ ‘existence’ of bases mean? Have some of these individuals truly been through psyops-related experiments into perception management? Is this why they appear – to those who choose to notice anyway – to have been seemingly conditioned to constantly reaffirm their personal truth to themselves and others… ‘Basically?’ Might Casbolt and Stanga be confused, troubled individuals who have genuinely seen strange goings-on in relation to classified military experiments, but have then had their memories altered, causing them to recount partially or entirely untrue fairy tales, built out of the fantastically assembled fragments of culturally available scripts?
Here, we can easily flash back to any number of classic contact cases to examine the context of those who have possibly been compromised by the powers-that-be….
See: Whitley Strieber – with his history of military connections… his professional life as a horror fantasist; and then, his communion with the alien unknown.
See, also: Barney and Betty Hill. As with Casbolt, there is a buried secret military Nazi-psyops undercurrent to their seemingly random, yet weirdly famous encounter.
See, also: The Rendle-SHAM Forest incident of December 1980. (nb. – accidental capitalization may be intentional.) Observe. Time-travel? Psyops? MIB interrogation? Creepy US government goings-on on foreign soil? Check, check and check again.
But these are just some ‘Devil’s Advocate’ examples. I’ve designed them to support a vague and largely implacable consistency in contact accounts – that of unforgivable interference in the ‘pure’ ‘alien’ encounter by government agencies – these agencies being agencies unknown and not fully understood by the good ordinary peoples of the world.
Let’s swing back to that guy Casbolt for a second….
Here’s a further theory as we continue to plummet into the rabbit hole. This might seem evident when taking into account Casbolt’s strangely calm and subdued manner when recounting such disturbing and plain bizarre tales. Might he, in actuality, be a hired gun of some implacable higher intelligence agency? An actor of sorts, tasked with disseminating targeted disinformation, designed to discredit or smear those investigating parties who attempt to report or retell his accounts?
Some of the individuals involved might very possibly be schizotypal or suffering from other medically diagnosable personality or mood disorders. So many of Sarah Stanga’s symptoms, for example her hearing voices taunting her and seeing menacing, dark shadow figures all around – along with her perceiving everyone as watching her, or literally, ‘ganging up’ to plot against her – certainly suggest mild to high levels of mania coupled with a degree of delusional or paranoid thinking – maybe even a drug-induced psychotic break.
Of course one of the oldest skeptical arguments against extreme claims of alien and/or government conspiracy is the simple summing-up that anyone making such claims is automatically a confused, psychotic nut job… and should of course be immediately discounted.
But then in attempting to counter the skeptical argument – which I‘d suggest isn’t entirely warranted in looking at some of these ‘paranoid’ cases – I feel it might be pertinent to consider the words of that other troubled fellow, Kurt Cobain, who once so sagely snarled, “Just because you’re paranoid don’t mean they’re not after you.”
We all know governments lie and make shit up. Was MK-ULTRA a real thing? Was there a Project Paperclip? Are there secret underground military installations the public knows very little about the exact location and purpose of, the world over? Have individuals who are seemingly perfectly sane in every other way had encounters with apparently nonhuman entities and suffered confused mental states and altered perceptions as a consequence of such perceived encounters?
I’ll assume we concur in the answer to all of the questions posed above. But before you run away screaming, trying to escape the encroaching associated madness before it consumes you… no: I’m not about to conclude that just because all this corresponding talk of alien lairs and satanic shenanigans seems to add up and hang together as a coherent narrative, then that makes it all true. Personally, I find both Casbolt and Stanga’s accounts highly suspect for a number of reasons.
What this in fact does lead up is the key problem of this developing super-narrative: a huge, ever-pulsating and semi-fictionalized amalgamation of nigh-on every conspiracy theory known to humankind (and beyond) that nowadays works like a gigantic snowball rolling down a very big hill, picking up all the little pieces of worrisome weirdness that fall into its inexorable path. This is the super-narrative that has been emerging in these accounts of Casbolt, Stanga and so many UFO conspiracy ‘whistleblowers’ who have emerged in recent years.
To be continued…

‘A Great Sense Of Emotionality’

full transcript of talk by ufologist H. WYLSON HURLE at Falkirk Transformation Symposium, Aug 23rd, 2013

Are we recording? Is…

(extended pause - staff adjust the microphone)

Is that it? Are we good to go? Right! Okay. Well. Hello there all of you. Good to see everyone’s made it.

Now. For those of you in the audience who aren’t quite up to speed, my name is H. Wylson Hurle. I am forty-eight years old. I have been researching the paranormal for well over seventy-two years now. Which is even more unbelievable if you take into consideration the fact that my true light body was first incarnated in the year 2136. Certain people have told me this and I promise I will tell you why later.

Now. We are going to get on to the lockstep humanoids. Now this is one of the stranger developments of recent years. They’re walking after you. When you’re on the street. Stalking you from afar, in two by two. Have you caught the reptilian slant in their eyes? The blankness! The… insouciance. I think that’s the word. They look like people – like us! But they’re not from here.

What we’re talking about this evening is – the copies. They’re clones, you see. The ones who are copied, are. They’re copies of the copies – of the original copies, who are genetic crossbreeds from the secret underground base beneath Berkshire. It’s true! I know all about this. I was a security guard down there for years. Nineteen and a half to be precise. The pay was pretty good, all things considering. I mean, it wasn’t hard work exactly – it was quite a secret base. Nobody was looking. And it was underground, so nobody ever really managed to find it. I was basically just hanging around. The worst bit was having to deal with all the extraterrestrials there.

I mean, forgive me for being blunt here but… see them giant praying mantis ones? What a bunch of absolute fucking cunts, by the way. I mean. Picture it. You’d just be down there, in the secret base, trying to go about your business doing secret things. And the bastards’d be up there. Just hanging off the roof  like fucking moths. Freaks you out, by the way. Like they’re having a laugh with us humans. Tell you what, the giant praying mantis types… don’t want to be rude, but oh, terrible conversationalists, they were. All they ever did was chirrup. Gossips, the lot of them.

Aye, well anyways, they let me go from the base for medical reasons cos I was having problems down below, if you know what I mean. It’s funny, really - because even though I was actually having problems down below… on a larger scale… I was really having ‘problems down BELOW!’

(Pause. Silence from audience)

Ha. Just my little joke. It’s true though.

But… yes. Returning us to the key thrust of this lecture, then… right. So There’s these programmable generated life forms. Which are grown underground. Trained in MK-ULTRA mind control tactics. Capable of killing a human with just their brains from six miles away. Sounds unbelievable, I know. But you’ve been shopping in Sainsbury’s, right? You’ve seen the cashiers. Oh yes! They might look cold, robotic and emotionless, but some of them are sadistic too. Sometimes they will just murder cows and horses for sport, go up to them in a field and just stand around, pouring in their corrosive mind beams until the poor defenceless animal just explodes in a meat market of decapitated limbs and gore. It really is pretty seriously awful, the things they do.

And then the lockstep humanoids will march into the effluent outcome of their carnage and crouch down in pairs to blood themselves, rubbing the splattery gore into their chiselled, perfect features. I’ve been told by a very reputable source that this is actually how they hunt on their worlds. They’re doing it here now, because of course, this ties into the wider plan, the big main story that’s going on here with the jelly.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, the jelly! Well, wait, I’ll get to that. Cos this is very important information we need to get out.

(Hurle responds to question from audience)

Where do I get my information? Ah well, you see. The question! This is the question they always ask. Well, madam. I get my information mainly from psychics. But I’m not a psychic myself. I’m a HGV driver by trade now, and it’s a provable fact that we are exactly the sort of people the controllers target for victimization, gangstalking and gaslighting. Those outside of the normal acceptable areas of life. Because that’s all part of the disinformation. They’re trying to make us all look like a bunch of paranoid loonies!

Not the illuminati people though. They don’t get any of this bother. Let me tell you!

And I can see you’re all looking a bit frightened now. Oh yes. Illuminati! Don’t pretend that word doesn’t put the willies up you. Well it’s my life I’m putting on the line here! My safety I’m compromising! The illuminati have been putting the willies on me for many, many years now.

(inaudible question from audience)

No, The lockstep humanoids don’t do much of the gangstalking themselves. Usually they’re too busy in the bases. Or out using their brains to make cats blow up. They do that as well. Now, I can see this is a key concern of people so yes, I will address it. So. Who does the stalking? Well - usually they send the supermodels.

Anne told me this the other week – she’s one of the main psychics I refer to in the book and we’ll get to that in a moment. She was at a fashion show, cos she’s involved in that. And she was told on very good authority that all supermodels – all of them, male and female – are in actuality Nordic space people from the Sirius star system. A lot of them live here now. I mean, come on now…

(laughter)

Have you seen them, though? Bony, expressionless zombies, storming along the catwalk in the robotic manner? That’s the lockstep thing. If anyone ever tells you they‘re ‘in fashion,’ I would just become very suspicious and just walk the other way.

Usually they’re psychically linked pairs. See, Anne thinks this is why everyone in the fashion industry is so weird. You’ll notice this in the service industry, in the supermarkets too, when the cashiers are calling over to the person at the next till to price-check an item. It’s because they’re linked. Cos they’re either nonhuman, or, at the very least… controlled by the nonhumans. I mean, why else do they dress the models like that? In all those weird clothes, that’s supposed to be what everyone cool is wearing, but all the girls are walking about topless with weird gigantic hats and see-through plastic face masks and bits of metal on their shoulders. I mean, come on… the girls have got their tits out for gods sake! And dead animals round their necks! And the men have got like, stickers on their nipples and cowboy chaps. Ever wonder why that was? Curious, is it not?

Well, I’ll tell you now! It’s because that’s how they dress on their planets of origin. They’re genetically predisposed to going about with very little or no clothes on at all! This was in the contract they signed with the clandestine new world order officials who allowed them to stay here and live and work in the bases! In exchange for their technology and knowledge, the powers-that-be agreed that a small number of them would infiltrate the fashion industry in order to slowly inculcate the wider population into becoming accustomed to the idea of their creepy, skeletal silver-clad forms walking about here! It makes perfect sense when you stop to think about it!

Anne learned most of this at a fashion show in 1987, when she was working as a seamstress for Jean Paul Gaulthier which I’d say makes her account all the more credible. One of the alien humanoids there came right up to her and actually initiated psychic mind link. Unfortunately there’s sometimes a translation issue with the direct psychic interface between humans and the Nordic space people, so usually it all just automatically gets translated into Swedish. I think this is the root of why these aliens are referred to as Nordics. Now luckily, Anne memorized all the information and had it translated later. That’s when she discovered the true facts about the jelly.

(murmurs from audience)

The jelly is a sentient, hermaphroditic, self-replicating fluidic intelligence. I have a number of sources – corroborating accounts, mind – who are firmly convinced that if you now buy jelly from the supermarket – actual, ordinary jelly – then some if that is ALIEN jelly. And if you eat it, it will migrate to the base of your brainstem and control you. Making you a zombie puppet to their terrifying whims - like something off of bodysnatchers. Jelly. I mean… We’re not safe.

Now this tale… is completely… mental. By which I mean, to an extent, it is happening on a mental level. Anne actually said to me, that once this space woman had given her this information – right at the end of it, once she’d ended the psychic link - this space woman opened her mouth and said, in English, this chilling phrase: ‘I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.’ I find that detail particularly disturbing.

And because people need to be told the reasons why they should be vigilant about these dark beings lurking in our midst, I have written this…

(Hurle holds up volume)

My fourteenth book – or it might the fifteenth, come to think of it – which is called, ‘Beyond The Unknown Within: Exploring The Exopolitical Paradigm of Intra-Transient Communications.’ I know, that must sound like a bit of a mouthful for you all out there, but I feel you need to get the material out there. So, I’d just like to give you all an exclusive preview of some of the things I go into in this volume. I further detail the accounts of Anne, who is, I’d suggest, quite a seminal witness. Her experiences with the Nordics have seen her channelling abilities develop quite dramatically. Although I hear this is giving her some problems with her television, as it keeps jumping from BBC4 to the Adult Channel for some reason. And let’s face it, nobody wants that. Just more mind games from the Nordics, they love a bit of mind games!

Now Anne’s a very religious woman, as those of you who’ve read her book will know. I write about her book in my book, but naturally I give the story some fresh insight. Last year – and I write about this in very great depth – Anne would be visited every night of the week by a being. Now, this being was not in solid form as we would know it, this was a spiritual energy. And we don’t know if its intentions were entirely benevolent. This being would come to Anne, entering her bedroom. Except not all of the body would be visible. Sometimes it was just a floating male head – although more often than not, usually just the crotchal region, which was just the area around the hips. The apparition would never possess an upper half, the torso area, but yet somehow, still it would be wearing a bra. Which was to put it mildly, a very unusual state of affairs, make no mistake. And as this being entered the room, Anne would find herself overcome with a great sense of emotionality. And with her strong beliefs regarding the Bible, the power of this being… she told me, folks, with tears streaming down her face… she felt high and she was vibrating with the love energy. And it was as if Christ had somehow come inside her – as if he was putting his love inside her!

But of course, not everyone can be open to these experiences. For Anne would try again and again to tell her husband Frank about this… and every time she would talk to him, a glazed and vacant expression came over his face and it was as if he wasn’t paying attention to anything she was saying. Now, I’ve noticed this effect happening before and I can only surmise that this is the aliens actively preventing people from getting their message out into the world via their devious mind control.

I must also mention the story of an anonymous gentleman called Henry Clark, who is absolutely convinced that he has courted and subsequently fathered a son with an alien woman – although Henry sees his child very infrequently. They come from very different worlds – literally. He’s had to move to Birmingham for work and they’re on a planet called Eera-Ook in the Pleiades. Apparently the commute’s a nightmare and the faster-than-light travel makes him carsick. Well, it would, you know?

And just to conclude this part for now, there’s the testimonial of Karl McHugh, which is a deeply fascinating story. Karl McHugh is an alias by the way, although I’m spelling his first and second names differently in order to protect his identity. His first conscious encounter took place roughly three weeks ago and luckily I managed to get it into the book at the last minute.

So. Karl was out, innocently walking his Chihuahuas in the local park, when all of a sudden he has this feeling, which will be quite familiar to a lot of you, I think, of being ‘activated.’ In fact, Karl told me he was ‘turned on.’ So now, he feels strangely drawn to a particular area of town. Before you know it, he was outside a glowing archway which he now with hindsight thinks must have been their ship. As if in a trance, he stepped on board the vessel and found himself in a dark, ominous environment, utterly alien to his experience. All around were strange flashing lights and this pounding industrial rhythmic noise - almost like music!

At this point Karl was approached by a number of Nordic alien males, who were engaged in an eerie occult dance which he said was quite queer to behold. His primary recollection was that most of them were incredibly muscular and dressed in leather – which seems to be quite a common uniform for them. Some had moustaches, which is less common in witness reports… but these ones did. Some of them, also, were very androgynous in appearance - I mean, with these beings, you just can’t tell what they are!

One of them presented Karl with an unusual fizzing potion that made him feel unexpectedly dizzy. Now he was in an altered state, very much in thrall to their whims. That’s the mind control in action again, by the way…

Karl remembers very little after he was encouraged to partake of the strange drink, but his next conscious recollection was waking up behind a bush, back in the park where the encounter had first begun, with his Chihuahuas still there and looking at him in a state of very deep confusion. Although, after returning home weary and exhausted, Karl did find a souvenir from his experience in his jacket pocket. And I have this artefact from another world with me tonight, ladies and gentlemen. And here… it is.

(HURLE produces the object)

Now, what I believe we’re looking at here is some very sophisticated stuff. I will soon be approaching some proper actual scientists to see if they can have a look at this and verify whether or not this device is in fact made out of materials not common to Earth. Our suspicion is that this is either a small scale model of the alien vessel, or perhaps even some kind of power source.

(The device begins to vibrate)

And – oh… ladies and gentlemen, this is quite disturbing – this machine suddenly seems to be coming into activation… and – good grief… the shaft of it… is vibrating! Quite rapidly! Ladies and gentlemen… I do believe we might all right now be experiencing… a new vibration of humanity!

(various sounds of movement as guests leave the hall)

Some links to my picture blogs

here are some linkies


http://tumblingintodeath.tumblr.com

http://aliensabove.tumblr.com

TRAINSONG - A short story

Another short story then. This one's not quite as weird as the other ones. But it's still weird. It also won a prize! Ken Macleod (proper actual SF writer) thought it was 'perfectly decent' if I recall his wording. Damning with faint praise and all that... Like some of the events of the tale, this one may still be 'in transit.' It was written to a wordcount and perhaps could benefit from either an extension or a pruning... you decide.

TRAINSONG

Ariadne glanced irritated at her mobile. The time was 11:37 PM.
The night was pushing her down. Fucking hell. Ten minutes. Wasn’t supposed to be. Still time, though.
She hurried down the steps into the drear alcove of the station. The main forecourt was as cold as ever. The only people around were a faintly confused looking couple, weighed down by enormous backpacks. They were squinting up at the time-display screen with looks of mild confusion on their faces. As Ari looked over at them their countenances took on a sheen of crestfallen disappointment. She heard raised voices; probably Polish, but God all those Eastern European accents sounded the same. She wasn’t clever enough to say for sure. She had always been one for picking up on other peoples’ emotions; although this wasn’t something which normally did Ari any favours. She usually tried to avoid it.
Like that girl at work. The unspellable name. Ari hadn’t had any idea what she had been talking about, in English or Polish, so everyone had ignored her. This had made Ari cry one night. It had been so very frustrating.
Said it was about the rent. Gave him the fucking rent. That wasn’t the fucking issue.
They’re lost, she thought with a mild upset that flitted in and out of her heart in a few passing seconds; pushed aside by other concerns. Go and tell them but come on. Ten minutes.
The possibly Polish people turned and started to head for the ticket barriers. Ari strode in the same direction, fumbling in her pocket for a ticket; hoping one was there.

The carriage was empty and all the lights were out. This seemed a little weird to Ari; at this time of night, things were always activated and there was usually at least a handful of people besides herself. Just last week the conductor had had that business with the drunk woman who had been shouting incoherent insults: Ari had been at the other end of the carriage. Thank fuck. You really don’t want to be dealing with lunatics.
He’s at home though
She picked a window seat facing a table and slumped down. This bit always filled Ari with a warm sense of relief that she had made it - even though it had been six years of this bloody commuting and she had never been late or missed her train. Was this why she had that recurring dream about running into the station to realise her train had left hours ago?
Perhaps. Self-psychology was not her strong suit.
His though. Clever clever.
After a few moments the carriage shuddered. The lights flashed on and the route display on the roof began rolling LED messages. There was life after all.
More minutes passed. Nobody else came into the carriage.
Ari looked idly around her, seeing an abandoned coffee cup and sandwich carton on the opposite aisle. People coming and going.
The train finally started up. Ari went to search around for her iPod but sure that it was lost in the cavernous depths of her bag, gave up with a half-arsed pfth of exasperation. Divorced from the usual white noise of commuter chatter, the somnambulant rumbling of the train bordered on soothing.
Might get to sleep.
Outside of the window, distant yellow lights began to careen past her. Flying by so fast.
More moments passed. Ari’s head began to nod.
No sleep tonight. He’ll be on about it. Why don’t you like it when I talk to you?
Would you rather
rant rant. stop listening after the fourth philosophical
do you want me to touch you i mean as if fucking hell
The train shuddered to a stop. Ari’s head jerked back up.
She was aware of a voice speaking quietly behind her. A low mumble.
Someone else’s come through. Doesn’t matter.
Look at the time he keeps saying. Why do you have to stay out all night
Jason’s gorgeous though. He so would
Actually meant it. Five years. Five years just gone snap like that gone
There was no point in trying to hold it off. Ari felt the floodgates pending.
Not here. Someone in the carriage. Ticketman’ll come, I’ll look a fucking mess. Look a mess anyway
A few tears hit her lap. The weight began pushing up.
The throat was always the first to go. Had anyone been sat in front of Ari, they would have seen her composure going; the shoulders already starting to tremble.
why am I so angry all the time
why won’t he just do it I’ve had enough too much
‘Of course,’ the voice in the seat behind her said, louder and clear now, ‘this is a side-effect. We are but side effects of one another.’
Ari swallowed hard and closed her eyes. This’ll go this’ll stop, she thought. Not this time. Not the knife tonight. Know it's wrong
‘An education forged in pain. Such things can be bypassed. But never overlooked.’
Ari opened her eyes. A shock hit her; forcing the blackened feelings clean out of her mind.
The owner of the voice had moved. He now sat in front of her on the other side of the table.
‘We have seven minutes,’ he said to her, as Ari struggled to take in his bizarre appearance, ‘to save the world from who you are. This is nearly the Madonna song, no?’
The man’s accent was almost the same as that girl at work; but surely not. He was tall; slim yet muscular: shaped like a dancer, and inexplicably dressed in what appeared to be an extremely close-fitting one piece outfit, the surface of which was a dull, unreflective silver.
His features were aquiline; angular. His white hair was close-cut. His mouth twitched the tiniest hint of a smile at her: as if he had never smiled before and was trying to figure out how to start. The stranger’s eyes glinted: something that stuck Ari as placing him somewhere between sinister menace and unending compassion.
Stuntman, Ari thought, her brain battling to hold onto something concrete and explanatory: circus
‘Agnieszka,’ the silver man said. ‘There is such a thin line between love and hate. My name is also different, so I will not tell of it.’
Ari felt her stomach sinking and then turning over. She suddenly needed the toilet.
Details. Saskia thought she got raped. Changed her mind. Remember. Face. Databases
‘What’s your name?’ Ari said in a very small voice; poorly-researched defence strategies scattering through her mind.
‘You could call me anything,’ the silver man said. ‘What I am does not come into play here. But the name is key. Yours come from a variety of sources. Very holy: utterly pure. These are expressions you could read. A weaver; Queen of snakes: Mistress of the spider. Through powers of your own you helped him escape from the labyrinth. These things in legends. We are what our names make us. We become them, and they become us. Agents of change.’
The man held out his arm and spread his palm. The ambient lights of the train seemed to dim slightly.
‘All can change but some must first acknowledge. Here.’
In the air above the man’s outstretched hand a blue globe of light about the size of a football formed. Ari found herself gazing into its fluttering texture, wondering why the object’s apparent brightness was not dazzling her; but instead drawing her in.
‘The book of lies,’ the man said. ‘Now look inside.’
And then Ari was flying again. Continents moved beneath her.
She had arrived inside a room. No, not a room - this was too large to be a room.
Before anything else, Ari noticed the thin, rubbery cable that seemed to extend from somewhere around her midriff. Although still fully clothed, Ari got the overwhelming sense that this was her umbilical cord.
A sudden hot flash of panic hit her. She was floating; hanging suspended inside a wide vertical tunnel that extended upwards for a seeming infinitude of miles. It was coolly lit from on high by the distantly bright lights of some far-off surface Ari was sure she would never glimpse in the dim lights of this lifetime. All around her and as far as she could see on the inside surface of the strange edifice were small doors about the size of car doors.
Ari couldn’t see where the ground was. The umbilicus stretched off into nowhere. She felt further panic welling.
Please do not be alarmed, the now-familiar voice echoed in her head: The connective tissue. A thread that binds worlds.
Ari drifted close to the nearest circular door. It appeared to be made out of burnished wood and was pitted and marked in some places; as if worn down over ages.
On the door was a small piece of paper. It appeared to have been affixed with sticky tape. On it was written her name.
She checked the door next to it. This also held her name.
The machine and the mechanism. The nucleus in the cytoplasm.
The door on the other side featured messages in a further indecipherable language. Had she been properly asleep, Ari would have instantly recognized one as Jewish Middle Babylonian Aramaic; the other door marked out in post-flood Pangaean Atlantean would also have been clear. At least; clearer than most things.


We are entering the protoplasmic shift, the shining man said, as Ari hung suspended in time. Certain decisions have been made and others remain. Your future is a cloud. Continents still drift outward; one day they will all meet again. The world is a bubble. Will it be this door or the next?
Ari thought then of Riz. Manners maketh a man. Sweetness and light.
And the other hand; Jase - Companion of the dark. Reliably unreliable. Summed up in one word.
He was something. Without him, the knife. With him, the union of souls.
Ari opened the first door. Inside was a small cupboard area. In its centre was a ring made of paper. Ari reached out and touched it.
She fell back inestimable miles. The gulf between cold stars swallowed her like a friend: while the sullen shiny blacks and incomparable colours of infinite lives lived so far away and yet closer than knowledge said hello, then goodbye again, for ever.

Ari heard the tinny beep of the old watch which always lay for security purposes in the bottom of her bag. Pulled back to relative normalcy and oddly compelled to look for it, Ari reached in and raked around.
Her hand alighted on something unfamiliar. Something round. She pulled it out.
‘This is Agnieszka’s wedding ring. A name so often forgotten.’
Ari realised her mouth was hanging open but did little to rectify the situation other than move her lips and tongue to form words.
‘She told me… she’d lost it. At reception. I… wasn’t really listening…’
‘It is not real gold. But imbued with all that is needed. Return it to her.
this will give you something to talk about. Perhaps for weeks.’
The man stood up; his mouth finally resolving itself into a smile. ‘Look at the time. Morning. Another world beginning without compunction. This is the trainsong; on and on. Getting off but always back on again. Arriving unleashed to begin again.’
A final though drifted into Ari’s head as she roused herself and headed for the door.
All of this is over now.
Never having faltered in its journey, the train came to a halt. Ari pressed the button and the door opened.
For the first time in what felt like a very long while, Ariadne Somerville knew exactly where she was headed. For once, this was quite enough.