It’s really more like a Creek than a River: it has a respectable gradient of 91 fpm; it’s non-stop action; it goes at 300 cfs but is prime from 800 cfs to 1200 cfs; it’s primarily class 3 with two class 4’s, Pin Cushion and Better Than, and a class 3+(4) boulder garden at the bottom.

We received a good rain on 12/05, which brought it in good; it peaked at almost 1500 cfs and was running a stout 550 cfs on 12/06;unfortunately, I had volunteered to work overtime that Saturday. It dropped out that night, so I paddled the McKenzie the next day, Sunday, 12/07, mainly to surf a couple of good waves. But it rained all day, off and on, and when I got off the river, I looked, and the Blue was back in at 342 cfs and rising.

Well, Markus lives in McKenzie Bridge, not far from the Blue, but he had burst his ear drum, and didn’t dare get his ear wet.

My other paddle buddy, Dale, had lost his brother to terminal cancer that morning. So I decided to solo it.

It’s the first time I’ve soloed on the Blue, and I almost got cleaned on Pin Cushion!

I wanted to stick my boat on a shallow water ledge just above the feature, so I could take a look and get lined up on a rather narrow slot between two boulders, center right. Instead, I ended up going into the rapid backwards and flipped on a pillow rock immediately above the narrow slot — a definite pin point!

Luckily, I rolled up quick and got squared away. Good times.

This boulder sieve may be runnable down the center or river left at flows enabling this Creek to be ran, but the flow heads right into that big boulder, which forms an undercut, and if a boater was pushed right, then it would be lights out. You can see a short video here

For the long boulder sieve above the culvert, I produced a Playlist on YouTube, because it’s simply beautiful in there. Above that sieve, the gradient becomes more gentle and the creek more like the bottom section, but only for a mile or less before wood and flow become issues. Here’s the Playlist

Hell yeah, there’s room for a boat! And I almost forgot, the requisite heart rock on the bottom section!

Whitewater kayaking is considered to be inherently dangerous, so running rivers solo is a bit of a taboo. In his book, Whitewater Philosophy, Doug Ammons argues against this taboo, saying all good boaters solo, they just don’t talk about it. Ammons soloed runs most wouldn’t run at all, even with the best crew. For certain, paddling a run solo is a different experience, a deeply spiritual experience in my view.

I’m not on the level of an Ammons, nowhere close; I got started too late. But I do enjoy solitude on the river. Last week, on October 18, I went to Portland for the No Kings march, and then to the Upper Clackamas, the Carnage section, hoping to find a shuttle. I met this guy Ryan — my shuttle, who had hidden his boat near the top of the run and was driving his car back down to the take out at Moore Creek. He parked his car and jogged roughly five miles back to his boat. We put on together and paddled the abbreviated run.

We were talking about soloing rivers, something he does in his Cronin inflatable all of the time. I told him I sometimes solo the Upper McKenzie; I have a work buddy who lives on the river, so I leave my truck at his place and he drives me and my boat up. Ryan tells me the Upper McKenzie is one of his favorite solo runs, but he hikes the McKenzie River Trail (MRT). So this Saturday, October 25th, I hid my boat at the Olallie Campground, drove my truck down to the Paradise Campground, hiked the MRT back up to Olallie — roughly nine miles with turnbacks, and paddled back down. What a wonderful experience! It’s a more comprehensive river experience! I took pictures of all of the creeks on the hike up:

My boat was waiting when I got to Olallie, thankfully so, for my legs were tired

and I had a great paddle back down!

This section of the McKenzie is largely Class 2+, continuous, with a couple of Class 3’s thrown in

I have a small pair of vice-grips which I use to clamp down on my flesh. I pull the flesh taunt for piercing; the needles slide right through. The needles are six gauge, especially made for piercing, surgical stainless steel. The octopus hooks are six gauge and stainless steel also. The barbs have all been filed off and polished to a sheen; cold worked by a metals master — Black Sheep Suspension. The needles are hollow to accommodate the tapered hooks. When the hooks are inserted they form a natural handle which seats in the palm of one’s hand, ideal for thrusting.

Sometimes I jam through fast, inspired by angst or disgust, inducing a Super Nova mind blast thrill kill smash like freestyle hate mail delivered direct to the neo-cortex — maybe. Other times I jam through slow, inspired by Love, inducing thirty-three miles of road rash skin peel screamer like freestyle love poems delivered direct to the same module — onto, equivalence class, pain set, endure. When jamming through slow one encounters distinct layers of epidermis and distinct gradients of pain; it’s a scientific investigation — psychological semantica — of a pragmatic bent. Some say a relative, utilitarian truth but really they’re wrong. I’m bleeding right now.

After the hooks are set I start cutting, three fountains carved on each arm and each leg and under each eye. Cutting the face is the best and it bleeds the most — freely. By the time I’m finished I’m generally sweating profusely and feeling rather High, as in sensory enhanced mind bending to dissolution — no scientific concerns. It’s really quite elegant in simplicity; a simple form of free expression where audience and performer are one — circular. Yeah, hang out and bleed for as long as endurance allows. It’s a proof without an axiomatic system — true spirituality. Sometimes words just get in the way …

For instance, I haven’t had a meaningful conversation … well, hell, I didn’t have a conversation more than five minutes in duration, with another human, in almost fifteen years and I feel fine. But then I love to bleed; I love the pain; I love to breathe through the pain; I love to breathe consciously, with intent; I love to launch, to fly without a tether. Reality is not really what it seems. You see, I meditate on Death only to awaken the Mistress — Life.

The mysterious rhythm is a dance captured in awareness. I wish I could dance with such expression, with symbols and secret meanings, primitive and violent but violent without aggression — benign angst. Occasionally angst, diffused, catches the careless meanderer which will happen when fools try to convince those less foolish; try to teach and you may be taught … But then the insouciant horde society is naturally reposed in vicious circles

– the liar; don’t listen to the liar –

anyway, reposed in vicious circles between being and not-being, that is becoming; it’s life blood a rhythm, music, raw, arrogant, yet somehow poetically refined in dissonant caves of reverberating feedback, loops returning to the antecedent from the consequent teaching those who teach how to teach that which has never before been taught.

You see, the teacher must remain the student or all is lost, a pointless discourse amongst fools. If you listen well and long enough, to the dissonant harmonies (sic), they begin to make sense, like flesh suspended and raining blood — Feed the Mistress (Life). As has been expounded upon before, deliverance from the thermodynamically induced nihilism demands extreme measures, measures without regard to the maximum principle, chaotic measures. These ill-founded measures generate incessant structure development where otherwise reigns bleached bone yards devoid of the ripe but putrid flesh necessary for continuance; you with your eyes staring vacantly off into who knows what hell, you know that empty kind of empty — not full empty but empty empty.

Yeah, well anyway, these structures, exquisite corpse on top of exquisite corpse, years of coagulated mind funk striated like psychedelic wafer crème cookies, sickenly sweet but brilliant, are perpetually dissolving into entropic tyranny

– the liar; don’t listen to the liar –

Damn the noise … Can anyone hear? The ghost of Russell …

Allow me to continue: the perpetual act of construction is all that drowns the existential claustrophobia induced by the imperturbable constance of the Lord (Death). But this construction takes root in fear, or desire, or, more aptly, some random convergence of both, some random convergence on some finite interval which can’t possibly be absolutely true. Do you see? Yes? Then feed what has been fed; teach what has been taught. You see, only through awareness can one transcend awareness because, obviously we know, without awareness there’s no-thing to transcend. I think only so that I can stop thinking.

So, I shall cease all thought; I shall dance expressively and communicate like a slayer screaming blood spittle hang endure … I shall feed the Mistress my exquisite corpse and the Mistress shall feed the insouciant horde — dreaming. We dream and the Cosm opens — flowers. We’re all bees chasing nectar and sometimes words are impotent. I have a small pair of vice-grips …

Yeah, you see, the pain, it takes the expression to the Universe, beyond the reach of mathematical symbolism. Out there, beyond the ether, there are no atomic decompositions; out there it’s a point particle, serene, expansive, justified, Singular. If one bleeds enough there is no in there/out there, it’s all fluid — condensate. Yeah, so, if you hear me screaming, know that I am good — as in, okay.

I’m just not mathematically inclined …

That first does not describe wave-particle duality, rather, it describes the Uncertainty Principle as encapsulated in the mathematics of standard Quantum Theory (QT) and standard Quantum Field Theory (QFT), both of which have proven inadequate in many ways. Of course, the orthodox community will try to convince you that Bohr was right — quantum theory is a complete description of individual quanta, and Einstein was wrong — quantum theory is a descriptively incomplete ensemble (statistical) theory. They tend to convolute things even more by calling the Copenhagen Interpretation the “statistical” interpretation, where individual quanta exist in some “smeared-out” state prior to “measurement.” But statistical theories deal with ensembles, not individual entities, as Einstein well knew.

Now, Richard Feynman stated more than once that the entire mystery of Quantum Mechanics is contained in the double-slit experiment, and this is where both QT and QFT are inadequate: neither can reproduce the statistical pattern we see in the double-slit, nor can they account for the quantized momentum transfer between quanta and slit apparatus that yields said pattern.

Okay, now, the proof of wave-particle duality must be empirical, correct? I don’t believe we ever deal with 100% certainty in physics, being a Constructive Empiricist, but models and their explanatory force can be pretty convincing. With regards to wave-particle duality, contrary to the orthodox position, this was introduced by de Broglie to explain Bohr orbitals: constructive interference of the wave aspect is what prevents electrons from spiraling into the nucleus of atoms, hence, orbitals are quantized. This conjecture of de Broglie, that massive particles also have a wave aspect, was empirically supported by electron scattering experiments and the Compton effect shortly thereafter. From the Wikipedia page:

The Davisson–Germer experiment confirmed the de Broglie hypothesis that matter has wave-like behavior. This, in combination with the Compton effect discovered by Arthur Compton (who won the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1927),[8] established the wave–particle duality hypothesis which was a fundamental step in quantum theory.

Okay, that’s pretty convincing proof that quantum entities have both wave and particle aspects, and this is what is so aggravating about the orthodox community. Because where are we today, in mainstream physics? The Spanish physicist Oliver Consa covers this quite well in a few papers, but especially in the conclusion to his Helical Solenoid Model of the Electron:

Despite his initial objections, Pauli formalized the theory of spin in 1927 using the modern theory of QM as set out by Schrödinger and Heisenberg. Pauli proposed that spin, angular moment, and magnetic moment are intrinsic properties of the electron and that these properties are not related to any actual spinning motion. The Pauli Exclusion Principle states that two electrons in an atom or a molecule cannot have the same four quantum numbers. Pauli’s ideas brought about a radical change in QM. The Bohr-Sommerfeld Model’s explicit electron orbitals were abandoned and with them any physical model of the electron or the atom.

The helical solenoid model models the electron as a superconducting LC circuit with a quantum of electric charge, e, and a quantum of magnetic flux, ϕ, with eϕ = h, h being Planck’s constant. The helical motion describes Schroedinger’s Zitterbewegung (trembling motion) and the geometry/topology explains the electron’s anomalous magnetic moment. Consa briefly summarizes the history of toroidal moments in physics and “in 1997, toroidal moment was experimentally measured in the nuclei of Cesium-133 and Ytterbium174 [26].” In his reference [26] (not the exact paper, but probably even better), they measure the toroidal moment using state changes, and in the paper, Magnetic Monopole Field Exposed by Electrons, the authors simulate a monopole field using a nano-needle with its tip poised over an aperture; they find that electrons interacting with the field actually change state, which should enable a measurement of Consa’s toroidal moment. Additionally, if you happen to be familiar with David Hestenes’ Zitter Model, Zitterbewegung as helical motion of a point charge, e, can explain a lot of the so-called quantum weirdness and provide a mechanism for quantized momentum exchange in diffraction (resonance). Consa has recently extended his Helical Solenoid model to a preon model in The Helicon: A New Preon Model, and has also described many problems with QED in Something is Wrong in the State of QED, while so-called anomalous heat exchange indicates something is wrong in the state of QCD, both of these situations being more than just a bit scandalous. But I find much of his preon work to be a bit conservative; Consa seems to have the same aversion to the superluminal phase velocities in the de Broglie construct as many in the orthodox community. Waves are generally constructed from groups of phase waves. The waves in these groups vary in amplitude, generating an envelope wave. It can be shown mathematically (see also the Feynman Lecture) that this envelope wave moves at the same velocity as the particle while the velocity of the group is superluminal.

Let v_w be the phase velocity and v_g the group velocity, then

v_wv_g = c62

which makes sense given that all waves have frequency and wavelength with λν = c, i. e. the product of “space” and “time” is c. But now v_w = c^2/v_g >> c and

1/v_w(v_w − v_g) = 1 − (v_g)^2/c^2

The square of the inverse Lorentz factor is right there in the de Broglie construct. This is related, in turn, to the relativistic entropy of the construct.

Kevin Knuth is a highly regarded physicist who specializes in Bayesian Model Selection and MaxEnt methods. He has played a central role in creating what might be called Inference Theory, formally initiated by Edwin Jaynes, with his formulation of MaxEnt as a variational principle, and Richard Cox, with his derivation of Probability Theory as a calculus generalizing an algebra of implication. Knuth and his co-conspirators have extended these methods of Jaynes and Cox to general algebras, in many cases relevant to the foundations of physics. A good introduction to Knuth’s work in this vein is his paper, Information-Based Physics: An Observor-Centric Foundation. Knuth is who introduced me to Hestenes’ Zitter model of fermions and in The Problem of Motion: The Statistical Mechanics of Zitterbewegung ( see a more involved treatment here) he explores the consequences of Schoedinger’s Zitterbewegung, which came about due to the velocity eigenvalues of the Dirac equation being ±c±�, the velocity of light. Knuth derives the relativistic velocity addition rule in 1 + 1 dimensions, developing a statistical mechanics of motion in the process. This leads to an entropy measure based on Helicity and Shannon Entropy:

S = − Pr(R)logPr(R) − Pr(L)logPr(L)

where Pr(X) denotes the probability of coming from direction X (Helicity). This can be represented with relativistic terms

S = log(2γ) − β log(1 + z)

where γ is the relativistic Lorentz factor γ = (1 − β^2)^{−1/2} and 1 + z is related to the redshift z given by 1 + z = (√1 + β)/(√1 − β) for motion in the radial direction. As Knuth points out, with this relativistic entropy measure, a particle at rest is MaxEnt, since Pr(L) = 1/2 = Pr(R), while a particle moving at the velocity of light minimizes entropy, with S = 0, because either Pr(L) = 1 or Pr(R) = 1 (see his short paper). In other words, Helicity disappears at the velocity of light. This is consistent with these helical models of Hestenes and Consa, where the electron is a point charge orbiting a center of mass at the speed of light with radius r = ℏ/mc. With translational velocity it traces out a helix in spacetime, with the radius of the helix going to zero as the translational velocity goes to c, obviously, i. e. per the Pythagorean Theorem, c^2 = (v_t)^2 + (v_r)^2, where v_t is translational velocity and v_r rotational. This is a great candidate for explaining Ulf Klein’s result showing that the so-called Bohr Correspondence Principle does not hold in general; it doesn’t hold because ℏ → 0 as v_t → c, a rather elegant explanation.

But then, given the above, we have these relativistic entropies going to zero — becoming minimum, precisely when v_w = c = v_g! And this is the key point! It is precisely these superluminal phase waves which motivates William Tiller’s deltron moiety, his dual-space reference frame, which separates a distance/time dependent domain (spacetime) from a frequency domain (wave domain), and his PsychoEnergetics. As Tiller points out, these phase waves contain all of the information about these de Broglie particle/pilot wave constructs and, via the relation between information and entropy, made explicit by Claude Shannon in the 1950’s, there is a thermodynamic free energy exchange going on here in apparent conflict with Einstein’s Special theory. Tiller resolves this with his deltron moiety, a coupling field with variable coupling strength and which couples the spacetime domain to the wave domain, and it would seem a natural conjecture that this relativistic entropy is related to Tiller’s coupling field, i. e. the information resolution, hence, entropy, is a function of the velocity difference between the pilot wave and its phase waves! This is a true form of holography and I think it has the potential to explain quantized momentum exchange in diffraction more completely than Hestenes’ resonance.

Hopefully this is clear. It’s probably not without reading the papers linked to. And both Consa and Hestenes are dealing with semi-classical models, i. e. “classical” concepts, whatever that even means. But this is especially not clear when you have the orthodox community — and they all do it, spewing forth the biggest bunch of nonsense.

Right from the get-go:

Appellant was hired by Patrick Morrison, owner of an equestrian riding center, to perform odd jobs around Morrison’s property in exchange for room and board. Morrison and his family his wife, Aylisa, and his two daughters, Brooke, 11, and Markee, 9 lived in a house situated on the same tract of land as the equestrian center. Appellant lived in a small one-room guest house with a kitchen and bathroom. About a month after appellant had moved into the guest house, appellant gave Morrison a painting he had done. The painting depicted a nude female jumping a horse over a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Morrison stated that he believed the female in the painting to be his 11-year-old daughter, Brooke. Morrison did not take any action against appellant at this time.

I was actually helping Pat restore a couple of classic cars, one a 1972 Formula 400 Firebird. And it wasn’t a painting, rather, it was a drawing with Prismacolor pencils, and a damn fine one at that. It was smaller than my typical drawings, roughly writing paper sized, and the young woman, impossible to identify one way or another, due to the size, was depicted on a beautiful mare with bad hooves that Pat had. I cannot for the life of me remember the mare’s name, but she was a favorite of mine. She couldn’t jump so she spent all of her time confined to a stall and I often took her carrots and interacted with her; she was almost anthropomorphic! She nuzzled and nibbled! I did not draw that drawing a month after moving into the house, rather, I had been living there for several months.

Now here’s the key point. The attorney “representing” me at the trial, Randy Martin, was conveniently recommended to me by a fellow Harris County inmate. After my court-appointed attorney, a former judge removed from the bench for disciplinary reasons, Elijah Dojier, sent me to the mental hospital, I asked my parents to get me an attorney. Amazingly, they claimed they needed me to provide a recommendation! So, a card conveniently given me by a jailhouse snitch and $3500 later and Randy Martin it was.

He told me my case was technical, so I would be better off with trial by judge. At the trial, which lasted slightly more than an hour, there was not a single witness called on my behalf and Mr. Martin did not cross-examine any of the Prosecutor’s witnesses. Even the Harris County detective in charge of the case seemed amazed that Mr. Martin had no questions.

So, it was never brought up that Pat Morrison had taken me to T’s Hideout, a bar and clubhouse for the USMC Motorcycle Club, several times. T’s Hideout was owned by Tom Blalock, a former USMC sniper and Vietnam vet who trained law enforcement snipers. Barrett sent him their new rifles to test. Tom and his brother Gary owned a bike shop next door and just down the street was the Masonic Lodge everyone conveniently belonged to. The Marine Corps MC and the MC riding out of the Lodge all hung out at T’s Hideout and the clubhouse in back and they all rode together. The center piece in the bar was a big round table with the Marine Corps emblem — the eagle, globe, and anchor, emblazoned on it; the knights of the round table. Brooke Morrison’s primary jumping horse was named Harley because Pat, at Aylisa’s insistence, had sold his Harley Davidson and used the money to buy the horse. Pat had ridden with the Blalock bunch and that was the source of his methamphetamines. There was a guy there originally from New York State that everyone called New York Dennis. He was an industrial arts teacher with the Spring Unified School District and a former boyfriend of Crista Bandini’s. From my “about” page:

The young woman is Crista Bandini. At the time she was riding racehorses on the thoroughbred circuit. Now she trains young riders outside of Austin, Texas, in the hill country: Trainers — Glendaloch Farm.

Pat told me that Crista had jumped her horse over New York Dennis’ Harley in the nude and had a professional photographer take pictures of it. She then gifted the photos to New York Dennis. At the behest of the FBI, the Harris County Sherrif’s Department and whoever else, Pat was messing with me; I knew that. So, I drew the picture. Maybe it looked like his daughter or maybe it didn’t, but if my intent was to draw his daughter, don’t you think I would’ve put her on Harley, her gelding? Or maybe the new horse that Pat had just purchased for her? That horse could almost clear 7' jumps, but it was green. Pat had a world-renowned jumper working with it at their equestrian center not far away, a male. When the guy finished with the horse, I went with Pat to pick it up. The first time his daughter rode it, I was working on the Formula 400. Pat showed up with Michael Blair and told me to come and watch Brooke ride that gelding, a huge horse (but so was Harley), for the first time. I didn’t think anything of it and went and watched. She pissed in her pants, the girl I mean.

I gave Shannon Slyfield, an evil witch, the preparatory, outline drawing for that nude woman over the Harley drawing long before I finished the drawing and I gave the actual drawing to Aylisa, telling her it was for Pat. It was obvious to me that they were all in on it, the bullshit I mean.

None of this was brought up at my trial, conveniently.

About a month after that, Brooke was approached by appellant in a community bathroom in the horse barn with a picture he said he had painted for her. This picture depicted a heart, upheld by three stakes in the ground, dripping blood into an open hole. Around this same time, Brooke found on top of her tack box (a horse supply storage container located in the barn area) a note saying, Waiting . . . Silently Screaming, I Love You. Brooke told her mother, Aylisa, about the painting and the note. Aylisa, when appellant was not in his quarters, went into the guest-house and found some poems and poem fragments with the silently, screaming language, including one titled Ode to Brook :

Waiting . . .

Silently Screaming, I Love You

Wondering will you forever

be my mystery

my muse

my guide through the dark forest

Almost all of that is nonsense. I wrote that poem to Bandini, I mean, look at the picture above!?! The heart picture I did give to the girl, but I specifically told her to give it to her father. Yeah, I was making a point and you can say I shouldn’t have involved the girl, but her parents had already involved her. So, who are the assholes here? I had no interest in that girl whatsoever — none! I was the same age as her mother! Pat and Aylisa Morrison brought that girl into the situation! Pat asked me 15 different times to paint a picture of Brooke. He paid a cabinet maker to build me an 8' X 18" stretcher frame and was mad as hell when he saw the outline drawing for the painting I was planning. It was hanging in the hay barn, where I was working on it. He knew the cabinet maker because they worked on houses together, Pat owning the stucco company. What was depicted in the painting? I describe it here: The Bee Keeper. Continuing with the art theme, this is… | by Wes Hansen | Medium. He had an 18 year-old step-daughter, who had just graduated high school, a nine year-old, Markie, and a 35 year-old wife, but he only asked me to draw Brooke. Now, you tell me?

The Morrisons, via a friend of theirs, Michael Blair, asked appellant to gather his belongings and leave the property. He did, but returned at night a few days later and, in the horse barn, placed a painting of a young woman arising from a flower, which workers found the next morning.

That was a bad-ass painting. It was what Pat asked for, a painting of Brooke. She was standing in a lotus blossom, wearing a white dress with red trim and hearts in the trim. In her right hand, hanging at her side, was a mala, a Buddhist rosary, and her left hand was outstretched and open, palm facing, like she was saying, go, go, go beyond, go completely beyond, ground yourself in Bodhicitta. In Sanskrit, gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, bodhi svaha. It was a badass painting that I did on the beach at Galveston Island. The Harris County Sherrif’s Deputy, Colson, the guy who punched me in the jail, he and a woman showed up while I was camping down there, working on it. They pulled up in a Jeep and the woman asked to see the painting. I showed it to them and she said, “Oh, that’s beautiful,” in a very sarcastic way. It was beautiful. I used an image from an art magazine as reference. While I was locked up in jail I drew a picture of Angie Schneider and her daughter, who I had only met once when she was probably 4 or 5 years old. They were both standing in a seashell and being pulled by dolphins and both wearing the same white dress I put on the Brooke painting. I sent it to Angie, via snail mail, along with the photos from the goddamn newspaper that I used for reference. I’m a pretty good artist.

Okay, as far as I’m concerned, the FBI, Harris County, and Leslie and Marguerite Hansen family can all go straight to hell. This is all about money, greed, and envy. Nothing else at all. Okay, sorry, corruption, it’s about the corruption of everything that makes a social system dignified.

A few months later, appellant showed up at the Morrison s house and asked to speak with Patrick. Patrick was unavailable, but Aylisa, warned by Blair that appellant might be inquiring at their house for Patrick, brandished a shotgun at appellant and told him to leave the premises because she had 911 on the phone. Appellant left and was later arrested and charged with stalking.

My tools and toolbox, several hundred dollars worth, were in the Morrison’s garage. I had been using them to work on the cars. I was doing a bunch of metal work: cutting out rust and welding in metal from a hood off of a Chevy truck; enlarging wheel wells; building custom sub-frame connectors; installing a new rear-end with coil-overs; installing ladder bars; etc. I needed my tools for the work I was doing in the Golden Triangle area — Port Arthur, Texas, so I contacted Michael Blair and explained the situation. He told me he contacted Pat and to go ahead on over. I went the next morning and Pat and Michael were hiding in the $150,000 RV parked in the driveway and Aylisa was standing there with a 12 gauge. I laughed at her. I asked her, “Are you going to shoot me?” I think she thought about it, knowing that she could get away with it. Her whole world was collapsing, due to Pat’s dangerous intent charge and his meth addiction. It makes you wonder why Pat never put a pistol in my face, doesn’t it?

Appellant first argues that there was no evidence that his conduct, as alleged in the indictment, was directed at Aylisa; rather, he contends, it was directed at Brooke.

Hey, that’s good ole Randy Martin right there. I never argued any such thing. I readily admit that my conduct was directed, indirectly, at the FBI and the Harris County Sherrif’s department, but via both the Morrison adults, Patrick and Aylisa. Patrick and Aylisa were knowingly working with these crooks becuase Pat was on deferred adjudication probation for a dangerous intent charge (putting a 9 mm piston in his neighbor’s face) and had failed 4 urine analyses. Michael Blair asked me to come to his little homestead not far away and fix his air compressor. While I was there a Harris County Sherrif’s deputy showed up and spoke with Michael outside of my hearing radius. After he left, Michael told me in no uncertain terms that the deputy had told him to relate to me that the Harris County Sherrif’s Department is a brotherhood, much like the US Marine Corps, and that they were going to get me no matter what. Michael Blair knew all of those deputies because they all rode horses together, they all rodeoed together — team roping.

On the day of my trial, I was put into the holding tank for people changing out into civilian clothes for trial. But I didn’t HAVE any civilian clothes for trial, and they knew damn well. Who just happens to be in the same goddamn tank? Pat Morrison. Why would they put him and I in a holding tank together? On the day that he is to be a witness in my trial? He was locked up because his probation had been revoked, I imagine, and he was a witness called by the Prosecutor. I didn’t know he was a methhead until the day of the trial. He did meth on one occasion while we were working on the cars. But he drank a case or more of beer every day and popped prescription psyche meds of some kind, the popular ones they call “bars” on the street.

That’s all I have.

HEILUNG comment: “‘Drif’ means ‘gathering,’ a throng of people, a horde, a crowd, a pack. In symbiosis with the album title, ‘Drif’ consists of a flock, a collection, a gathering, a collage of songs, that much like little flames were seeking towards each other, to join, to bond, to create, and be greater together. This album has very clearly dictated its own path. Our attempts to tame it was repeatedly fruitless and once we came to this realization, the creative flow surged forward with immense force, so much so that sometimes it felt like the songs wrote themselves. All the songs on ‘Drif’ have their own stories. They have each their place and sense of belonging, with inspiration not only from Northern Europe, but from the ancient great civilizations.”

It’s pretty excellent! And then there’s the images of the rock formations in the video!

Pelt has long been a favorite of mine. I love their Dauphin Elegies (Hymns for the Dead Prince), which can be found on Bandcamp, but here I link to their Bestio Tergum Degero (Skullfuck) on Youtube (note the Grateful Dead reference). About Dauphin Elegies, Tom Forget says:

The improvisational drones of Pelt thrive on the tension between prolonged silences and flurries of noise. DAUPHIN ELEGIES is made up of three increasingly long pieces plus one three-minute song, each one different in tone and texture from the last. The building hums of “Waning Crescent,” the distant squealing orchestral strings of “Fire Signs on the Edge of a Field,” and the lonesome folk violin of “Cast Out of Deep Waters” give way to the climactic cosmic chimes of the finale, “Crown of Comets.” It’s a journey from earth to heaven told in snatches of organized noise.

I like that “a journey from earth to heaven” so much I’ll give it an amen!

Amen!

They ran from the bloody scene, two rebellious lovers left over from the brethren war. They had received directions to the ritual from the wise old wizard reading from an oracle of ancient Egyptian bones. Necromancer and whore, he had been both back when Trismegistus roamed the land, back before the war. He said they’d see two forces fighting but hadn’t warned them of the rest, or mentioned anything about a test. “River-run, past Eve and Adam, round bend and bow, you’ll find some places where need sink real low, but hang on to each other and you’ll eventually come out from under.” Next came some gibberish neither understood, drugs and blood, through two minds made one, ripped asunder, two brothers, blood, muscaria . . . divine path to She the Goddess.

The old wizard knew all along the truth about Sati and her lover Shiva. He stood and cheered at her devotion, her asceticism, and her desire for her lover’s flesh. “Take eat,” he cried. “Take drink,” she replied. Ahhh! Yes, She brings life forth and taketh life away like the Ouroboros fixed in eternity; She is the sow who eats her own litter; the Black One with Her tongue extended to catch the blood; approach Her with lust and She will destroy; approach Her with Love and She is the Ferry Across the Ocean of Existence. She is the One Who Turns the Tide! This all came later but before they ran scared.

They ran towards the light and through the automatic doors. They were in a supermarket — produce section — held in arrest by the dazzling brilliance of the gardener’s carnival laid bare before. They breathed in the cold air becoming newly aware of each other’s beauty; his breath quickening with rising ardor, her nipples made rigid and sensitive by the manufactured cold and the potential of the story waiting to unfold. The man stepped forward taking up the plump, red, juicy fruit. He and his lover were affected like all other, an assault to sensual synapses, bright colors on polymorphous flesh, stretched taunt, waiting to burst forth with sweet nectar. The woman read as much in the man’s bright, feverish eyes as he sank his teeth into the fruit’s succulence; she watched the juice course down his chin, sighed with unquenchable hunger and bit into the red flesh.

They kissed and the orgasm came like Napoleon on his great white steed; lands discovered and conquered between quickened breaths; clothing torn and tossed aside; budding flesh teased with hunger and need; villages plundered, lands raped, and stores pillaged — violence contained in ecstasy — a sacrament proving that the temple is everywhere. And the temple was filled with a chorus of Tibetan Angles, sharp horns and hollow bowls, cut up and spliced like a Niblock drone. She put her head back and screamed; he thrust out his heart and moaned, a pulsing beat, crying out her name — to Sati, with Love.

The erotic smell of spent fertility, like freshly turned earth rich in humus, brings thought back to that most sacred furrow quivering in the aftermath of recent pleasure. The olfactory, gently assaulted by the feminine dew rising from the furrow’s delicate petals, creates masochistic images tempered by love and some mute sense of self-transmigration. Tantric intuition persevering in the deep recesses of our common psyche, bringing forth the Divine Comedy, a gamma ray burst made manifest in the hero’s mind. He leans forward, a willing supplicant come to worship Yoni. Shiva the Destroyer, Lord of Yoga, brought forth from his self-imposed exile by the pristine austerities of Parvati, Queen Avatar of the Divine Kali. Shiva, infused with Shakti; the Solar King reunited with the Lunar Queen — to Sati, with Love.

They came out of the comedy in a vintage Cadillac full of bullet holes with the top down and the seats torn. They were naked, their bodies covered in dry musky sweat. They held each other’s hand and stared forward with determination spawned by the bliss of discovery. It had been some time since the cold wind of infinity had coursed unchecked across the exposed landscape, raising awareness, exposing the mystery. They felt like conquerors who had in turn been conquered, their souls laid bare; fear and desire negated by the beautiful journey which began with the ritual, a call to adventure — to Sati, with Love.

I was watching an older interview with Bill Gates on Veritasium

about Covid-19 and pandemics in general. Well, the infection rate of Covid is slowly increasing here where I happen to find myself and it made me think of the trouble I had convincing the Veterans Administration, who has had the greatest problems so-called long Covid, of the value of breathe. So, I thought it would be cool if Derek Muller interviewed James Nester, but then I discovered that Peter Diamandes already has.

I thought I would share it here.

Anna Breytenbach is an animal communicator from South Africa. She is simply incredible at what she does and what she does is extraordinary. You should watch this 52 minute documentary.

The link above is to her website, Animal Spirit.

Yep, that’s right, an amanita muscaria fairy circle! I had to take a picture while I considered the pros and cons of consuming that big beautiful cap! I can no longer be seen by ordinary eyesight; I’ve completely transformed myself into a pool of vomit! Just kidding. But isn’t that a beautiful mushroom? They talk to one another, or so it is thought. In 2022 Andrew Adamatsky, a researcher with the Unconventional Computing Laboratory, University of the West of England, published an open-access paper in the Royal Society Open Science Journal, Language of fungi derived from their electrical spiking activity.

Fungi exhibit oscillations of extracellular electrical potential recorded via differential electrodes inserted into a substrate colonized by mycelium or directly into sporocarps. We analysed electrical activity of ghost fungi (Omphalotus nidiformis), Enoki fungi (Flammulina velutipes), split gill fungi (Schizophyllum commune) and caterpillar fungi (Cordyceps militaris). The spiking characteristics are species specific: a spike duration varies from 1 to 21 h and an amplitude from 0.03 to 2.1 mV. We found that spikes are often clustered into trains. Assuming that spikes of electrical activity are used by fungi to communicate and process information in mycelium networks, we group spikes into words and provide a linguistic and information complexity analysis of the fungal spiking activity. We demonstrate that distributions of fungal word lengths match that of human languages. We also construct algorithmic and Liz-Zempel complexity hierarchies of fungal sentences and show that species S. commune generate the most complex sentences.

Certain fungi “languages” exceed human languages in morphological complexity! It’s a cool paper. In another interesting paper published in Nature’s Scientific Reports, The dynamics of plant nutation, Paco Calvo et. al. report on experiments that seem to indicate intentional (conscious intent) behavior on the part of climbing bean plants. Calvo points out that it’s not neural-based, but plants do seem to have something akin to a nervous system, but using proteins: Researchers Have Mapped Out How Plants Sense Our World. What I found most interesting, both the Mimosa Pudica and the Venus Flytrap can be anesthesized! Even more profound, this has been known since 1858!

Why do I find this interesting? Well, the biophysicist, Huping Hu, and his wife, Maoxin Wu, a cytopathologist with Mount Sinai School of Medicine, published a paper reporting on experiments they conducted seeming to show that various anesthetics work via quantum entanglement of nuclear spin networks (they tested four different anesthetics). They report on their experiments in Spin-Mediated Consciousness: Theory, Experimental Studies, Further Development & Related Topics and delve a bit deeper into the theory in Spin-mediated consciousness theory: possible roles of neural membrane nuclear spin ensembles and paramagnetic oxygen.

Experimentally, we have contemplated from the perspective of our theory on the possibility of entangling the quantum entities inside the brain with those in an external anaesthetic sample and carried out experiments toward that end. We found that applying magnetic pulses to the brain when a general anaesthetic sample was placed in between caused the brain to feel the effect of said anaesthetic for several hours after the treatment as if the test subject had actually inhaled the same. The said effect is consistently reproducible on all subjects tested. We further found that drinking water exposed to magnetic pulses, laser light, microwave or even flashlight when an anaesthetic sample was placed in between also causes consistently reproducible brain effects in various degrees. Further, through additional experiments we have verified that the said brain effect is the consequence of quantum entanglement between quantum entities inside the brain and those of the chemical substance under study induced by the photons of the magnetic pulses or applied lights.

Naturally, I don’t fully agree with their Pan-ProtoPsychic approach, but it is fully consistent with William Tiller’s PsychoEnergetics, in which it is the coupling field, the deltron moeity, which displays the key element of consciousness, which is the ability to meaningfully manipulate information. From the perspective of PsychoEnergetics, plant consciousness is not at all surprising.