Who's Screening Who?

I'd like to take you, take you to the ceremony
Well, that is if I remember the way
Jack and Jill, they're going to join their misery
I'm afraid it's time for everyone to pray - Leonard Cohen

A common argument against accounts of abduction seems to amount to Why don't they take me? (Stephen Hawking has written something very close to this.) Or if not me, then someone I regard as a meritorous representative of humanity. (Larry King, a few weeks ago, during a rare break from missing-girl-in-Aruba coverage: "Why don't they abduct someone like...Colin Powell? Just kiddin' ya - we'll be right back.")

This argument from counter-anecdote - if it didn't happen to me, it didn't happen - holds several false assumptions: that abductees are predominately backwoods simpletons; that the abduction phenomenon must be about alien science; and that entities sufficiently weird to conduct such abductions would place extraordinary value upon those we consider extraordinary.

While there's no evidence of extraordinary value, there is at least one Nobel Laureate who describes a bizarre series of encounters and missing times episodes suggestive of abduction events.

American biochemist Dr Kary Mullis was awarded the Nobel in 1993 for his discovery ten years earlier of the polymerase chain reaction (PCR), which provided a method for genetic researchers to make copies of strands of DNA.

Mullis, left, receiving the Nobel Prize in Chemistry


One Friday night in 1985, Mullis drove to his cabin in northern California and arrived about midnight. He dropped off his groceries, turned on the solar-powered lights, grabbed a flashlight and headed for the outhouse, about 50 feet away.

In his book Dancing Naked in the Mind Field, Mullis describes what next happened:

[A]t the far end of the path under a fir tree, there was something glowing. I pointed my flashlight at it anyhow. It only made it whiter where the beam landed. It seemed to be a raccoon. I wasn't frightened. Later, I wondered if it could have been a hologram, projected from God knows where.

The raccoon spoke. "Good evening, doctor," it said. I said something back, I don't remember what, probably, "Hello."

The next thing I remember, it was early in the morning. I was walking along a road uphill from my house.

Six hours were missing. As was his flashlight, which was never recovered. His groceries were where he'd left them, and the cabin light was still on. He discovered later that day that "the most beautiful part of my woods" had irrationally become a place of deep dread. As far as I know, Mullis has not attempted to recover the missing time through hypnosis.

And it's not only Mullis who has experienced strange phenomena at his cabin. Some time later, and before having told anyone of his encounter and missing time, his daughter Louise lost three hours wandering down the same hill, reappearing in the same spot just as her distraught boyfriend was about to call the police. And to Bill Chalker, author of the recently published, and fascinating, Hair of the Alien (which recounts the first forensic DNA analysis of a purportedly alien artifact), Mullis said that a guest at a party to celebrate his Nobel win in 1993, unfamiliar with his account of the "raccoon," encountered a "small glowing man" on a hill leading to the cabin. The figure suddenly expanded to full size and said "I'll see you tomorrow." He left the party with a friend for their hotel rooms in a nearby town. Very early the next morning he found himself outside in the hotel parking lot, "terrified by the impression that he had somehow been back" to the cabin.

Mullis tells Chalker that he considers the nature of the experiences to be stranger than extraterrestrial, and speculates that multidimensional physics, of the nature popularized by physicist Michio Kaku in Hyperspace and Parallel Worlds, is closer to the truth: "It's like anything can goddamn happen and the speed of light is not really the limit in terms of interactions with other cultures."

Mullis again, from Dancing in the Mind Field:

I wouldn't try to publish a scientific paper about these things, because I can't do any experiments. I can't make glowing raccoons appear. I can't buy them from a scientific supply house to study. I can't cause myself to be lost again for several hours. But I don't deny what happened. It's what science calls anecdotal, because it only happened in a way that you can't reproduce. But it happened.

But what happened? The talking raccoon has the earmark of an absurd screen memory to mask the authentic event. So: who was behind the screen?

We'll likely never know who was behind this particular screen, or the small, glowing man of Mullis's friend. As far as Mullis is concerned, he appears content to keep it that way. But the note of the vanished flashlight is a detail suggestive of a trip to Magonia, and the folkloric tradition of entities stealing small possessions of those they encounter. But not all screens mask the same Other.

This is one of those places of great divide between those already marginalized by consensus reality: survivors who have suffered either abduction or ritual abuse and mind control. And again, the argument is often from anecdote, invalidating another's experience because it does not conform to the parameters of one's own.

But the abduction phenomenon is too global, too diverse and too weird for it all to be ascribed to human agency, even agencies with sinister and out-of-control aspects such as the CIA, the NSA and others. There is just too much of it, and there has been for too long, to say it all goes back to our spooks. Though it does seem to be a complicated dance. The inhuman and the human transgressors appear to provide cover for one another, establishing each other's alibi. And this is easy to accomplish, because they are engaged in sympathetic and complementary enterprises, in the sense that both projects are physical and spiritual violations of human subjects. By forcing their will upon the minds of innocents, both are black workings of a sort, and both are able to operate freely because they share the self-negating characteristic of absurdity.

We're told to pay no regard to the man behind the curtain. Sometimes, we may find it's not a man.


By the way, thanks to Albion for the reminder of the 25th anniversary of Gladio's bombing of the Bologna train station. It's interesting to see Gladio's old hand Michael Ledeen push hard for imminent war with Iran in his August 1st column: "In coming days and weeks, we will see whether the mullahs will prevail against us." Raise the false flag, Ledeen; let's see who salutes it this time.