You know how I know I’m not very smart? I might be able to convince myself I’m excessively clever at times, in various states of divine intoxication, but I always come back to earth. At the end of the day, my poetic super-mind basically goes blank the second a cute girl walks by or someone throws on a basketball game. All of a sudden I’m a drooling animal. Total right brain switch off. Some refer to this primal aspect lurking within ourselves as the reptilian mind. Should be noted that I also smoke a ton of pot and that’s a positive aspect of pot smoking I don’t hear too many people talk up. When you’re high a lot, you do a lot of hilariously stupid shit, which is good for your psychology because you start to find it impossible to look at yourself in too serious a light. This is good for everyone. Which is a big part of the reason I’ll always like Lebron James more than Michael Jordan straight up, regardless of how many championships he wins. Dude just seems to have a better sense of humor. Winning isn’t always everything and the only thing.
There’s a joke I often reference in regards to my bizarrely obsessive and seemingly increasing sports addiction: “You can take the boy out of Ohio, but you can’t take the Ohio out of the boy.” I spent my late elementary school through college years in Ohio, and I’m fairly sure every single state uses this same turn of phrase as a badge of pride. Even though I grew up playing sports, in all honesty, the hyper-competitive, hyper-masculine nature of the culture has always creeped me out more than a bit. In my early twenties, there was a great degree of conflict in me regarding this particular infatuation. Eventually I was just like, fuck it, for some reason this inane shit makes me happy, and that’s hard to find in this world, so just fucking run with it already. And here I am, a guy who’s life subtly revolves around getting way too excited about high profile NFL and NBA games (and sometimes even more excited about low profile ones which is even more sports nerdy). Watching sports has a calming effect on me and I often watch while I’m working out, which is I suppose positive. Okay, who am I kidding, it’s freaking weird. But where did this weirdness in me stem from exactly? Not something I was honestly addressing about my own psychology until I started dabbling in remote viewing back in January.
You heard that right. A week or so before Mr. Bio-Mind Super Powers himself, Ingo Swann passed away, Gabriel D. Roberts, David Metcalfe, and a lovely young psychic named Pamela Maravilla Samuelson agreed to participate in a remote viewing exercise I devised via Facebook (friend me for updates on this sort of thing). Despite reading about remote viewing extensively in my early twenties, I’d never actually tried it directly, although I must confess a lot of my sigil design technique was somewhat reverse engineered from the practice. The premise of this experiment was simple: I’d mentally assign a random target to a few three digit numbers and e-mail each of them a different number. They’d then put themselves in a slightly altered state and try to pick up on the meaning I associated with the corresponding number and send me the results. Keep in mind that these targets could be absolutely anything in the multiverse. Did it work? If it didn’t, I probably wouldn’t be writing this now would I?
Test Experiment #1 – Gabriel D. Roberts
One of the more interesting things I’ve read about remote viewing, is that you can pick very concrete targets or completely intangible ones. Both appear to work. This is the entire reason I wanted to do this experiment in the first place. If you’ve been reading my stuff here, you might have caught that I was recently told that my guardian daemonic entity was Enlil (better known as Beelzebub in western circles). Fucking ridiculous right? Exactly, which is why I wanted another psychic to take a look at as if to ask, am I picking up on that right, because it seems insanely absurd? And so the target I assigned the great Gabriel D. Roberts was that of my Guardian Daemonic Entity. Going into this, I thought to myself, if he comes back with insects or eyes, that’s going to trip me out more than a bit. Here’s what he texted me:
Holy fuck. The first thing he drew was a fucking eye. And a surprised one. Strangely, there is always a look of surprise or astonishment in these eyes when I see them. It’s like they’re amazed I’m looking back at them because they’re not used to that particular sensation. Then it gets stranger as in the following weeks I increasingly started focusing on the singular eye, which I also wrote about here.
In addition, dead hit on insects. Did I mention that Enlil’s spirit form is the fly? And it gets even more peculiar. The image of the Venus fly trap, as if, I’ve got this Daemon in my clutches, which I also wrote about in my magick journal (friend me) here:
January 13th, 2013 (year of the witch)–
“the daemonic element of our society is dying. This is a process that will take a great deal of time, but the wheels are now in motion. The sacred angelic energy will devour the daemonic masculine and feast on it’s carcass to feed its new telepathically connected pupas. “Our parents are going to have children younger than us” – as it was once put to me. I am to help facilitate the process of drawing from this dark daemonic energy and using it against itself. I’m committing patricide and there is a sadness in this. The daemonic forces have done much for us and the era of male centered cultural institutions must be rebuilt with a new surge of sex energy from the heavens.”
A terrified eye indeed.
Gets even weirder. See the little thing that Gabriel described a single grain of rice. Sort of looks like fly doesn’t it. He later told me it came across like a maggot to a certain extent and it was one of the most clear things he’s ever seen while remote viewing. And then there’s the hive and it’s associations with telepathic unity. In a nutshell, this is essentially why I did the experiment. Yep, I have the power of Enlil at my disposal and I should be using it to balance out our overly masculine corner of the multiverse. Sure, I’ll get right on that. Also should be noted that a grey alien apparently showed up in Gabriel’s room a week later, just for good measure. The spider hive mind from Whitley Strieber fame? “We are the grey aliens”, that’s what they fucking told me at one point. You’d think things couldn’t get even more out there, but they do. On to our next contestant.
Test Experiment #2 – Pamela Maravilla Samuelson
Now, I didn’t know Pamela at all before this exercise, but she claims to have potent psychic abilities. She also found the concept of trying to pick up on the essence of a random number a tad unusual as it’s not normally how she operates. Her target was Key Arena in Seattle and this is what she sent me:
“-similarly composed, a number, not 994 (this was her target number), at the top of a blank page. this led into a flash of a young man reading alone, interrupted by receiving news, noticing the page of the book he had been reading as an event-marker.
- a sense of an earlier time, which to me feels like college-era, that age range – late teens into early twenties.
- an old american flag, which feels like an heirloom or stolen trophy, something with a lot of pride & feeling attached to it, hanging on a wall which is wooden or covered in wood paneling. seems like it might be in a basement.
- fabric: turquoise with red, yellow and white triangles on it. like an 80s polo shirt, or bedsheets from a long time ago.
- a whole feeling of a different time, nostalgia. the Northeast, the beginning of winter. being younger. relationships from that time that have changed or ended. missing things. a flannelly-cosy feeling. a dark haired girl with bangs, peripherally. growing up.
-i have no idea what the hell, but hope that’s somehow useful, or at least entertaining.”
Okay, so I actually read this at work really quickly and was sort of disappointed. Didn’t appear on at all, but I vowed to take another look when I had more time. Going through it again, chills raced through the very depths of my spirit’s core. By god, she wasn’t picking up on Key Arena at all, but my emotional association with Key Arena. Those not familiar with Seattle sports should note that it’s where The Supersonics played, and they recently got sold out of town to be reborn as the now disturbingly good Oklahoma City Thunder. How can a team honestly draft that well? It’s unprecedented. Fuck them. Anywho, I even wrote about this strange incident regarding the Sonics I had years back on my Facebook page a few weeks prior to the experiment, right when we found out we were getting a new team:
“As the return of professional basketball now seems imminent in Seattle, let’s just take a minute to reflect on the fact that our gain is someone else’s loss. So is the nature of the universe. I lived in Sacramento briefly during my senior year in High School (who moves their kid during their senior year of High School?), which was one of the darkest periods of my life. One of the few bright spots of this stint involved my Dad taking me to a few Kings games. I was sort of shocked. The team was fucking terrible, but the stands were packed with screaming fans regardless. It was this energy that willed the undermanned Mitch Richmond and co. to pull out improbable wins in all the games I attended. The support was unwavering, probably due to it quite literally being the only game in town. There are no pro baseball, hockey, or football teams currently in Sacto, which I’m sure lead to this unwavering devotion.
One of the more surreal moments of my adult life came about six years back as the Sonics were in the process of being shipped out of town. I went out to eat some Thai food on my lunch break and someone had left a Seattle Times lying around. I flipped through all the horrific Iraq war coverage completely unaffected before getting to the sports page where they were running a Sonics retrospective. It nearly brought me to tears and I had to compose myself as to not weird out the restaurant’s other patrons. If you’re looking for a better encapsulation of the psychosis brought on by modern westernized society, I can’t think of one.
So, as the negotiations continue, just take a second to recognize that many die hard King fans, who probably grew up from a very young age supporting their home squad are now feeling the exact same pain we were back then. On an upside for mourning Kings fans though, the now surging Golden State Warriors are only an hour and a half away. Moment of silence……………….and done. LET’S GO SONICS!!!!!”
See how odd this is getting.
“a young man reading alone, interrupted by receiving news, noticing the page of the book he had been reading as an event-marker.”
“an old american flag, which feels like an heirloom or stolen trophy, something with a lot of pride & feeling attached to it, hanging on a wall which is wooden or covered in wood paneling. seems like it might be in a basement.”
The Sonics being sold out of town and my emotional reaction to that. Again, holy fuck? As a matter of fact, as I was reading this, I realized that both when I wrote that at work and in the restaurant the day it happened, I intentionally suppressed my emotions regarding the franchise heist for obvious reasons, and so right then, with no one else around, I cried for about five minutes, finally acknowledging my sense of corporate betrayal and exactly why it hurt so much. It felt like a precious piece of my childhood being stolen from me. The Sonics were at their peak in the Gary Payton, Sean Kemp era, right during the period she was describing in my life. You know that wooden paneled basement. Yep, that’s where I used to watch my basketball. We had an American flag out front.
“- fabric: turquoise with red, yellow and white triangles on it. like an 80s polo shirt, or bedsheets from a long time ago.”
I wore those exact sort of shirts, which where trendy at the time (Midwestern fashion, what are you going to do?).
“a whole feeling of a different time, nostalgia. the Northeast, the beginning of winter. being younger. relationships from that time that have changed or ended. missing things. a flannelly-cosy feeling. a dark haired girl with bangs, peripherally. growing up.”
Okay, now it gets even more on point. I do in fact have a profound sense of nostalgia for the time in my life when I was dating my first real girlfriend in Columbus, dark haired girl with bangs, I believe she wore flannel from time to time (okay, Ohio isn’t the Northeast though, sorry, it’s close). Probably the reason I’m to this day, an enormously nerdy Guided By Voices fan. I get nostalgic every time fall rolls around as well, and have always missed that aspect of the Midwest. It reminds me of football.
Pamela didn’t hit on the target of Key Arena (where I’ve seen things like Sonics playoff games). She hit on why I chose that target, and in doing so made me address something about my psychology I’ve been apparently consciously avoiding, namely: “that you can take the boy out of Ohio, but you can’t take the Ohio out of the boy.” Why do I still play video basketball like a crack head? Why do I still follow Ohio State athletics to the best of my abilities despite living in Seattle? Why am I such an enormous fucking Lebron James fan?
In the coming weeks, it starts to add up more and more. This is all coming at me after having a visionary experience a month earlier which pointed out to me that from a fifth dimensional time-space perspective, everything we know is happening at once. A huge chunk of my young life was spent playing basketball in suburban Youngstown in the late eighties and early nineties. I’d wager nearly as much as has been spent playing music and writing in Seattle. Those creative endeavors are what I’ve been focusing on more in the last fifteen years or so, but your upbringing truly does shape your character in ways that are nearly impossible to comprehend.
God, and how screwed is Cleveland? One thing I didn’t hear many people talking about after the Super Bowl this year was how this is now the second title the former Cleveland Browns have won after leaving for Baltimore. Then there’s the whole Lebron championship, right in the same year. It’s like the only sports town in the country Seattle can feel sorry for. But we’ll feel your pain someday Cleveland. Imagine if the Cavs got sold out of town right after you drafted King James. Yeah, welcome to Seattle. Even though we’re getting a new Sonics franchise, we’re going to get housed by the Thunder for the next decade at least, which brings me to my first psychic sports prediction: The Oklahoma City Thunder will win the 2017 championship. Unavoidable. The Durantchula is going to be completely unstoppable in a few more years. Also:
There’s Never Going to Be a Next Jordan!
Fucking obvious. Sorry, there’s too much talent in the league now. With population rates climbing through the roof and no real end in sight, the league just gets more and more ridiculously competitive, especially when you take the increasing global expansion into account. We used to steal the Olympics and now it’s competitive. No one’s going to win six titles and be the MVP of all those finals series. And let’s face it, Jordan maybe could have won eight if he didn’t retire and play baseball for a few years after his father’s murder (so tragic). And that’d be the thing, maybe there shouldn’t be another Jordan. The dude just seems wound a bit too tight. I admire his insanely competitive nature, mastery of the sport and all, but basketball players typically retire in their late thirties. I lost exactly zero respect for him in his return to the Wizards. Amusing as all get out in my opinion and he became the first player over forty to score forty or more in a game. Then there was that incredible All Star game.
But there’s also the crazy divorce, the problematic gambling, the oddly creepy motor cycle racing obsession, and the being the worst NBA executive/owner in the history of time thing. Guy drafted Adam Morrison and Kwame Brown. It’s almost impossible to be that bad. How are the Bobcats doing this year? Let’s all keep in mind that life goes on after basketball. I have a feeling Lebron , will be a bit better adjusted off the court and will maybe live out his dream of being the first NBA player/billionaire (guy once almost got in a fight with Joakim Noah for dancing of all things in blow out victory in Cleveland, seriously, dancing). Which brings me to my next prediction.
Lebron James will win exactly four NBA titles. It will be a three-pHeat (so sorry for that). The team will then lose the next year, maybe in the finals to the Clippers and this will cause tension between Dwayne Wade and Lebron. A key injury will probably be involved. One of them will leave town. Lebron will eventually win one more title, with another team, possibly Cleveland, several years down the road. Sort of like Shaq, who was my favorite player before Lebron came into the league (again, great sense of humor). One last note, the new look Seattle Supersonics will win the title in 2023. And those, are some bold predictions my friend. Never mind all that I-know-who’s-going-to-win-tomorrow-night’s-game kids table stuff. Ingo would be proud. Oh, and it should be mentioned that I put no real stock in these predictions. Sports are hard to fucking nail down, although I have had some luck over the years. Not enough that I’m much of a betting man if you know what I mean?
Also, if you’re still tuned in, there was one more experiment, featuring the illustrious David Metcalfe:
Test Experiment #3:
David’s not good at remote viewing by his own admission and I gave him a ridiculously ethereal target, namely my Holy Guardian Angel. I have no idea what to even think about this target, but I assumed it’d be right along the lines of the intense white light energy reported in near death experiences. Here’s what David sent me:
2nd session – neon red movement, deep red silhouette.
They are 1 – Top 2 – Bottom on the drawing
Okay, now this is admittedly less impressive. But, I must confess that the first words he says involve white, and that picture could be encountering the holy trinity while entering what some refer to as the kingdom of heaven. Kind of looks like gates. I’d say it’s a half hit. So that’s 2.5 for 3 on the remote viewing front. If that doesn’t seem super impressive, please keep in mind that these targets could have been anything. ANYTHING. They could have been Saturn or chewing gum, Charles Barkely or UFO’s. Anything. If there is going to be a next Jordan, I’d say it’d be the guy who figures out how to tap into this stuff a bit better. Every one who’s played basketball knows what it’s like to be in “the zone”. You start hitting shots you didn’t even know you could take by force of pure intuition alone. If you could truly master this potent mind body/connection, I believe you could fly.