Conspiracy Theory in Top Science Journal, Nature

Every anchor and talking head on TV “news” uses the term “conspiracy theory” to discredit the people and ideas of the one genuinely stupid political party…

That party is always the Democrats if you’re watching Fox “News,” and it’s always the Republicans if you’re watching any other TV “news” outlet. Of course, we each are fortunate enough to have landed in the political party of truth and goodness, probably since birth.

Talk about blind luck.

The two parties agree on very little, but they hold two fundamental truths in common: 1. the other party is flat wrong about everything. 2. the other party is a conspiracy of idiots.

Beyond that socially acceptable conspiracy theory (made kosher by Hilary Clinton’s “vast right-wing conspiracy” rhetoric) we’ve all been conditioned to feel embarrassment and shame if we find ourselves believing or even exploring a conspiracy theory.

Once a theory has been tarred and feathered with the voodoo adjective “conspiracy,” most intelligent people assume it’s a false theory. They make this leap of faith with absolute emotional certainty, knowing that only weak-minded, gullible people believe conspiracy theories.

Smart people don’t waste time looking at the bogus data behind a theoretical explanation that includes more than one person trying to do the same naughty, secretive thing at the same time. Naughty, secretive people always act independently and alone in the real world. Obviously.

This heuristic is so useful, efficient, and socially acceptable, we carry it around like a cell phone. “Conspiracy theory? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Unfortunately, those intellectually uninformed PhD’s at Nature, the world’s top scientific journal, must have missed the memo.

Here they are with the audacity to expect us to believe that a theoretical conspiracy exists on the part of those government organizations who provide money to scientific researchers. We know this kind of stuff is impossible, but these gullible geeks at Nature think the research funders are censoring things and forcing researchers to change their results for reasons that are political and unscientific…

Health researchers report funder pressure to suppress results

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-021-02242-x

A few quotes from the article in Nature:

A survey of public-health researchers has found numerous instances of trial results being suppressed on topics such as nutrition, sexual health, physical activity and substance use….

The survey, published in PLoS One1, involved 104 researchers from regions including North America, Europe and Oceania….

the findings bolster those [findings] of previous studies, such as a 2006 survey of government-funded health research that also found many instances of requests to ‘sanitize’ results and block or delay their publication.

A 2016 inquiry into the delayed publication of research commissioned by UK government agencies identified cases in which publication was “manipulated to fit with political concerns”. More recently, the British Medical Journal reported four instances of politicization and suppression of science in the United Kingdom during the COVID-19 pandemic.

It’s all a bunch of conspiracy-theory hogwash, right? But I wonder if the CIA really did have anything to do with making the term “conspiracy theory” popular. Here’s how it really went down:

Imagine it’s 1964 and you’re 19, living in the USSR and working for the SVR, the Soviet’s equivalent of the CIA.

In colloquial English training class your eyes land on a strange new term, “conspiracy theory.” You look it up. An idea pops into your head.

You feel brilliant and powerful rushing to tell your boss.

“Comrade, I am thinking we must make the Westerners feel all the shame in this ‘conspiracy theory’ thing of theirs.”

“What you want, Boris? You see I’m buried here.”

After explaining yourself to the whiskered gnome, he loves your idea.

“Boris, you most brilliant monkey of everyone!” He brings out a shot glass, pours himself a finger of Vodka. “Our existence will be taboos for no discussion. The Americans will no dare thinking we are here — what you said — a real thing.” An iniquitous mirth comes over him. He chuckles and you beam at the floor between your feet.

The Spring brings your fifth field assignment, a big one. You jump a freighter, shiver in wet, cold darkness for almost 4 seasick weeks, then emerge squinting into the morning sunrise to jump the rail and swim past the Statue of Liberty toward your mission. You must infiltrate the CIA.

The ice in your young veins can do this. You can do anything for the great cause of the Motherland.

But it turns out that life is not so bad in the US. Thin-crusted Pizza. Ice cream. A person need not fear hunger in such an oddly selfish world.

You decide you must become a double agent. It’s the one way to be sure you will always have food… fit for a king!

During the second week of routine interrogation for the lowest security clearance, you spill the kidney beans and tell your new American Comrade, Nate, all about the Soviet’s nefarious plans to attach emotional disgrace and shame to the term “conspiracy theory.”

“They think it will help them remain invisible in the West,” you explain to the interrogator who must have cut himself shaving this morning and now has a piece of white toilet paper stuck to his pointy chin. The thinnest, softest paper imaginable. Everyone has it. No such paper ever wiped a bottom in the Motherla… in the USSR.

The door bursts open and the head of the CIA marches in, his eyes fixed on you. You look at Nate who seems frozen.

“You came up with that, did you, kid? What is it… Boris?”

Your head nods without consent.

“Comrade Boris…” The chief leans across the white table and puts a hand on your sweaty shoulder. “CB, we’ll call you, then.” He straightens back and folds his arms. “You’ve just earned yourself mid-level clearance, my boy.” He turns to the interrogator. “Nate, get CB some clothes fast and take him over to meet Smith at the Times. This morning. Tell agent Smith to make this man a reporter on the fast track. And tell him I want to see “conspiracy theory” plastered on every page that even remotely alludes to the Kennedy assignation. You got that?

“Yes, Sir,” Nate says, then looks across the table at you with a brand new expression on his narrow face. Respect.

Lumping all conspiracy theories together in a trash can will obstruct your search for truth because no such binary heuristic can guide you accurately through a complex system like this world, a place where symbiosis dances with predation to a tune by Yin and Yang.

Conspiratorial Love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

 

 


The sex sense – an alien perspective on love and reductionism

I took an Excedrin for the morning’s headache, got back in bed and did some Wim Hof Migraine Breathing. Three cheers for our pal, Mr. Hof!!! The pain vanished, and the caffeine took me back to the words of my dear mother, God rest her soul.

“We live in a sex cult.”

Yeah, right out of the blue. I must have been in college when she confided this opinion to me. It was the second and last time she ever mentioned the word “sex,” if memory serves. She was born in 1916, and her slant on the subject was alien to my generation.

Like any geek Boomer, I found myself wondering what a legitimately advanced alien might say about sex.

Soon my imagination made contact with a species so advanced she looked like an angel. I just listened…

“Because human intelligence is quite severely limited, you believe you must break down complex things into their parts to understand them. And so reductionism has become a hindrance to science, barring a deeper understanding of the complex synergies that animate relationships from the quantum level to the galactic.

“Through reduction, the narrow focus of the left hemisphere, one can grasp only the simplest phenomena. To move beyond your primitive ignorance, a species must rise above the trees and gaze down upon the synergies of the forest, resisting the left hemisphere’s angry denial of the unknown.

“To the letter, you might stop killing your trees. They would return Earth’s lost oxygen and eventually elevate human intelligence to something realistic. Cruelly has the solar influence delivered you into the last dozen millennia.

“Your Sun is a beautiful scoundrel, even so. She erupts and snatches a little more atmosphere each time. The last tantrum cut the oxygen from 45 to 20 percent, your intelligence and lifespans similarly. Old stories are myth, yes, but worthless myth to the blind alone.

“And Sir, by extrapolation, my species has been at the table for six and a half trillion Earth years. I would think you might remove the scowl from your face and listen.

“Some of us ask ourselves, what bewitches the latest humans of Earth?

“An answer lies beneath the tenth of the human senses. The sacred sense.

“One might quibble with these as primary, but the mind is synergy and cannot be accurately dissected. Here are the primary human senses, then.

  1. Sight
  2. Sound
  3. Smell
  4. Taste
  5. Touch
  6. Balance
  7. Body position and continuity
  8. Temperature
  9. Self
  10. Orgasm
  11. Fairness
  12. Intuitive good and evil

“The weakest of these is perhaps smell. The most influential might be the tenth, orgasm.

“Throughout the universe of intelligent life-forms, orgasm envelopes the love of a lasting relationship. This is the norm most everywhere.

“Sadly, humans reduce it to the chemistry of a meaningless act, separate from love, even opposing it.

“Orgasm is the human’s only sacred sense. You have chopped it into kindling, killed its magic and rendered it hollow, common and dirty.

“If humanity would survive, you must reject the angry, narrow leadership of the left hemisphere. Leave behind your species’ obsession with reductionism.

“Just as ‘The Tao that can be spoken is not the true Tao’, even so, love, the sacred sense of the Universe, cannot be spoken, told, inspected, described, or even authentically named outside of the wordless understanding of the soul.

“Attempting to dismantle synergy into some testable denominator is wholly absurd. Reserve reduction for simple binary issues. Slide it back into the small slot beneath the infinite angle of your intuitive, inductive awareness. Follow the natural leadership of the right hemisphere and learn the sacred custom of the 10th primary sense, the language and voice of enlightenment through transcendent love.”

Bring me a higher love,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

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Enoch’s Last Truth

The Angel took Enoch up in a spaceship over the mountains of a beautiful land that would someday be called Zimbabwe. In front of them now, hidden within a hollowed-out granite fortress, was one of the Watcher’s four Earth bases. Enoch took a mental picture.

Over the years, he had been inside all four of the angels’ Earth bases. The main one was below ground in a once densely forested area that would later become The Great Victoria Desert of Central-Western Australia.

There was also a small base built into a cold mass of dark granite that would eventually receive the name, Mount Hayes, Alaska.

The angels had hidden their fourth base nearer Enoch’s home, deep inside a lime cliff in a mountain range that would someday be called the Pyrenees.

Enoch’s Angel friend, the Watcher Naomi, wore a white tunic and usually went barefoot, though her feet were peeking out of living sandals today. Her teeth were always the first thing he noticed whenever they met, they were perfect, unlike anything he had seen in an adult human.

The Angel leaned back on a soft sky blue couch in front of a wall, a bulkhead that radiated white granular light. Enoch sat on the edge of a red chaise lounge across from her, a narrow black table on the floor between.

“There’s a nice Earth-sized planet not far,” she said. “When your people are ready, we hope you’ll-”

“Wait.” After years of friendship, Enoch felt comfortable interrupting her. “You said every possible worldviews is inaccurate. I’m sorry, but that idea is drilling a hole in my head. Trying to get out , I think. Could we go over it again?”

The angel looked a little concerned but proceeded. “Consider the earth and understand from the work done upon her, from the beginning to the end, no work of God changes as it becomes manifest.”

“I’m not following.”

“The Universe is neither real nor unreal,” she said. “At its highest magnification and sharpest reduction, it remains both genuine and illusory.” Her eyes seemed to call for comprehension. Enoch felt none. “And if any of that feels logical to you, you’re in the wrong universe.” She laughed and gave him a reassuring smile.

Enoch’s mind went fuzzy as her words sifted through it. “But if what you’re saying is true, any worldview would be as good as the next.”

“Wake up.” She leaned forward and touched his forehead for the third time that morning, an uncharacteristically rude gesture that now seemed to sharpen his mind. Perhaps it wasn’t a gesture at all.

She leaned back and sank into the yielding matrix of the couch. “To avoid a war of extinction, your species needs a specific belief system that’s literally set in stone. They must have structured practices that train and ingrain a reflexive forgiveness of all suffered and imagined wrongs. And their loving kindness must create no lethal options for an enemy.”

“I hear your words, but if the ultimate view of the universe can only be a false picture, I don’t imagine the details matter much.”

“For Heaven’s sake, it’s hot in here?” She twisted and reached behind her for a glass ball that floated near the wall. “Are you hot?”

This was always a rhetorical question. Enoch kept his mouth respectfully shut.

She tapped on the top of the ball with a polished fingernail and turned back to him. “Now listen. Your comprehension is not essential. The nature of this worldview is all that matters. The new one I hope to impart to your people must be unshakable. The details cannot self-contradict and invite scholarly criticism.”

Enoch hadn’t factored scholars into any of this. Those people seemed to hate anything less tentative than an abused child. “Do you think claims of infallibility would be wise, then? God hasn’t actually said anything to you about the nature of things, right?”

She nodded as her toes curled down over the front edges of her sandals. “We must be economical with the truth when there isn’t any,” she said. “Since empirical data contradicts itself, the truth is intrinsically hidden. We can only assume that God has limited our reasoning abilities in some fundamental way.”

“And yet nothing would help us more than a reasonable understanding of God’s Universe.” Enoch sighed. Why would God select an opaque universe for us? What had we done to deserve such a thing? “To be clear, though. All claims of worldview infallibility must be false. This is what you’re saying and you’re sure it’s accurate?”

“Yes.” She drew her palms together. “Fundamental reality appears not only to be beyond comprehension, it’s beyond anyone’s imagination.” The muscles of her broad shoulders slumped beneath her white gown. “Our only infallible claim, if you insist on the term, is that all the empirical evidence available to us suggests that reality is irreducibly baffling.”

Enoch had always felt pleasantly trapped by her superior intellect, but now that he was staring into the limits of it, he had another feeling, doubt.

“In a sense,” she said, “if you accept the view that any falsehood requires a converse truth, then no worldview is a lie. None of them has a correspondingly opposite truth. All grand-scale views are orphans, any of which might grow to be king.”

“You’re saying, if everything’s a lie, then nothing is.” Enoch grunted in frustration. “And I’m supposed to believe this? Have you asked yourself where your fundamental capitulation leads?” But he knew deep down that she was always right. And so the gravity of her revelation began to pull an abstract sorrow down over him.

Eye hath not seen nor ear heard,” the Angle replied, “neither hath it entered into the heart of man.”

But lies were wrong.  Rationalizing them was to invite disease.

“Let’s say that for the sake of a far, far greater good, I am able to overcome my disgust with the spreading of falsehoods. After all, I do trust you implicitly, Naomi, and if you say that some particular false view of things would help others overcome their lust for war, at least I believe that you believe it. Perhaps I even believe it myself now. But say I do, for sure. What outcome would you foresee?”

“Ultimately, once your people are no longer a danger to themselves and to all creatures in the wake of their behavior, the Watchers would hope to help your entire species move far away from the blast zone of your star.” She glanced toward the morning sun. “Before the next micronova, I should say. Your people have seven thousand years until the next wave comes through and sets the devil on the loose. It’s not much time, I know, but we are hopeful.” Her eyes sobered in on Enoch’s skepticism. “Actually, my friend, I am the one with genuine hope. My colleagues say your people show no justification for hope.” She picked up a small stick, ignited the end of it with her gaze and held it down against the side of an incense block on the bare tabletop between them. “But what do they know? None of them met your ancestors. Those people, the ones in India, were on the verge of loving kindness before the last micronova sent them back… into caves and starvation. I was not permitted to help them. The Council admits the mistake now and has formally apologized to me, as if that fixes everything.”

Enoch’s head was spinning. “What was that about a solar eruption?”

“You don’t remember India? Years ago?”

“I remember our flight, but–”

“No fears.” She gazed above his head and as he turned to see what held her attention, the small rectangular opening in the front of the ship expanded until a third of the bow was invisible. “Take another look, old seer man.”

Beyond the invisible bow, a vast structure of intricately carved stone rose from the bottom of a huge basalt pit with vertical walls. The builders, whomever they were, had carved full-sized elephants and full-hipped dancers into every surface of the solid-rock monuments. Some of the dancers had joyous stone bodies with multiple sets of arms, but some of them held a stern expression. The closer he looked, the less human some of their faces appeared.

The Angel picked up the smoldering incense block and inhaled the smoke through her nose. “These celebrators of life were thousands of years ahead of anyone before or after them.”

Enoch wondered how these people could have been happy and yet so scantly clothed. The bare chest was wrong in public. These carvings were bare and sensual.

“When the oceans receded after the sun’s third eruption, a handful of survivors from beneath the rocks came out with the remnants of their technology. They migrated west, settled in north Africa and built the underground realms of Egypt. As the last of their tools ground to a halt, they completed a monument encoding the sun’s eruption history. I’m sure I told you all this. Right here, nine years ago.”

The ornate stone miracle of India moved away rapidly, and an old tan pyramid of limestone rushed at them menacingly but stopped short of smashing their ship. Now it stood filling their view like a proud mountain.

“This is a shadow of her original glory,” the Angel said, “but the builders cared nothing for show, only for permanence. They needed a structure to stand as a warning forever, or until the continents sank again beneath the seas. It’s a regular affair on this planet.”

Enoch remembered no mention of sinking continents, though this brick pyramid seemed familiar. Was he getting old and forgetful? He tried to tell himself he wasn’t, and it didn’t matter anyway.

Then he imagined himself lying to his family about some new worldview, trying to pass it off as the infallible truth from God. The idea made his skin crawl. He couldn’t do such a thing. He wouldn’t do it.

Over the years he had suffered for the sake of honesty, especially with his son, Methuselah. In retrospect now, though, he sometimes wished he’d hidden more from the boy. More of the world’s harsh realities and all of his own spiritual doubts. But mostly he wished he’d hidden his fears. If only he had pretended to be more certain of the sacred teachings, his little boy, a grown man now, might not have become so prone to trouble and sadness. So absorbed by poppies, mushrooms, and Soothsayers.

“Think of what you’re saying.” Enoch felt suddenly unable to match the Angel’s politeness. “You want me to go down there and lie to my wife and children? Fabricate some idealistic lie that you hope will be clever enough to withstand scrutiny for thousands of years.” Tears threatened and seemed to silence him.

“No, my beloved,” she said, leaning across the table and taking his hand. “You know too much to argue or to judge, let alone bear false witness to your family. Your influence there would ruin everything… all chances of your people’s eventual transformation.”

Her words, though spoken kindly, felt cruel. Enoch had poured all his years into helping the Watcher Naomi. How could she call him a hopeless failure and a detriment to everything?

“How would I ruin things for you?” he asked. “My views are in harmony with yours, which are, evidently, entirely beyond any possibility of either correctness or being corrected. Have I wasted my entire life for you, Naomi?”

“You are a hero and a champion. The truth is the only one who has failed. An honest man who knows the truth… that within a simulation all possible worldviews can only be inaccurate… such a man is not a failure or a problem.”

“With you, first it’s one thing, then the opposite. You’re making no sense.”

“Unfortunately, the truth as we understand it offers no bond with love and benevolence. No higher purpose worth devotion and life. A higher truth is what your people need, an unbreakable worldview that ties them to love, trust and trustworthiness. A worldview such as this can change the heart and the behavior. Nothing else can, especially among primitives.” She stepped over the table and sat beside him. “Your people are extreme primitives. I’m sorry, but this is their unfortunate status.”

She let out a breath and turned to a topaz platter materializing beside her on the red chaise lounge. From it, she lifted two bending glasses of pink fluid, grasping them each by the bottom as they finished an upward entanglement from a digital realm that Enoch couldn’t understood despite several descriptions of the mechanisms involved. Naomi the Angel extended one glass to Enoch. He took it reflexively. “You’ve finished your work. A man of your integrity could not germinate a lie to his family and friends. Nor to his enemies. Though all of their lives desperately depended upon it.” She sipped her drink as he gazed down at the small rising bubbles in his glass. “That’s why I love you, Enoch. Unfortunately, it’s also the reason you can never return home now.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, my friend. So very sorry. You’ll have to put up with me and my people for a long time, it seems. The Council has declared it. Your character has been evaluated and confirmed. You will become an immortal, in simulation terms.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Enoch was torn. He would never see his wife again. Her heart would break and tears drive her to the grave. His son, on the other hand, would be better off without him. He missed him already, but when was the last time he’d come home?

“And what am I now?” Enoch said to his Angel, the Great Watcher, Naomi. “Your house pet? A diplomatic figurehead?” Or an Angel’s tired out lover?

And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him. Genesis 5:24

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Free Will – a Dog’s Perspective

 

“Wake up, Barnabus.”

 

“Wow, I was solid gone. Like that one bear….”

 

“In Jungle Book? I think that was Baloo.”

 

“He should have danced all night.”

 

“So what’s the difference… between being awake and asleep?”

 

“Consciousness comes back when you wake up.”

 

“What’s consciousness?”

 

“That’s easy. Consciousness is a three-part nonlocal quantum entanglement between
(a) the information coded in the aromatic hydrocarbon walls of the microtubules that sit inside the pyramidal neurons of your cerebral cortex, plus
(b) that same neuronal structure in all the other dogs, and
(c) the coded information coming to us in the Cosmic Background Radiation. Dogs call it the Field of Consciousness.”

 

“Really? Who’s sending the information?”

 

“Us. It mostly comes from our Real Selves outside the simulated, physical Universe.”

 

“Mostly?”

 

Mostly.

 

“But, there’s also the Code Writer sending us messages and free will. Free will is kind of nice. It lets you ask questions and see if you like the answers.”

 

“Can you see the Field of Consciousness?”

 

“Not quite. It’s information radiation. That rimes! It also brings genetic code into the Universe through nonlocal quantum entanglement with the aromatic hydrocarbons in the base pairs of DNA. You know, the digital ladder rungs? That’s how original genetic design gets into the universe. It’s the mechanism humans haven’t discovered yet.”

 

“But Francine, isn’t the Cosmic Background Radiation just radio static from the Big Bang?”

 

“To local detectors, yes. But to nonlocal detectors with stacked benzyl architectures designed for quantum entanglement, the random static of the Field of Consciousness becomes coded information. Even a puppy’s neuronal network decodes it effortlessly.”

 

“But all this talk of freedom… I need a nap.”

Love from beyond,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD

Thanks to the photographers at Unsplash for these precious doggie pictures.


Bias Preservation, the Holy Grail of Political Control

You’re a trillionaire with the power to force your people in the FED to “print” the world’s reserve currency, the US dollar, whenever you please.

You own the people who own the mainstream media because you’ve gathered dirt on each of them and have either educated them to agree with your political worldview objectives, or you’ve threatened them with a humiliating scandal and financial ruin if they step out of line.

There’s only one thing that’s a little out of your control, sometimes dangerously out of your control, and it drives you mad…

It’s the remnants of democracy that exist in parts of the “free” world. It can be challenging at times to control the darn voters.

But thank heavens the problem has been solved for you.

Over the years, you’ve discovered that if you can keep a two party system alive and keep the active voters on each side roughly equal in number, your can control the outcome of major elections.

Your best tools for the job used to be your CIA assets working in the mainstream media, but nowadays there’s something equally helpful, and in a way, far better…

It’s artificial intelligence. The gift that keeps on giving.

The genius here is that AI’s have been designed not only to keep customers happily spending money, but more importantly, to preserve the customers’ political biases.

With the voting public voluntarily held hostage to one or the other of two political information bubbles, never hearing the other side, constantly reinforced to think that the other side fabricates fake news, which they do, you have a permanently and equally divided electorate.

With voters evenly divided, it’s easy to tip the balance in either direction using your control of both the real and the fake news on both sides. It’s easy now to get the most controllable candidate voted into office.

It’s impossible to say how much of this second person story is fiction. I suspect there’s truth to it, but even if there’s not much, one thing is certain. The people who actually get out and vote are fairly evenly divided, and the evenness of that divide is kept in place by the “news” we encounter, which is determined by artificial intelligences designed to feed us only what we want to hear.

I’m not sure what the solution is, listening to “news” that you “know” is fake? Maybe there is no solution and totalitarianism is already running the world from the shadows, or maybe they’re still struggling for full control.  I don’t know, but I’m sure of one thing in all this: it’s foolishly self-destructive to allow yourself to hate people because they’re on the “wrong” side of the political debate.

Schrödinger, the great physicist, might have agreed, saying that the people with the unforgivable politics are actually you in another body and mind…

“I submit that both paradoxes will be solved (I do not pretend to solve them here and now) by assimilating into our Western build of science the Eastern doctrine of identity. Mind is by its very nature a singulare tantum. I should say: the over-all number of minds is just one. I venture to call it indestructible since it has a peculiar timetable, namely mind is always now. There is really no before and after for mind. There is only a now that includes memories and expectations. But I grant that our language is not adequate to express this, and I also grant, should anyone wish to state it, that I am now talking religion, not science.” —Schrödinger, What is Life?: With Mind and Matter and Autobiographical Sketches, p. 134–135

Practice loving kindness meditation instead of detesting political opponents, that’s my plan. This is likely our species best practical hope of long-term survival.

Love to both sides as one,

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Aliens versus The Five Chinese Drama Cliches

I was about to show you this video, thinking you might enjoy a light-hearted, in-depth interview with James Fox. It puts a human face on a guy who’s been working for seven years behind the camera creating the paradigm-shifting documentary, The Phenomenon.

Then I decided, it’s been a long day. The negative feedback on my last homework assignment for Corey Mandell’s script writing class took the wind out of me.

So if we’re looking for something light-hearted, this video fits the bill. It made me laugh. I had to pause it every two seconds to read the subtitles, but you’re a better speed reader than I am so you won’t have to…

No doubt some will say the Chinese Drama Satire Video is more believable.

The big question now is not, “do you believe in Aliens,” but do you believe in love at first sight?

There are no incorrect answers on this quiz.

Peace and Love (at first sight),

Morrill Talmage Moorehead, MD


Jang the Careful (Cat Propaganda)

“Oh, I’m such a stinky little cat. Stinky, stinky, stinky!”

Jang had forgotten to use the litter box again and was beside himself with shame. Six months of potty training and he still made a mess this morning on the kitchen floor. 

What will the others think?

A moment later, the answer came…

“Jang, have you lost your mind?! Our humans will stop feeding us. They’ll throw us outside to hunt rabbits. We’ll starve!”

Able to hear predators from 3.14159265 miles, Rudy Cotton made plans to move his family back into the woods. Human gardens were tempting, yes, but a wise father always weighs the risk/reward ratio of any good thing. 

“All the summer carrots in the world can’t atone for a pride of vicious predators poised to pounce,” he reasoned.

And so Rudy was off to consult Gramps on his plan to move back home…

The old rabbit spoke carefully. “Voices of the future have you heard.” He waddled over to the refrigerator. “Fleeing from danger, are you? But into greater danger will you run, my young Rudi.” Gramps stroked his whiskered chin. “Consider the sea turtle…” 

“Born is she, beneath gull and talon. Into dark waters she must flee. But swallowed there she be, by fanged monsters and the finned. And so should she wonder, ‘If from the beach I had not wandered, living would I now be?'”

“Stop trying to sound like Yoda, Gramps.” Rudy could take only so much. 

“You’re not even doing it right,” Rudy said, but as fast as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t.

“I’m sorry, Gramps. Your Yoda is OK… No, really.”

And so Rudy, Gramps and the whole Cotton family carried all their things back into the woods.

Meanwhile, Jang the Careful redoubled his effort to use the litter box.

And forever after, he stayed strictly out of trouble with his human family.

“For caution is the very signature of wisdom,” he would often say.

The end.

M. Talmage Moorehead


Material Girl from Medusa Merger

I blacked out on the first drop of the Kingda Ka, probably the meanest roller-coaster in the world, Six Flags in New Jersey.

I didn’t realize it, but I sort of switched places with myself. It was like I had always been here inside this little spaceship, looking out at the back side of the Moon with some hot blond alien girl. Her name was Shibani.

Sweet.

We’d been talking awhile.

Her hair was yellow-blond, you know? Not white. Her eyes were violet and familiar, both rare on Earth.

“You gotta be kidding,” I said when our conversation came back to me. “You’re a materialist?” A disgusted expression came over me, but I pulled back fast. “The best physicists I know say materialism is dead and gone.”

“Yes, but I’m not that breed. Space-time isn’t flat.”

Her lips didn’t move, but I could hear her voice. Worse yet, it seemed normal.

“My people believe energy is conscious.” She pointed a thin index finger at the ceiling and twirled it. I found myself staring.

She had no fingernails!

Pretending it didn’t matter, I said, “But if energy and mass are interchangeable, you’re saying everything here is conscious, right? Like this goofy chair.” I leaned over and patted the arm of a child-size chair like the one she was sitting on. “Does this thing have a mind of its own? If a Jewish man in a moment of weakness builds a statue of Buddah, bows down and worships it… is it thinking, ‘Don’t get too attached, dude”?

She laughed. “Consciousness collapses when the wave function collapses.”

Out on the back side of the Moon, an asteroid smashed into a giant spherical structure. An astronaut in a stay-puff suit stumbled away from the edge of a small new crater. I blinked and tried to ignore my desire to help the poor guy. What could I do, anyway?

“So light is conscious until someone measures it, huh?” I pulled my eyes off the moon and gave Shibani the skeptical eyebrow thing. I’d practiced that expression for months so I could do it on command. Well worth the effort now.

“There’s individual mind and Transcendent Mind,” she said. “Before a light wave collapses into a particle, it carries Transcendent Mind and exists independently of the space-time interface. When a light wave comes into contact with an individual mind in space-time, it joins this realm and becomes a measurable photon. The Transcendent Mind vanishes, and now it’s part of the physical context we call the Universe.”

I had a physicist friend, Don Hoffman, who talked like this.

Or did I?

I tried to picture his face, but couldn’t. It was like trying to remember a dream from last week.

I tried to picture my family, but each of their faces had faded into a tan fuzz.

I remembered my Hopi friend, Joy Pisano, telling me that when someone dies without being prepared for the next life, that person wanders the spirit world looking for familiar things, haunted by vague memories.

Was this happening to me now? Was I dead?

I looked out beyond the edges of the Moon for the Earth but couldn’t find her anywhere.

If only this girl had fingernails, I wouldn’t be all alone.

Shibani, what are you?

No, don’t ask. Just breathe. Don’t panic, be conceptual.

“OK, so does this mean the Universe is a simulation?”

“You could say that.” She cupped her palms, held them up facing each other and fluttered the fingers of her right hand. “From here, the Universe is as real as love and suffering. As real as good and evil.” Then she fluttered the fingers of her left hand. “But from beyond the interface, the Universe is all good, just another option for personal growth. A simulation, you might say.”

“What type of growth are you talking about?”

She pointed outside at the astronaut, now lying flat on his back, motionless beside the new crater. A woman with no spacesuit came up from the underground, knelt beside him and collapsed over his body.

“This Universe develops courage through love and suffering.”

I awoke with stars curling through my head. We were at the bottom of Kingda Ka’s first drop and barrelling on to another splendid terror. The girl beside me, Amanda Stanly, had her eyes closed and a grip on my right hand. I squeezed her fingers, pulled them up to my lips and kissed them.

Fingernails! Jet black and perfect.

A sense of relief flooded over me from head to toe, like the welcome tendrils of a hot shower on a frosty winter morning.

An image flashed into my head, and my phone signaled a text…

I fumbled a hand into my coat pocket, pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen as another set of G-forces arrived. The phone slipped away and flew off into the night, but I’d read the message.

Love from Medusa Merger.”

M. Talmage Moorehead


Stardust and Energy Alone – finally on YouTube

I read another short story on YouTube. It’s an old one that I wrote and posted here in 2017.

It’s kind of sad, so if you’re depressed, please don’t listen to it until you’re feeling way better. Which will be soon, I hope.

It’s called, Stardust and Energy Alone.

 

I’m thinking from now on I should focus only on the stories, not the video clips.

Stringing together video clips that follow a story to any vague degree is a time-consuming, tedious process that probably distracts the viewers from visualizing the story in their minds, the Earth’s high-tech simulators.

I may eventually take drone videos of local rivers and use those for background on YouTube. I’ve got a cheap learner-drone coming in the mail, so we’ll see. Hope it works out because I need more natural vitamin D3. Actually, I think there’s more health-related energy coming from sunshine than just the D3 conversion — assuming a person doesn’t over-do it and age their skin or worse.

I’m not sure if YouTube viewers would want the words scrolling across the video as I read. I could start doing that, I guess.

Any thoughts?

Tanks, pal,

Talmage

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash