Combat Diary 11
Escapees celebrate the arrival of Combat Diary 11
"When the world begins to behave as you think it should behave, be at your most suspicious."
Postmodern Equation: INPUT=old torn poster of Marilyn Monroe; OUTPUT=Infinity
Dear Beloved Escapees,
Chapter 2: The Memory of Water by Jacques Benveniste.
Chapter 3: The Adventures of Panzerben.
Chapter 4: Thoughts on Abductions by Bill E. Budd
Chapter 5: Extraordinary Claim? Move the Goal Posts! by Patrick Huyghe, author of Swamp Gas Times.
Chapter 6: Posthuman Possibilities and the Future of Intelligent Life by José Cordeiro
Chapter 7: Short Story: The Latex Princess by the Bad Man
Chapter 8: The Adventures of Prod and Tonto By Albertus Magnus. A monthly soap opera about a pair of sceptical UFO researchers recently given the Fortean Times UFO column. Not to be missed. Any resemblance to living characters is quite deliberate. Apologies to non-English speakers. This language is known to folklorists as Yorkshire Relish.
Chapter 9 : Invasion of the Para-Apes by Donald Lewis.
Events and Information
Mary Rodwell, author of Awakening (Fortune Books 2002)
gave a brilliant talk at the Leeds Conference recently. Mary will be
speaking in London 4th October, and in Cornwall 11th October, 2003. Her
new domain addresses are:
Meet the Team of Panzerben:
And many others too numerous to mention whose faces
cannot be shown due to many issues and considerations and mishaps
extraordinary. These mainly involve Social Security, Probation officers,
Social workers, the banks, the police, the judiciary, psychiatrists, the
Law, alien abductors, Men in Black, the Security Services, and in certain
cases Parents, film & TV producers and parents. Many of these young
escapees are suffering from bad liberal burn from the everlasting idiot’s
lantern, and conversations about gear boxes, DIY, sport, and something
called the Economy. Unfortunately we have to hand back many of those who
have made it successfully over the perimeter wire, if only to see living
screens that offer better viewing and in most case at least, have no
Coming in the July 2003 Issue:
-Perfect Bound: The new Fortean Times
-Part 2 of the Scientist as Hero
-Further adventures of Panzerben
-Introduction to Postmodernism Part 1
-More "real" UFO investigations
of Scargill the Prod and Tonto. In this Episode 2, the Big Prod goes to
see The Brentford Polonius (the Editor of Magonia Magazine) for advice. He
has fallen in love with twenty-stone Brenda 'Ardcastle, the last woman
collier in Macclesfield, and wants to know how to get rid of that mystical
enchantment he hates and despises. The trouble with Brenda 'Ardcastle is
that she not only does she still wear clogs, she is an ardent UFO believer
in the bargain. What is our hero to do? What advice will The Brentford
Polonius give? Will it be real? Will Brenda 'Ardcastle ever replace
Georgina, the Big Prod's last Grand Passion?
The essay on alien abductions by Bill Budd and para-apes by Donald Lewis included in this June 2003 issue of the Combat Diaries suggests that what we so easily call "reality" may be much more complex than we have ever realized. In vain do we try and simplify the world and ourselves. This results in what might be termed wonder management rather then the absurdly simple "facts" versus "fictions." Anyone who believes that the world consists of such simple distinctions should visit a magistrate's court first thing on a Monday morning to have such thoughts cast out forever.
In this respect, I suggest we reconsider what contact with an "advanced" intelligence (or a number of very different ones simultaneously) might be like. Such might consist of many shades of being, from an image on junior's puffer-train to the utterly fantastic events of the Linda Cortile case. Therefore instead of the very WASP image of a worthy bourgeois alien doing very recognizable bourgeois things, we might well meet very advanced form of levels of play. In my opinion, this is what such people as Adamski and Corso met up with, and they both became confused when dealing with entities that played confusion games with them with just about as much respect as regards their dignity and state of mind as we had for black African slaves of 1800. Just read about what stone-age Pacific island cargo-cults did with old black-and-white images of Garry Cooper, bits of crashed B29 bombers and tins of Spam, and we have just about got it right as concerns what is probably happening to us at this very moment in time.
The human mind is not a machine. It was not designed for accuracy, stability, rationality, or mechanical logic of any kind. It was built to manufacture countless transcendental options, whose "being" and "reality" varies awell a strangelong a scale from sold to vaporous. We navigate mentally by hoaxing ourselves, by creative hallucinations; we wind these things up like toys and watch them click and weeze their faltering way to east of the sun and west of the moon. When we look into ourselves, we see that we are made up of impostures numberless, like an Eiffel Tower made of watch and clock parts.
To my mind, such manifestations as Adamski's Orthon the Venusian and the para-apes are neither real nor false things; these old industrial distinctions are useless for a media and web age. We really musr replace the false and the true by sets of gaming options. Orthon and the par-apes are such options. They are just a few of the countless forms that always prowl around the camp-fire of central consciousness. They are neither real nor unreal, but exist within a scale of allowances. We experience what we allow to happen. Such options are the very stuff of time itself: without them we could not change, go on to the next bend in the cultural river. In other words the para-apes and Orthon are parts of shadow-games we keep in reserve, games we are all secretly rehearsing. If we wish, they will readily assume the appearance of fact and solidity, and may the gods help us if we make the wrong choice, give the wrong permission. for there are many forms waiting in the wings infinitely more harmful than Orthon or the para-apes.
I am asked frequently why I wrote a book about George Adamski. I first got interested in him because everybody called him an imposter. By this I mean that he was holistcally near the forms I have here described. Many boasted about having “exposed” Adamski’s frauds, trickery, and his chronic deceptions concerning his UFO photographs and his stories of contact with extraterrestrial beings in the early 1950s. At the time I first came across his books in 1965, I was sorry that he died in that year, if only because I would have liked to write to him just to see what monstrous lies came back in reply, so that I could properly join the ranks of his accusers. Such a number of deceptions and variety of impostures seemed to me at the time to be almost impossible for one man to achieve in one lifetime. I imagined even 12-year-olds having a quick smoke behind the bike sheds swapping boasting stories about how they exposed George Adamski. Thus did Adamski’s 1953 book, Flying Saucers Have Landed, written with Desmond Leslie, introduce me to intellectual eroticism for the first time. This book was an effective antidote to the highly suspicious facts, calculations, and certainties of the chalk-gray schoolmasters around me. The thought that these men were telling lies far greater than any told by George Adamski impressed me even at that tender age. The vast demoniacal architecture of the “factual” conspiracy scared me a little, a fear and suspicion that was to remain with me all my life.
Yes, Adamski's book had arrived like a guiding lamp in the dark. In the great meantime, I now had friends George Adamski and Diana Dors, every boy's actress pin-up at the time. These were my surrogate parents. Adamski raised the phallus of the mind. Diana Dors took care of the rest. They were the parents I always wanted. Suitably born, I was a true young citizen of the burgeoning Entertainment State and its first primitive virtual realities. Later, as my troubled youth got more complicated by the hour, Adamski’s Orthon was to be joined by Keel’s Mothman as yet more rebel books arrived by the month.
At times I imagined Adamski so exposed that he became almost invisible, and had to wear clothes around his nothingness, rather like the Invisible Man of the H.G. Wells story. Since those innocent times, the need to disbelieve the claims of such UFO contactees as Adamski became a kind of inverse sacrament for the conformist rationalists and sceptics of different generations to his schoolmasters. Adamski was certainly intellectual heresy incarnate. He attracted accusations of any and every kind of falsehood and chicanery. Like mega-famous movie stars, I imagined Adamski (rather like Lee Oswald indeed) often got out of bed in the morning eager to read about what mischief his many alter egos had got up to in the world overnight. I often imagine Adamski's space brothers and sisters as airy doppelgangers breaking out of the pseudo-fictions of pseudo-plots to weave shadow-stories of their own, strewing urban legends like biblical sowers of seeds.
Like Lee Harvey Oswald (another man who walked through 20th century walls), I imagined Adamski so built of blatant accusations that a hand could be put through the mechanism of quasi-rumour that made up his pseudo flesh and blood. He was built and designed for the world of the UFO and all its inspirations and mysteries. A man of the Edge, he was built of those complex cultural advertisements that in future years were to replace the “objective facts” of the old previous old engine-shed world with its inputs and outputs, all to be shredded by Entertainment State like a newspaper under rain. Like Oswald again, putting together a single coherent twenty-four-hour frame of George Adamski’s life was difficult. The lives of most contactees were shaky, stage-board flats of conspiracy laid upon conspiracy. If such people do anything at all, they remind us of the mysteries forever surrounding those strange creatures called human beings. They remind us that we do not know what personality is, or where human identities begin and end within the mysteries of time and consciousness.
Adamski was a prime candidate for burning. He was witch-hunted just as the so-called communists of Adamski’s time were hunted by Senator Joe Macarthy. It is still a mystery to me just how Adamski missed permanent incarceration for breaking the structure of the world. Wilhelm Reich and Timothy Leary were not so lucky. I saw him as a hero straight out of The Catcher in the Rye, possibly captured by left-wing social workers and right-wing psychiatrists, or both sets of controllers at the same time, so little do their targets differ. In my mind I saw Adamski sitting staring into space in the tatty lounge of one of those liberal concentration camps so well described in Ken Kesey’s book, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, another great rebel manual.
I imagined him destroyed by ECT shocks, “experimental” drug “therapy” or perhaps assassinated by priests or scientists, or some other group of reality-managers. What was Adamski’s crime? Like my Diana Dors, he stirred up the great god-guarded Imagination, and he exercised one of the first great Refusals to Believe of the post-war world. As such, Adamski was a prototype postmodern, designed and built for the impostures of our Entertainment State just as were the “scientists” who were to ridicule and destroy him. It took me many years to come to the conclusion that science was just as much junk-culture as was Adamski’s much-abused second book, Inside the Spaceships.
Nearly a half century after his death, Adamski still disturbs and infuriates; denials and accusations still pursue his fleeting form as he enters the Star realms of Mesmer, and Cagliostro, Crowley and Blavatsky. He was star-stuff, and as such he can no more been seen “factually” than can Marilyn Monroe, Roswell, Candy Jones, Ray Palmer, and Jack Parsons; like these things, he was a marvellously complex transformation symbol. His flesh and bones mattered little. He was pure Personality, and he was at the dawn of a new time when the atoms of Isaac Newton were transforming into Personalities. Personality is not about “solid objects” it is about smells and echoes, touch, sound; personality is pure nostalgia for the infinite magic of live individuality, the mysteries of being alive.
Adamski and others like him introduced me to a vastly more powerful way of “knowing” than the village blacksmith “factual art” of sceptics, that is something born of Polytechnic ledger-clerks and those who would complain that Winston Churchill’s History of the English Speaking Peoples does not contain any statistics. Such scepticism is usuall derived from both the Old and the New Left, politically-correct social-study courses, and an indigenous Protestantism. As a non-Christian, I did note that the Vatican had no problems with UFOs or beings such as Orthon. I
If facts existed at all, I used
them as preliminary sketches in mind-margins as suggestions for journeys
within personalities, and I soon discarded them. As I said to a baffled
English Don at the time, I was as interested in facts as Leonardo would
have been interested in the bra size of the Mona Lisa. His reply was that
I was going to have a difficult time at Oxford, which proved to be true.
Rubbish, I hear you all cry?
Eileen Buckle in her 1967 Book The Scoriton Mystery, includes a clear full-plate photograph of Arthur Bryant. Tired, world- weary UFO investigators should take a look at this photograph.
They will be looking at the young George Adamski.
Chapter 1 click here