Saturday, January 16, 2021

OPEN SEWERS AND DARK CREVICES (repost)

Of late I've noticed a lot of photos in the local dailies showing officials peering into suburban drains - either looking for dengue-bearing mosquito breeding spots or accumulated garbage exacerbating worsening flash floods. Now that it's become fashionable for public officials to show a keen interest in open sewers, I would like to draw their attention to the overnight proliferation of shopping and office complexes in Rawang, which provide shelter for quite a number of shady enterprises.

If you don't know where Rawang is, consider yourself fortunate. Until thirty years ago, Rawang was a charming little one-street town - surrounded by rubber estates, vegetable farms and orchards - located about 18 miles north of Kuala Lumpur. Owing to its unhealthy proximity to Malaysia's only megalopolis, Rawang has since grown like a malignant tumor into a perpetually congested, dusty, noisy, utterly graceless, tasteless, concrete conglomerate of housing estates, workshops, factories, shopping complexes, and nondescript offices. That's right, folks, Progress and Development have begun to consume the rural heartland!

And wherever "progress and development" go, you'll encounter a new breed of born-again entrepreneurs and their pyramid scams. Consider this: in the course of one week in December 2006, my dear illiterate spouse Anoora received two fantastic offers she couldn't possibly refuse.

The first was from "Merlin Distributor" congratulating her for having been picked, out of thousands of names, for a lucky draw from which she might take home a selection of attractive prizes. The leaflet showed a whole range of electrical appliances ranging from an ornamental wall clock to a vacuum cleaner, iron, fan, TV set, and DVD player.

She was requested to collect her prize in person before January 9th 2007. Well, our DVD player was starting to misbehave, so I figured it would be timely indeed to get a free replacement. So on January 8th we drove to Rawang and spent a good half hour looking for Merlin Distributor. We finally found a first floor office in a newly built business complex and were asked to wait while the assistant manager finished her tea. When she emerged after five minutes, she announced that Anoora had come too late for her prize - they were all out of lucky draw coupons! She showed me a stack of used coupons each bearing an image of one of the featured prizes. "You should have come yesterday," she said.

"According to your leaflet, the last day is tomorrow," I reminded her. Her excuse was that too many people had shown up during the first few days and used up all the lucky draw coupons. Then she smiled and said, "But we do have a mystery gift to thank you for coming all the way!" Anoora was handed a gift-wrapped package that looked like it may be a clock. I decided to open it on the spot - and it turned out to be a glass bowl worth about fifty cents. I was tempted to say something sarcastic, but I thought we'd already wasted enough time at Merlin Distributor. As we turned to go, the assistant manager said: "Wait! You can also sign up for our sub-agent plan and get very special discounts on a wide range of electrical goods - but you have to buy a minimum of five units each." She showed me a plastic card and added: "The annual membership fee is only RM285 (about US$80)!"

Believe it or not, a similar episode occurred within a few days. The phone rang and some stranger asked for Anoora. I said he could talk to me but he insisted I pass her the call, so I did. After ten seconds of hearing Anoora go "Hah? Haaah? Haaaaah?" - he was quite happy to talk to me instead. He said he was calling from Etno-Aktif - a distributor of Malaysian-made goods headquartered in Penang, and announced very excitedly that my wife had been awarded a Toyota Avanza. How so? I asked. The guy said it was part of his company's application to the government for tax-exempt status. They were giving away 15 Avanzas to 3 random names in 5 states. All they required were Anoora's particulars, photocopies of her identity card and driver's licence, a passport photo, and a handful of sales receipts. Could Anoora please go to Rawang the next day and meet a certain Encik Azman bin Mohamad.

I really should have hung up when I heard the name "Rawang" - but by now I was fairly intrigued and open to the possibility that our good luck fairies had decided we deserved a new set of wheels. After all, four years ago, I won the Grand Prize in a Berjaya Lucky Draw which included a 34" TV, two tickets to a dinner show, and a night's free stay in a luxury suite.

So the next morning we packed into my van and drove to Rawang... and, guess what, Etno-Aktif was located just a little down the road from Merlin Distributor! Well, long story short... after filling out an official looking form with Anoora's banking particulars and so on, Encik Azman (who was all dressed for Friday prayers) announced that it would take anything from six months to a year to deliver the Toyota Avanza. "That's okay," I said, "we can wait."

Encik Azman continued: "Just one more thing: we are currently in the process of applying to the Ministry of Trade for special tax-exempt status, and we need to show that the vehicles have been delivered. So we'll issue you an official receipt for the Avanza, which we shall reclaim from you when you collect the car - end of June or, at the latest, December this year. Meanwhile, to ensure that you keep the receipt safe, we require that you give us a small cash deposit, fully refundable when the car is delivered. If you don't have sufficient funds for the deposit, Etno-Aktif is prepared to offer you an interest-free loan."

The "small cash deposit" requested by Encik Azman bin Mohamad amounted to RM7,500 (about US$2,100). I asked for Anoora's form back and walked out, vowing never again to respond to any "free gift" or "lucky prize" offered by anyone based in Rawang.

"Good day to you, Encik Azman," I said as I left his office. "Enjoy your Friday prayers!"

[First posted 26 January 2007, reposted 5 February 2018]

Tuesday, January 5, 2021

MALAISEA - A Political Overview (Revisited 20 Years Later)

In the early 1990s people were looking forward to a great future - no matter what their outlook or worldview. Rich folk believed they were going to get even richer. Poor folk felt they had a fair chance of at least getting a bit of furniture in their homes and maybe their kids would be geniuses at school and be given full scholarships all the way. Industrialists eagerly anticipated taking over the action from flagging western economies; social activists and environmentalists formed themselves into energetic little NGOs and found their opinions gaining some ground. 1996 was a jolly time to be a Malaisean! People were buying computers for their kids and everyone was getting on the Internet.

True, some of us knew a lot of stupid, ugly stuff was going on in business and politics - like everywhere else - and that the government was in the hands of highly sophisticated hoodlums descended from the great space pirate lineages. But we thought that sooner or later enough citizens would awaken from their consumerist trance and restore a measure of accountability and democracy in government. All it would take is a sizeable middle-class with access to good information and proper education - and we were definitely getting there.

AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED?

The Asian Tigers suffered a collective stroke in July 1997. Overnight, currencies like the Thai Baht, the Malaysian Ringgit, and the Indonesian Rupiah were devalued by approximately 40%. The Icarus Effect kicked in: from being among the highest flyers in the Asia-Pacific Area, the wings of the Malaisean economy suddenly melted and we plummeted feetfirst towards terra firma and almost broke our spines when we landed on hard reality. But what was really badly bruised were the inflated egos of Malaisean prime minister Mahathir Mohamad and his wheeling-dealing Wild Bunch of Umnoputras (UMNO = United Malay Nationalist Organisation; Umnoputras = the swaggering political party leadership).

As long as the economic bubble was visibly expanding, nobody wanted to look too closely at the shenanigans and shady businesses underpinning the Malaisean success story. Nobody wanted to know how much had been borrowed from which banks by whom and how in hell they hoped to ever repay their astronomical debts. Nobody wanted to cut the administrative body open and figure out how many cans would be needed to hold the wriggling worms that had gorged themselves off the fat of the land for decades.

Suddenly finding his megalomanic dream of building his very own Evil Empire and turning Malaisea into his personal Death Star project thwarted, Mahathir's paranoia took a turn for the worse. He knew his hand-picked successor to the throne, the charismatic but enigmatic Anwar Ibrahim, was more than ready to take over his job. Anwar had the support of most of the younger generation and was already holding two important posts: deputy prime minister and finance minister.

Former finance minister Daim Zainuddin - Mahathir's invisible Grand Vizier, Undisputed Godfather of the Malaisean Mafia and Master Manipulator - saw the end of the Mahathir era rapidly approaching. With his entrepreneurial protégés all facing bankruptcy proceedings, Daim couldn't survive a sea change in party leadership. So he came up with a plan to discredit Anwar and stop him from cracking down on corrupt party members with heavy business connections. They would circulate rumours that Anwar was a freestyle fornicator with a penchant for anal sex and thereby force his resignation.

The plan backfired (pun unintended) when Anwar refused to take the money and run. Instead, he turned around and openly challenged Mahathir for the nation's top job. On September 2nd 1998, Mahathir sacked Anwar. Thousands of sympathizers flocked to Anwar's residence pledging their support. In less than three weeks, Anwar was leading protest processions through the streets of Kuala L'impure, the national capital. Some say the crowds reached as high as 80,000; others estimate the numbers at no more than 40,000. In any case, Anwar Ibrahim's unceremonious dismissal inspired the largest gatherings of dissenters in Malaisean history. The velvet glove was removed and Mahathir ordered Anwar's arrest on the evening of September 20th, 1998.

Since that shameful night the entire country has been plunged into moral darkness. All the excesses and weaknesses of the system have been grossly magnified; all the leaks are letting in water like crazy (and even the pipes are leaking!). There's no more pretense at democracy. The well-behaved press has been further intimidated into serving as mere conduits for government propaganda.

Over the 22 years of his beady-eyed and heavy-handed rule, Mahathir quietly castrated the royals, offering them a handsome share of the Big Business ball game as compensation while securing his own financial dynasty through his children á la Suharto of Indonesia.

By now Mahathir was the uncrowned Emperor of Malaisea - dubbed Mahafiraun (Great Pharaoh) by his detractors in Umno. When the people demonstrated, a snarling Mahathir (as home minister) greeted them with water cannons and tear gas. His specially trained goons infiltrated street marches and sparked off rioting, thereby giving the police an excuse to crack down hard on the young hotheads calling for the prime minister's resignation.

On the night of his arrest Anwar Ibrahim was brutally assaulted by the Inspector General of Police. Anwar's associates were picked up and tortured into signing affidavits claiming they had been sodomized by the erstwhile deputy prime minister. Highly paid, well-dressed witnesses came forth and denounced Anwar as a profligate. The trial judge declared all evidence of a political conspiracy irrelevant - and pressed on relentlessly for a guilty verdict on a ludicrous charge of corruption which was delivered on April 14th 1999. Anwar was given a 6-year prison term after having been held in custody for nearly 7 months without bail. The whole thing stank.

[On August 8th, 2000, Anwar Ibrahim was found guilty of sodomy by another kangaroo court and sentenced to an additional 9 years behind bars! If he had been charged in a Syariah or Islamic Court, Anwar would most likely have been acquitted, as Syariah Law states that accusations of sexual indiscretion must be corroborated by four male witnesses of indisputable integrity who must swear that they saw the deed with their own eyes!]

And this reek of evil has permeated every facet of Malaisean society. Indeed we are in grave danger of getting inured to abuse of power and moral indecency in high office. It's truly a wonder that one wicked uncle and his gang of trained hyenas could have systematically corrupted the police force, the judiciary - indeed, the entire machinery of governance, including the mass media. The only avenue of dissent left open is the Internet. To win a victory in the streets we'd need 250,000 assembled in Freedom Square. They'd have to call out the army - and, hopefully, the troops will join the people in demanding a whole new government founded on decency, justice, freedom, and truth.


The key to power has long been Divide & Rule. Mahathir is a past master at the game, pitting different ethnic interests against each other, stirring up petty quarrels within each faction, capitalizing on the base human emotions of fear and greed. Without access to the mass media, opposition groups find themselves preaching to the converted. When it comes down to it, most Malaysians still vote with their bellies, not their conscience. By banning 680,000 newly registered voters from the general election on November 29th, 1999 (in addition to the usual bribery and fraud), Mahathir managed to steer his regime to a narrow victory with a mere 105,000 vote margin. But that was enough to buy him and his business associates a little more time.

Time in which to cover their financial backsides and wear down all political opponents. "We're bullish on bouncing back!" screamed the press advertisements. "Economic recovery expected with 6 months!" boasted the well-connected pundits. Well, wander around KL and see how many public phones you can find that actually work. Check out the public transport system and see how many sweaty commuters can fit into a single overworked bus. Find out how many factory workers and construction crews have been retrenched and repatriated to Bangladesh and Indonesia. How many Filipina maids have been harassed and sent packing. These are the real indicators of the Malaisean economy - and they don't look too good. All the energy and power is concentrated within a tiny segment of society; less and less of it trickles down to the masses these days. Essential services like electricity, water, and telecommunications have all been privatized (more precisely, piratized) - and even education and health care are headed that way.

When Pak Lah stepped in as prime minister after Mahathir's compulsory retirement (Umno stalwarts could see that Dr M, like G.W. Bush today, had become a liability to his own political party), it appeared that we had underestimated the man. It was refreshing to see a PM with less of an ego problem who seemed a great deal more open to public opinion and learned advice. Indeed, by releasing Anwar Ibrahim from Sungei Buloh Prison, Pak Lah effectively took the wind out of Opposition sails. People had little anger left to discharge and gladly returned to business-as-usual.

Now, a little more than three years after Pak Lah took over, we are seeing age-old problems re-emerge - problems that have never been courageously faced and resolved once and for all. The notorious ISA and OSA remain in place to prevent hardnosed investigators from unmasking corruption and abuse of power at its source. Samy Vellu is still in cahoots with corporate highwaymen and threatening to jail anybody who reveals his secret deals with greedy concessionaires. Sensational scandals have raised many unanswered questions, and rumors implicating prominent ministers are rife. In an era when presidents and prime ministers find themselves charged with war crimes, genocide, corruption, deceit, and rape - cold-blooded murder would be just another high-profile scandal. But, unless justice is seen to be done, it could cause the ruin of an entire country. Intimidating bloggers and whistle-blowers can only postpone the inevitable.

Socially, Malaiseans are fast becoming a bunch of self-serving ruffians. We have the ethical integrity of a gnu in heat. Nobody trusts the police. Everyone has at least one cousin or uncle who's turned to crime just so he can support his family. Or drug habit. Young people with ideas are forced underground, linking up with international anarcho-punk networks. Older artists and theater practitioners have sold out - or dropped out. The best writers in the country have a hard time finding publishers who can offer a straight deal. Nobody has the money to fund a feature film - unless the plot is absolutely banal and the script insults human intelligence. True, a few adventurous souls have recently begun making powerful personal statements with low-budget digicam movies. But mediocrity and malice continue to rule with an iron hand in poor, benighted Malaisea. All it takes is one evil-minded nincompoop with access to the Malay press to get adventurous films banned, and a popular film club shut down.

Indeed we seem to be in the cultural and spiritual doldrums. The mental atmosphere is stagnant, and everywhere you turn there's a toxic stench of putrefaction and industrial pollution. The rainforests are almost non-existent now and so is the political will to conserve the environment. Indigenous tribes are being driven off their traditional lands and forced to take their place as society's lowest stratum. Their dignity and freedom - which is all they own - is being confiscated. The rest of us lost ours ages ago.

IS THERE REALLY NO HOPE FOR US?

To answer this we have to sit back, relax, and look at the Big Picture. The deadly drama playing out in Malaisea is a hologram of the spiritual crisis facing all humanity. No system of governance exists today that can stand up to thorough scrutiny; all of it ultimately leads to Big Brotherism or one of its many permutations - despotism, totalitarianism, fascism, nazism. In short, the New World Odor - yup, the familiar stench of the old feudal hierarchies, thinly concealed as the Corporate Superstate.

The only way to deflect this life-denying reality from taking complete possession of our destinies as autonomously evolving individuals with free wills is to reconnect with our inner selves and scan our deep memories for corrupted files. Clear out our neural circuits and regain our youthful innocence, so we can once again look at the twinkling stars and wonder what they are - if not our true origins. That's right, folks. We have to get cosmic and quit rolling around in our own mental excrement, trapped in our claustrophobic pigpen 3D realities. We have to get multidimensional and stay heart-centered - because our heads are too dead to appreciate the awesome mystery of life.

But first things first: we have to remove reactionary politicians from high office; yank them all out like rotten teeth. Or their poison will go to our brains and kill us in our prime.

[Written 15 April 2001, updated & posted 8 February 2007, reposted 8 January 2020]

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

WARNING: THIS INFORMATION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH! (repost)



Published 15 July 2015

Harald Kautz-Vella (a perfect blend of wizard, scientist & mystic) presents his detailed lecture on the two types of Black Goo, Morgellons, and Artificial Intelligence at the Bases Woodborough conference held on June 20th, 2015. 

WARNING: THIS INFORMATION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH!

Call them Predator ETs, Archons, or Retarded Jinns... it's hard to ignore the evidence that this insidious blight on Life & the Evolution of Consciousness has managed to insinuate itself into the deep psyches of many generations of aberrated human egos - the same way Saruman the White was seduced by contact with palantirs into submitting to the Will of Sauron & allowing himself to be transformed into an Evil Scientist & would-be World Conqueror. (As far back as the 16th century CE, such a diabolical scenario was already envisioned by Christopher Marlowe in his Faustian play.)

After listening to Harald Kautz Vella, I experienced at first a sense of utter helplessness in the face of such nefarious revelations about the delinquent way R&D resources have been squandered on establishing a permanent Hell on Earth, rather than the opposite... then suddenly I was reminded that the Original Spark of Divine Consciousness within every atom of my physical & metaphysical being would never have permitted such a travesty to occur, if there was no possibility of our deactivating or neutralizing this nihilistic agenda.

Just as Gandalf fearlessly threw himself into mortal combat with the Balrog & transcended his own mortality & previous limitations, what we essentially require is to let our capacity to understand, love & forgive increase exponentially, while becoming fearless of our own hypothetical non-existence... & in so doing attain natural immunity against inane & demented notions (like killer smart dust & ninja nanoparticles) concocted by the insectoid Archons & their psychopathic human agents.

[First posted 28 December 2016]

Thursday, December 24, 2020

THE BEGINNING NEVER ENDS (revisited)



It was definitely worth the wait.

26,000 years... was that how long it took? Then... ZAP! Nightmare over. The Dream Come True. Dripping wet.

Got to get rid of the old skepticism. Survival mechanism. No need for that anymore. Well, maybe a hint of irony now and again won't hurt. Call me a sentimental old fool. I still have a calendar from the Old Reality. It's in a rusty filing cabinet along with ancient letters, photographs, yellowed newspaper articles from the 1980s; personal memorabilia from the days when I was still a "person."

There it is: the last United World College Global Concerns Calendar, marked 2023. Whew, what a year THAT was...

Noia, ink'ala ne hav'la vo ki'a. Vek'ila ya nei'a, a'vo?

Aion gazed at his young wife and smiled.

She looked up from the VR monitor and winked at him. Fascinating stuff, the early history of the Pleiades. I was just starting on Merope.

Aion had been wedded to Noia long enough to receive her thought signals with almost full resolution. She'd never really been into speech all that much though when she felt particularly cheerful she was known to babble like a mountain brook.

Watch out! You've inspired another poem, Aion flashed back at his mate. He kissed her smooth brown shoulder and rested his hand on her belly. "I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked, vocally.

Noia cocked her head and then nodded enthusiastically, hitting the pause control on her Virtual Reality console. They strolled out into the palace gardens, hand in hand, clucking to the cockatoos who were, as usual, clowning around with Saint Peter the pangolin.

"Eh Pedro, getting more than a little cocky, aren't you?" Aion quipped, bending to tickle the scaly anteater under his furry snout. The gentle creature licked Aion's hand with lazy flicks of its sticky tongue and gazed affectionately at the humans. Noia giggled and flung off her pareo, enjoying the perfect sunshine on this truest of blue-sky days.

"And to think you used to keep your sarong on in the shower," Aion laughed and followed suit - only he wasn't wearing a pareo but his favorite Chinese silk loon pants.

Aion and Noia had met and married back in the mid-Nineties, just before the Old Reality phased itself out. She had been a mere 22 Earth years and he already a well-preserved 44. Age was a major concern in the Age of Death, Disease, and Decay.

Incredible, really, to have witnessed and participated in the Transition. Never before in the entire history of Creation had such a phenomenon been experienced. Linear Time quantum-jumping the Spiral of Galactic Synchronization and bursting forth into Spherical Time. Science fantasy, sword and sorcery, fairy tale and News of the World all rolled into one. Real estate, insurance, politics, banks, and bureaucracy all a thing of the so-called Past... ha, remember when there were lawyers all over this planet? There were even humans who played the role of Judges. They sometimes sentenced other humans to death. Unbelievable... but it wasn't all that long ago, to use an old-fashioned and now totally meaningless phrase.

"Let's see... what shall we eat?" Aion said, more to himself than to Noia, who was already keying in her order at the dining pavilion. He scanned the day's menu on the smoky quartz screen built into the oval table of polished stone. Broccoli with cheese sauce? Chee cheong fun with cordyceps? Ghee rice with pumpkin curry? Macaroni soup and asparagus spears? Wild honey on buttered toast? How about some good old yong tow foo?

Noia was grinning impishly when Aion glanced up at her. On the grail table sat two tempting plates of Hainanese chicken rice, two steaming bowls of leek soup, and a side serving of juicy bean sprouts. Feeling a touch nostalgic for the vanished ways, after all that history! "What's your drink? Preserved kumquat and honey?"

Aion had to smile. "Why not?" Back in the old 3-dimensional reality, humans ate a fantastic amount of chicken. Billions of birds were slaughtered each day to feed the "dominant species." Incubator-hatched from eggs and raised in "scientifically designed” batteries, the poor fowls never once got to peck at real dirt in a farmyard. The same foul treatment was meted out to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and even plant species.

And if you consider that inhuman, you won't believe some of the ways humans treated other humans - especially those deemed inferior or a potential threat to their excessive lifestyles.

As they tucked into the totally delicious, molecularly reconstituted meal, Aion slipped briefly into a meditative retroscan of the amazing breakthrough in +2018 O.R. (Old Reality) when a critical mass of humans, determined to stop exploiting other lifeforms, began expressing their collective will. This resulted in a switch to the trinary code (IAO) which made it possible to obtain holographically perfect digital samples of all bio-matter on the planet and store it permanently in the crystalline hard memory of the Earth - dubbed the Diamond Sutra - and retrieve the information at will for high-speed organic reconstitution and 3D printing.

For instance, we were able to extract a complete hologram sample of the healthiest, happiest hen that ever ranged freely on a well-kept farm - and use the basic data to generate an infinite supply of chicken to every finger-lickin' chicken-lover in the universe - without ever having to catch a live specimen and kill it and boil the feathers off and so on. The same technique was applied to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and every edible plant species on the planet.

This was how we ushered in the Age of Abundance, which instantly rendered all previous notions of strategic survival behavior irrelevant and obsolete. The Quest for the Grail was finally over: the sacred vessel that sustained all life, the proverbial cornucopia, the fountain of eternal renewal had been discovered - and her name was Gaia-Sophia, also known as planet Earth.

People still planted vegetables and flowers and kept poultry and other animals around their yards; and sheep and cattle continued to graze on green pastures. And fish continued to swim in streams and lakes and oceans. Everything carried on more or less as before. But now no lifeform existed merely to play a part in the endless food chain. Now they existed for the sheer pleasure of it.

And when that wore thin, each could seek out a Transmutation Vortex where its vital force could release itself into new adventures, while the organic structures were destructured and recycled into the energy-matter continuum ad infinitum.

It wasn't till +2033 that humans embarked on the process of translating themselves into pure trinary encodings and immersing themselves wholly in the Diamond Sutra, thus freeing themselves of their dense hydrocarbon-protein spacesuits - which could be swiftly reconstituted and worn anytime they felt like an excursion into the lower frequency zones.

Just for "old time's sake," Aion lit a reconstituted cigarette and leaned back contentedly. Noia cleared the grail table with a few deft movements of her right index finger on the recessed keyboard. DELETE LUNCH? OK. Done. Then she burst into an expression of radiant joy. "Oy, tengok siapa datang!" she broke out in her ancient mother tongue. Look who's here!

"Chuen!" Aion leapt to his feet and hugged his 29-year-old son, who had reconstituted his physical form in the garden. Noia lost no time joining the embrace: One again! Divine bliss rippled through the dimensions, causing some single-celled organisms somewhere in a different universe to divide and reproduce prolifically.

Chuen had just returned from his latest mission in some remote Hypoallergenic Zone of the galaxy where diehard divisionists with chronic dystopia were insistent on living by the deadly laws of Duality. Even the Corpus Christi had to endure the occasional breakout of moral scabies.

At 29 Chuen was the youngest Star Commander of the ICYF (Intergalactic Confederation Youth Fleet). He grinned, impish just like his mother, and wrinkled his nose at his father's tobacco smoke. "Long time since I indulged," he said in English (one of 17 languages at his command) and accepted a nicotine stick from his never-aging Old Man. Chuen took a long drag and exhaled like some retro French movie star. "Hey, how about a nice cup of tea to go with this?"

"Susu mau?" Aion looked up from the grail keyboard. Milky tea for everyone? Noia and Chuen nodded, and plonked themselves into a giant hammock under the mango trees.

Knew I'd find you both frolicking in your favorite paradise program. Chuen generally communicated telepathically with his mother. Noia kissed her son on his nose. You know we're comfortable here, but it would be great to have you with us more often.

Aion came over with three mugs of tea and placed two on the mossy turf below the hammock. "Room for one more?"

Noia gave Chuen a wet kiss and wriggled out of the hammock. "You can take my place, darling. I promised to meet Sembo, Hani, Maye, Halus and Titit at the waterfall. Women's splashabout, but you two are most welcome. I'm sure the girls would be surprised and delighted to see Chuen."

"Give me a few moments with Daddy," Chuen said. "I have information for him to download. Metaphysical stuff, Mum. Hey, don't tell the girls I'm here. I want to play a little trick on them."

You were well named, Chuen the monkey!
Noia tweaked both their noses affectionately and danced off towards the river, singing.

Aion snuggled into the hammock beside Chuen, sipped his tea, and sighed. "Okay, I'm ready." Chuen put down his mug of tea and placed his right hand on Aion's upturned left palm. He waited till his father's breathing rhythm was in perfect synchronization with his own, and then began downloading.

Soon Aion could feel a tingle in his forebrain as Chuen locked frequencies with him. A huge videoscreen lit up in Aion's mind's eye. Chuen was in his Sananda aspect, the one he favored when transmitting factual information. It was a sort of pharaonic face: gentle, wise, and bearded like the archaic Jesus icons. Chuen chose his Sananda image because he knew Aion's deep memory would be more receptive to inputs from an archetypally recognizable source.

The dreamtime documentary was in 5th dimensional hypertext and cybernetically compressed. Only certain fragments of it can be stepped down into linear language.

All that pain and suffering and seemingly endless horror was necessary, though not inevitable. The experiment could have taken a very different turn. Which it did, in another time track, now flowing concurrently with the present.

What people called "the stony path" - the pilgrimage through the Valley of Death - provided valuable tactile experience which has enriched all realities everywhere. Especially now that it is accessible in mesonic code and no longer virulent to nascent intelligence.

In the separation of inner from outer lies the origins of the self-exploratory game of Us vs Them. Each camp locked in perpetual conflict with its illusory opposite, its Nemesis, each struggling for dominance over the other, the outcome always doomed from the outset - since each would transform into the other at the height of its hostility or fear.

However, the bi-polar combustion was the engine for the Earth's emotional evolution. As she awoke to her true nature, she was able to transmute the fission energy into fusion force, and project her inner crystalline form outward into the heliocosm.

Thus did the Earth attain radiant illumination and initiation into the stellar community via the higher intelligence network within her mineral core and upon the semi-elastic surface of her Dream Body. As she emerged from the Density Beam that marked "recorded history" (i.e., the period from -3113 to +2023 O.R.) the Cosmic Context was reinstated in her consciousness.

Every sentient being on the planet that was receptive to the surge of expanded frequencies was able to ride the crest of that electromagnetic tidal wave into the subtle dimensions beyond the third. The rigid structures upholding economic and political systems rapidly buckled as the electromagnetic grid realigned itself with the Galactic Core and sociocultural control mechanisms immediately broke down. Artificial barriers evaporated like mirages and ancient taboos turned on their heels and died of shock.

You have a question: what became of the tinpot despots, the trigger-happy generalissimos, the secret policemen, and the brigand chiefs? Yes... just a moment. Well, the ones working consciously as anchor points were easily debriefed and transferred to the harmonic heavens on Level Eleven. The ones operating in total unconsciousness are still shadow-boxing in their sleep, safe in their own Quarantine Area, along with others unwilling to let go of their predator programming.

What was the casualty rate? As far as we know, only one-seventh of the human population chose to remain in the Old Reality. For them nothing has happened. The illusion of linear time and history continues to bind them in oscillating melodrama for another 26,000-year Evolutionary Cycle. Or at least till they realize what the Game Plan is all about and release their fearful deathgrip on their inner beings.

Incredible revelations had been accumulating since the final years of the 19th century and by +2018 there was no longer any excuse for any human being anywhere on Earth to plead ignorance. News of clandestine genetic experiments conducted on human and animal specimens by deluded aliens and sanctioned by a secret government had broken. The fantastic origins of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid Complex at Giza had been disclosed and discussed with excitement around the planet. The mysterious designs on the Nazca plains, the magical calibrations on Mayan monuments, the universal resonance of aboriginal myths and legends had been pointed out and publicly disseminated.

T'he last of the media moguls had converted to the truth - and had committed themselves wholeheartedly to alerting the entire human population to the gigantic electromagnetic tidal wave rippling out from the Alpha and Omega points of the Galactic Core, as our Sun began to merge with its etheric double to form a Greater Central Sun.

Rainbow warrior tribes which had been gathering for two generations were already anchored in their various bioregions, awaiting the signal to take over responsibility as members of the Earth Council for Solar-Planetary Affairs. Over many decades their concerted campaign for the Earth had successfully cushioned the impact of ecocidal destruction, keeping it to a survivable limit.

The Masters had coordinated one final mass illumination exercise in December +2022 when millions of incarnate stellar emissaries ascended amidst celestial displays of unimaginable beauty. Their missions accomplished, they were home free at last. You have only partial recall of that initiation because of your addiction to physical sensory data, but I am helping you to transmute gradually.


Remember when the Temples of Mammon were converted to Community Arts Centers wherein the aesthetically handicapped were able to rehabilitate their perceptions in a colossal celebration of the Creative Spirit? Well, all of this seemingly happened overnight, over a 23-hour period between one Frequency Zone and the next. There will be much deep memory diving to be performed for those of you who were caught in the thick of the action and experienced the Dimensional Shift in semi-trance states.

The final segment of the session required Aion and Chuen to connect breaths and fuse their etheric bodies into a disc-shaped ball of Light. By this means Chuen piloted his beloved father to a Midway Station where a lively conference was in progress.

Aion had attended a few of these celestial powwows before, even in the Old Reality. But the impressions had usually faded like fax images by the time he regained "normal" consciousness on the physical plane. On this occasion Aion was thrilled to return with the energy imprints intact. He felt euphoric and supercharged.

Noia had sneaked up and squeezed herself between Aion and Chuen on the hammock. She giggled like the child she still was in particularly happy moments, hair wet from the waterfall. "Liars! I waited an hour for you two to show up! It was getting too cold."

"Eeesh! You're cold and wet!" Aion yelled, biting her on the nape of her elegant neck. Chuen laughed and laid his curly-haired head on his mother's bosom, sighing with pleasure.

After dinner Noia went off with Chuen to the Sanctuary for some deep healing on her leg. It had been slightly deformed by infantile poliomyelitis - a common disease in the Old Reality - but was now rapidly regaining its proper form and function under Chuen's loving ministrations.

Aion decided to treat himself to some virtual 3D loveplay on the Bionet. Life's a ball, as they used to say, and forever may it be so.


...THE BEGINNING...

[Originally published in JOURNAL ONE, May 1996 © Antares. First posted 2 May 2007, reposted 27 December 2017]

Sunday, December 13, 2020

HEY, LEAVE THE KIDS ALONE! (reprise)









Watch the rest of The Wall on YouTube!


Directed by Alan Parker
Produced by Alan Marshall
Written by Roger Waters
Narrated by Pink Floyd
Starring Bob Geldof
Christine Hargreaves
Eleanor David
Alex McAvoy
Bob Hoskins
Michael Ensign
Music by Pink Floyd
Cinematography Peter Biziou
Editing by Gerry Hambling
Distributed by MGM/UA Entertainment Company (theatrical)
Sony Music Video (SMV) Enterprises
Release date(s) 6 August 1982 (New York City)
Running time 95 minutes

[First posted 6 December 2008, reposted 15 May 2016 & 16 December 2016]

Dusting off some ancient poems from "Moth Balls" (repost)



Whatsapp inspired this post. Sharanya Manivannan - sensuous poet, consummate weaver of enigmatic tales, high priestess of aromatic and erotic prose, and my beloved friend in Chennai - sent me some audio clips of her poetry. My flagging appetite for wordplay aroused by the piquancy & precision of her sultry voice, I was prompted to unearth my 1994 collection of "eschatological & scatological poems" titled Moth Balls (Magick River, 1994, limited edition). Experimentally I recorded a few short ones and sent them over. She responded most encouragingly and magnanimously. I was sufficiently heartened to rummage through the hoary collection and pick out a few for a fresh airing. Thank you, Sharanya!

The first offering is, I believe, my earliest attempt at versifying, written as a Creative Writing class assignment when I was 17...

PAEAN TO THE BRAVE SOLDIER

Is it not quite often thought
(& very often believed)
that the brave men who fought
and died for God & King
(or some other Thing)
are inadequately aggrieved
and cried for,
though inordinately touching
(it is often said)
is their sacrifice of costly life
that must be paid
as patriotism's price?

Anyway no one I know
will go so far
(since the war is won)
as to say we have not mourned.
In truth no tear has been forborne;
no ceremony neglected;
and in good cheer
we'll have erected
a monument of marbled brick,
to be unveiled to the public
while brass bands playing
(the nation's honor portraying)
salute good citizens
(the ones, of course, who are taxpaying).

Altogether it will be
a memorable testimony
of our pride
in the honorable
men who died
sailing against the
Evil Tide:
loyal men, courageous & willing,
who were killed while they were killing
for God & King
(or some other Thing).

1967



WHEN NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY

when nothing can possibly
be more than what the public eye can see
& everything that is believed to be;
when there are no more trees
for sleepy sitting under;
when each & every busy bee
but lives in concrete hives for plunder -
then creation has only been a big bad blunder

when there is not a lot of or
even just a little time
& absolutely no space for
one heart to feel
full of all the love
that is, will be & was -
inadequate space &
insufficient time for love sublime -
then this race of humans is an inhuman crime

1970


IN THE PALACE GARDENS

under mushrooms of vermilion
in a maroon pavilion sits the King
                                          typing this
                                          trifling
                                           thing: the
                                         disting-
                                   uished ring
                                   of the King's Royal machine
                            at each ending
line
reminds me of times
I laid with the Queen
as we played with the genes
of Frank & Stein the Einst (such fine
clients of science) and

under gold & green umbrellas &
masses of gases
our moments of mirth
gave globular birth
to elfin princes & princesses
in new blueprint dresses
peopling a virginal
Earth

1972







[First posted 22 October 2013, reposted 19 November 2015 & 4 December 2016]


Tuesday, December 1, 2020

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?" ~ An age-old question re-examined (repost)

I get asked this question quite often. 

But it isn't very often that the enquirer has the patience or the time to stay around for my response, which involves deconstructing the unquestioned assumptions of conceptual semantics. As far as I know nobody has ever come up with a definition of "God" acceptable to all.

The notion that the physical universe was created by an all-knowing, all-powerful, ubiquitously existing Maker is fairly common, especially amongst the more conservative, more traditional - and therefore less adventurous - thinkers.

When I gaze upon any object - be it a butterfly, a banana, or a blossom - it doesn't occur to me that some humanoid with deft hands wielding clever tools actually sat down at a workbench one morning and fabricated  these wondrous forms that are able to self-replicate and perpetuate their own species, ad infinitum.

I'm more inclined to admire the hidden geometries, complex architecture, and ingenious mechanisms underlying these forms which are also discernible in other forms that constitute our physical environment. A healthy appreciation for the miraculous nature of all forms ultimately leads one to focus on the mystery that is oneself.

For each of us is every bit as amazingly designed and constructed as a grasshopper or dungbeetle or seahorse or giraffe or walrus or duckbill platypus or an entire coral reef. The interlocking biochemistries and interwoven electromagnetic patterns that give rise to living forms are at once complex and simple.


Inevitably, one is compelled to marvel at the breakthrough discoveries in recent decades of the fractal nature of the holographic universe - and the curious effect that consciousness appears to have on how it evolves and mutates. It is, indeed, as cutting-edge physicists declare, "an observer-created universe."

Pioneering researchers have detected micro-macro consonances between the subatomic and the supergalactic realms, wherein the essential architecture of a single atom is echoed in that of a galaxy. This fact alone ought to qualify as a theophany that can yield an endless quantity of eureka moments - enough at any rate to induce an ecstatic vision in anyone who spontaneously comprehends the divinity and perfection of all that exists.


You could call this approach to answering the age-old question of God's existence (or otherwise) the way of the mystic-scientist. It's not dependent on culturally or genetically implanted beliefs or on faith. Rather, it is a metaconceptual gestalt formed from free associating a random sequence of sensory inputs with a variety of analogies drawn from personal experience as well as what C.G. Jung called the Collective Unconscious.

Anyone who has, by chance or design, embarked on the quest for meaning and significance must pay attention to signs, omens, auditory, visual and perceptual clues left as a legacy by thousands upon thousands of conscious thinkers who lived and died and whose insights were recorded externally in the form of artefacts - or internally through subtle alterations of the chromosomal data banks.

Each new pilgrim on the journey towards enlightenment will have a unique experience, though universal truths have a habit of recurring like strangely familiar motifs. In effect, any authentic attempt to grapple with the question of God is necessarily an individual process. Other people's narratives of "divine revelation" most certainly constitute a valuable reference - but they can never be a substitute for direct knowing, distilled from unique, personal experience.


This is why at an early age I found myself unsubscribing from prescribed belief systems passed down the generations. All the conflicting doctrines that constitute man-made religion serve merely to anesthetize the masses against the anguish of fully accepting our human limitations, in order that we might ultimately transcend them.


Religions are packaged and processed forms of accumulated mystical insight; and although there will always be precious glimmers of truth to be found in the crude ore of inherited or acquired beliefs, the unthinking and unquestioning acceptance of these dogmas is akin to condemning oneself to a lifelong diet of junk food bought off the shelves of a cosmic convenience store.

To visualize God as an eternal parent figure is to forever infantilize our apprehension of reality in simplistic terms of Good and Evil, Right and Wrong. These opposite polarities represent extreme ends of the moral spectrum; but as the sum-total of all existence, God embodies the entire spectrum of possibilities and is therefore beyond categorization and classification. In analogous terms, God is not just the Father but also the Mother and  the Child borne of their primordial union.

In ancient days when the majority of humans were illiterate, an elite corps of Scribes arose that took it upon themselves to interpret on behalf of the others what was purportedly the Word of God. This special breed of human we call the Priesthood. In India the priests established themselves as the Brahmin caste and exalted themselves above the ordinary folk.

An effective division of labor developed wherein the priestly caste collaborated with the kingly caste to form the earliest governments. The priests took on responsibility for the spiritual affairs of men while the kings ruled over the material domain, as evidenced in the political pact between the Bishop of Rome and the Emperor Constantine.

In the Book of Exodus we saw the same partnership in action with the brothers Aaron and Moses: Aaron took charge of administrative and logistical matters, while Moses played the role of divine visionary, receiving direct instructions from on high.

To this day the Mormon church classifies its membership as either of the Aaronic or the Melchizedek lineage. Those of the Aaronic Order undertake the day-to-day management of church affairs, like the raising of funds and the construction of temples; and those of the Melchizedek Order propagate the spiritual message of the founder, Joseph Smith, who received his revelation through an angelic messenger named Moroni.

What I'm waffling on about, then, is the sheer futility of identifying oneself with any particular religious doctrine. Our understanding of life matures with experience - or, at least, it ought to. It's fine to believe in Santa Claus when you're five years old and thrilled to bits at the prospect of finding a stack of prettily giftwrapped presents under the Christmas tree. However, by the time you're fifteen, you really ought to have realized that the fat guy in a red suit is actually your own dad - or some guy hired by the department store to lure kids and their parents into a ritual shopping spree.

I'm not going to denounce or deconstruct all the institutionalized religions in our midst. It's generally a waste of breath anyway. Many people cling desperately to their beliefs because they fear the bottomless abyss of uncertainty. Some will violently strike out at or even kill anyone who attempts to shatter their faith or so much as joke about it.

With some folks, loyalty to the faith into which they happened to be born can be even stronger and more fanatical than their loyalty to a favorite soccer team. Just as there are soccer hooligans at every game, you will encounter violent mobs of the religiously intoxicated. Best to stay clear of them rather than attempt to engage them in rational discourse.

These mobs constitute what you might term the bottom rung of consciousness. Everybody goes through such a phase - though many today express their fanatical urges via ardent hero-worship of a particular popstar or screen actor. Left to their own devices, most people eventually outgrow these obsessions.

I'm absolutely convinced that Malaysians of all creeds will co-exist in sweet harmony when jingoistic politicians stop stirring up the shit. Is there any way we can compel them to cease their pseudo-religious rabble-rousing? None that I can think of, short of maintaining some barbaric law like the ISA for exclusive use against those who exploit racial and religious differences for their own political advantage.

Nevertheless, I don't advocate such quick-fix methods. Censorship of any kind is anathema to me. I'm utterly convinced that when people are regularly exposed to all kinds of ideas - no matter how lunatic or extreme - they will swiftly learn to discern what's palatable and what's poisonous in the way of opinions.

So, instead, of cringing at the absurd utterances of rabid religious reactionaries, all we really have to do is ignore them. And, if they refuse to stop after a decent interval, we could simply pull the plug on them, switch off their microphones, so to speak. That harms nobody at all - and they will eventually fall silent when their voices grow hoarse from shouting at the wind.

And in that brief silence the first seeds of wisdom just might germinate.


[Originally posted 18 April 2009 as Part 5 of "Where Malaysia is headed" Reposted 22 December 2013 & 13 May 2018]

Where Malaysia is headed (Part 6)


Saturday, November 28, 2020

APOCALYPSE… OR EPIPHANY? (updated)


Musings at the edge of eternity

The World of Appearances moves visibly towards a series of possible Apocalypses. Now as never before, I am doing all I can to maintain a clear focus on my innervision of heaven on earth – which does NOT include the triumph of Big Brotherism in some dystopic New World Order Fourth Reich!


With the December Solstice Stargate Activation approaching on 21 December 2020 (exactly eight years after the Galactic Alignment of 2012), massive shifts in consciousness and spiritual maturity will bring about a rapid meltdown of dysfunctional institutions and societies.


All that is mechanical and regimented will abruptly run out of political charge. The “princes and principalities” won’t surrender without a desperate fight, in the vain hope that they can at least drag everyone else down to “hell” with them.


However, Mother Earth (Pachamama, Gaia-Sophia) herself will no longer support their parasitic adventures as she attains to full awakening...


Those governed by fear and greed and trapped in egocentric skepticism will be subject to their own Twilight-of-the-Gods scenario – despite all efforts to help them experience a paradigm shift. The rest of us will bear witness as self-governing sovereign entities to the birth of a New 5D Octave of Consciousness wherein beauty and truth will replace money and military might as focal points of endeavor. Timelines that have been splitting apart since 2012 will separate into different evolutionary trajectories. If you're reading this, chances are that you have long prepared yourself for this unprecedented event. 

Those who insist on clinging to 3D intellectual materialism and Sarumanic (or Ahrimanic) scientism wouldn't have made it past the third paragraph. In any case this Stargate Activation marks a pivotal moment in which each soul in physical embodiment will consciously cross a threshold, towards true individual sovereignty and freedom - or deeper enslavement in the 3D Matrix (which appears to be accelerating swiftly towards a digital dystopia centrally controlled by Artificial Intelligence).


You may wonder what will happen to all the encrusted egos hellbent on keeping the Duality Scam going? The Fear Merchants, trading in terror and scarcity conditioning, clinging tenaciously to ancestral privilege or ruthless ambition - are they a nightmarish mass delusion that’s absolutely no concern of mine? 

I can see bits of myself embedded in ancient - nay, primitive - programs going by descriptions like Neo-Darwinism, Sabbatean Frankism (you know, elite pedovores and predatory practitioners of ritual blood sacrifice, the privileged adrenochrome addicts, the pathological Never-Trumpers, in political parlance, who infest the airwaves and, at least till very recently, greatly influenced public opinion). 

Survival of the Fittest, indeed. How is “fit” defined? The ones gifted at making money, or the ones with universal empathy? Is it possible to accumulate wealth as measured by consensus – and still feel a tender compassion for all life?

The way I used to see it: since I already feel oceanic ripples of deep affection for All That Is, I need only gain access to unlimited wealth to be in a position to answer that question truthfully. It’s so easy to dismiss money as a spurious concoction of the Khazarian-Zionist banking fraternity, but so long as it’s in use, I’d love to have a huge pile fall in my lap. I could get the entire contents of my rusty filing cabinet published, release some sonic dreamscapes I recorded ten years ago, set up simple but efficient recording facilities for talented young singer-songwriters and composers, offer grants to imaginative youngsters with videocams, visit old flames in Europe, lounge around on a Thai island or in Sacha Stone's Akasha New Earth Haven for weeks... 

But that was how I felt 15 years ago. I feel a whole lot different now. In the last few years I have grown a very deep root and am perfectly content to remain exactly where I am. Let the rest of the Yoniverse come to me!

My definition of Heaven on Earth has long been: infinite possibilities (where merely knowing that every desire can be fulfilled is enough). Hell, of course, is utter impossibility (where the woman who excites me most begrudges even a smile).

Do I envisage a  Vegan or Vegetarian Future?

It’s not what we do, it’s how we do it that changes the essential equations. Having lived amongst hunter-gatherers who generally prefer to get their protein by fishing and snaring wild game, and who are content to subsist on tapioca leaves and dried anchovies the rest of the time, I’d be glad to see an end to commercial exploitation of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. It’s not meat-eating, per se, that constitutes a problem – it’s industrial farming methods that treat other lifeforms as mere commodities to be processed and sold which greatly saddens my soul.

Times when my atoms were oscillating at close to light speed, I have been able to sustain myself for days on prana and photons – which is why I’m sympathetic to breatharians, though I lack the ascetic impulse to willfully embark on such a course. I eat to live as a matter of habit, and I bless and enjoy whatever’s on my plate. 

Food is NOT the issue. Famine is invariably the unhappy result of ecocidal and megalomaniacal human activities driven by scarcity conditioning. The fact that “developed” countries have problems with anorexia AND obesity reflects a deep spiritual imbalance. Speaking of food, here's an old internet joke with a timely teaching. It’s called “God’s Test”:

God put the angels and the devils to a test. He set up a huge banquet hall with a wonderful feast. First He invited the devils to the feast. They were delighted until they found out that they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows! How were they to eat all the delicious food when their hands wouldn't go to their mouths? They tried eating off the plate, which was messy and undignified. They tried throwing the food in the air and catching it in their mouths. Nothing worked very well. After 15 minutes of this mayhem, God told them that time was up. They trooped out cursing Him.

Next, He invited the angels into the hall. A fresh feast was laid out, and the same thing happened - they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows. The angels all looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What a great game!" they said as they fed each other.


Well, if you happen to be an atheist - don’t worry, so is God. 

Hmmm, maybe it's time to revert to my original name. From now on, don’t call me "Antares" – “God” will do.

Heh heh, just kidding. I have enough problems trying to get some people to pronounce “Antares” correctly.

[First posted 2 December 2008]