Lawrence R. Spencer's Blog
October 2, 2025
SKULL & BONES
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The most famous secret society in America, Skull and Bones was co-founded at Yale in 1832 by the father of a future president and has come to signify everything that attracts and repulses the public about “The Elite.” Rumor has it that Yale junior class members are tapped for membership each fall by some measure of leadership, influence and breeding.Among the business titans, poets, politicians and three US Presidents that are rumored to be members, we’ve picked out the honor roll.
William Howard Taft – Class of 1878
Image: Yale University Archives
Our 27th, and fattest (fun fact), President was known to his college buddies as “Big Lub,” and was the first “Bonesman” ever to reach The Oval Office.Frankly, young Mr. Taft would probably had a rather easy time getting into the club…
His father, and one-time Attorney General, Alphonso Taft, co-founded Skull and Bones as a Yale student in 1832.
Amos Alonzo Stagg – Class of 1888
Image: Yale University Archives
Yale’s greatest football player of all-time (apologies to Calvin Hill), Stagg practically invented the modern game and is still the only man to be elected into both the Pro Football and Pro Basketball Halls of Fame.It can only be assumed that being the most gifted jock in Yale’s history had some bearing on Mr. Stagg’s being chosen to join Skull and Bones.
William Averill Harriman – Class of 1913
Image: Yale University Archives
The future Governor of New York and Presidential candidate was clearly a man who liked his time at Yale…Immediately after inheriting the largest fortune in The United States from his railroad baron father upon his graduation, Harriman took a job as Yale’s crew coach and stuck around New Haven.
No doubt the man his fellow Bonesmen referred to Averill as “Thor,” continued to enjoy himself around town as Yale celebrity before moving on to his many future successes.
Archibald MacLeish – Class of 1915
Image: Yale University Archives
Before living in Paris amongst “The Lost Generation” of Hemingway, Pound and Fitzgerald, while honing a poetic voice that would yield three Pulitzer Prizes, MacLeish was a Yale Graduate and a member of Skull and Bones.It would seem that MacLeish, like most Bonesmen, was chosen less for his brains and more than his connections…
“Archie’s” father was an Illinois dry goods dealer, and his mother was a college professor, a rare combination of parentage and geography for the Bonesmen of his day.
Prescott Bush – Class of 1916
Image: Yale University Archives
If you thought “Dubya” was a wild man in his college years, you should have met his grand-daddy.Prescott, the future Senator from Connecticut, was apparently a real “cut-up” who, along with some other Bonesmen, is believed to have dug up and absconded with the skull of the legendary Native American warrior Geronimo during World War I.
Legend has it that Geronimo’s head is still inside Skull and Bones HQ, known as “The Tomb,” at 64 High Street in New Haven.
Robert Lovett – Class of 1918
Image: Yale University Archives
Harry Truman’s Secretary of War and the man whom many have called “The Architect of The Cold War” was the consummate Bonesman insider.Along with sharing a membership timeline with Prescott Bush, Lovett was also friendly with fellow Bonesman Harvey Hollister Bundy, who served with Lovett in Truman’s War Cabinet and was the father of future Bonesman McGeorge Bundy.
Henry Luce – Class of 1920
Image: Yale University Archives
The man who went on to found and publish Time Magazine was first an editor of The Yale Daily News. He was also a man that fellow Bonesmen referred to as “Baal,” an apparent reference to a mythological, ancient, Aramaic demon. The mind boggles at the implications.
Potter Stewart – Class of 1936
Image: Yale University Archives
The son of a Midwestern Congressman, Stewart went on to be an editor of The Yale Law Review, after being a member of Skull and Bones during his undergraduate days.But it was perhaps much later in life that Mr. Potter was of greatest assistance to Bonesmen of the future…
As an Associate Justice of The Supreme Court in 1965, Mr. Potter wrote a dissent in Griswold v. Connecticut, setting the stage for the future legalization of the sales of contraceptives in The Nutmeg State, no doubt bringing great relief to the young gentlemen inside “The Tomb.”
McGeorge Bundy – Class of 1940
Image: Yale University Archives
Before becoming one of JFK’s “Wise Men,” Bundy was another Bonesman with a long family lineage of getting “Tapped” for the society. But, if the lore surrounding Skull and Bones has any veracity, he was apparently a man with a personality all his own, one that led his pals to nickname him “Odin.”
George Herbert Walker Bush – Class of 1948
Image: Skull and Bones Yearbook, 1948
The second ever Bonesman to be elected President, “41” was also a fighter pilot in WWII, Ambassador to “Red China” and Director of the CIA. His training at Skull and Bones must have been invaluable in the career he made out of keeping safe the secrets of state.
William F. Buckley Jr. – Class 0f 1950
Image: LiveJournal
It would have been pretty painful for the man who came to symbolize the most conservative brand of American elitism NOT to have been “Tapped” for Skull and Bones. Luckily, he was, or they would most likely never have heard the end of it.
John F. Kerry – Class of 1966
Image: Yale University Archives
The now senior Senator from Massachusetts was only a college Junior when he was “Tapped” as a Bonesman after a childhood spent abroad with his diplomat father. Kerry’s period of membership as an on-campus Bonesman just missed intersecting with a man he would come to challenge for the presidency in 2004..
George W. Bush – Class of 1968
Image: Media Library – Yale Whiffenpoofs
“W” was a man who’s family was synonymous with Skull and Bones by the time he arrived on Yale’s campus as a Freshman, but it has been whispered that many thought his family would agree to his not being “Tapped” as George was a rather… “distractable” young man. But after joining up with the family club, joining the cheerleading team and generally raising hell, “W” ended up as the third Bonesman to occupy the office of the President.
Stephen A. Schwarzman – Class of 1969
Class photo unavailable
He was tapped only a year behind George W. Bush and came to prominence under the future president’s administration when his Blackstone Investments hedge fund group went public in 2007. The SEC filings for Blackstone’s IPO revealed that Schwarzman had made an average of $1 million per day for the fiscal year ending in December 2006.
Austan Goolsbee – Class of 1991
Goolsbee represents the newest generation of Bonesman on the list. The Texan-born economist was presumably tapped in 1989 while studying for his BA in Economics and performing with the Yale improve troupe “Just Add Water.” At 41, he is one of the youngest Chairmen of The Council of Economic Advisor’s in the history of The White House, a building that has been staffed and led by a more than a few members of the society, and one can assume will be for many years to come.
October 1, 2025
Excerpts from “1001 Things to do while you’re dead”
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EXCERPTS FROM THE BOOK:
“1001 THINGS TO DO WHILE YOU’RE DEAD: A Dead Person’s Guide to Living” by Lawrence R. Spencer
AVOID YOUR FUNERAL.
If you are squeamish about autopsies, embalming, funeral piers, cremation incinerators, worms, bugs or bacteria you may want to stay away until all that messy, bad smelling business is over and done.
However, funeral directors have become quite masterful, over the past 5,000 years, at making a dead body look as good, or better, than it looked when it was alive. A little formaldehyde, a few strategic injections, a little stuffing, nice clothes, cosmetics, a wig and a comfy, silk-lined coffin, your used body can look better than ever!
This is a good reason to stay away as you may be enticed to start thinking about going back. Obviously, it’s too late. Factually, you never were a body and you definitely are not a body now. So stay focused. The future is where the rest of your life will be lived!
PRACTICE BEING CUTE.
If you attended your own funeral you are probably suffering from the loss of having a body. More important, you may be thinking that you don’t really have any identity or personality without having a body. How will anyone recognize you without your body?
Fortunately, bodies are a nickel a million. Five babies are born every second. So, should you succumb to the ungodly urge to get a new baby body in order to feel a sense of personal identity, you will need to practice being cute.
The only reason people have babies – and keep them – is because they think babies are cute. The same principle applies to all living creatures. So, brush up on looking cute, making cute sounds, doing cute mannerisms, cute smiles, cute laughs, etc.. You’ll need to have your cute skills in top form when and if you get a new body.
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For more practical tips about things to do while you’re dead, click here: 
September 29, 2025
RANT ON THE RECLINING FALL
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Nothing is as aesthetically harmless as a shower of rose petals. So it is with the decadent opulence and aesthetic excesses of a declining empire. In the western world the “peasants” are smothered with glitz and glamorous televised special effects, entertainments, athletic spectacles and indulged in gluttonous festivals on a daily basis. Conversely, during the Black Death plague that wiped out 2/3 of European civilization, people wore flowers around their necks to disguise the smell of their rotting flesh, just before they died. This is the origin of the children’s song “Ring Around The Rosey, Pocket Full of Poseys, All Fall Down“.
We are the very same beings who lived in Rome. We died. We were reincarnated. This process repeated, again, and again, and again, explains the rise and fall of human civilizations on Planet Earth. So far, EVERY civilization on Earth has failed and disappeared. Without exceptions. Why is that? Simple: we are the people our mothers warned us about. It does not matter whether you “believe” it, or not. What is, is. What will be, will be. Unless each one of us decides to change our personal behavior. Unless we create a sustainable civilization for everyone, every day, our civilization declines and disappears. When we allow criminals and maniacs to rule our lives (Secret Societies, Private Bankers and Politicians) we are doomed to repeat the same decay and death we’ve already endured a thousand times. Personally, I’m tired of it. It’s too fucking boring and absurd!
Last year I read The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon (27 April 1737– 16 January 1794) which was published in six volumes between 1776 and 1788. I am also a painter and a student of art history. The decadent murder attempt rendered beautifully in the painting titled, “The Roses of Heliogabalus” was painted in 1888 by the Anglo-Dutch academician Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema.
“According to Gibbon, the Roman Empire succumbed to barbarian invasions in large part due to the gradual loss of civic virtue among its citizens. They had become weak, outsourcing their duties to defend their Empire to barbarian mercenaries, who then became so numerous and ingrained that they were able to take over the Empire. Romans, he believed, had become effeminate, unwilling to live a tougher, “manly” military lifestyle. In addition, Gibbon argued that Christianity created a belief that a better life existed after death, which fostered an indifference to the present among Roman citizens, thus sapping their desire to sacrifice for the Empire. He also believed its comparative pacifism tended to hamper the traditional Roman martial spirit. Finally, like other Enlightenment thinkers, Gibbon held in contempt the Middle Ages as a priest-ridden, superstitious, dark age.” (Wikipedia.org)
Any student of history, especially of the Roman Empire, cannot be otherwise than overwhelmed by the nearly identical parallels in the decay and decline of the American Empire. This principle difference is that the American deterioration has taken only 200 years, whereas the collapse of Rome took about 1500. I cannot resist commenting on the decadent, aesthetic irony embodied by this painting: It is based on an episode in the life of the Roman emperor Heliogabalus, (204–222), taken from the Augustan History. He is portrayed attempting to smother his unsuspecting guests in rose-petals released from false ceiling panels. “In a banqueting room with a reversible ceiling he once overwhelmed his parasites with violets and other flowers, so that some were actually smothered to death, being unable to crawl out to the top.”
The emperor was cut to pieces by swords at the age of 18, by the Praetorian Guard, — at the instigation of his own grandmother — who was outraged and incensed by the perverse sexual and political behavior of this boy-emperor. Heliogabalus was bi-sexual, rampantly promiscuous, and unabashedly disrespectful of Roman Law and moral codes.
“Members of the Praetorian Guard attacked Heliogabalus and his mother: So he made an attempt to flee, and would have got away somewhere by being placed in a chest, had he not been discovered and slain, at the age of 18. His mother, who embraced him and clung tightly to him, perished with him; their heads were cut off and their bodies, after being stripped naked, were first dragged all over the city, and then the mother’s body was cast aside somewhere or other, while his was thrown into the river.”
What do you think the Praetorian Guard might do with Emperors, Wall Street Banksters and Congressmen today?
How much longer do you think American civilization will endure before it is smothered in its own decadence?
September 28, 2025
EXPEDIENCY
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“A priesthood, or prison guards, were used to help reinforce the idea that an individual is only a biological body and is not an Immortal Spiritual Being. The individual has no identity. The individuals have no past lives. The individual has no power. Only the gods have power. And, the gods are a contrivance of the priests who intercede between men and the gods they serve. Men are slaves to the dictates of the priests who threaten eternal spiritual punishment if men do not obey them. What else would one expect on a prison planet where all prisoners have amnesia, and the priests themselves are prisoners?”“Anyone who is not willing or able to submit to mindless economic, political and religious servitude as a tax-paying worker in the class system of the “Old Empire” are “untouchable” and sentenced to receive memory wipe-out and permanent imprisonment on Earth.”‘It is my personal belief that the truth should not be sacrificed on the altar of political, religious or economic expediency.” — Airl, from the Top Secret interview transcripts published in the book ALIEN INTERVIEW 
DEFINITION: expedient —
noun: a means to an end; not necessarily a principled or ethical one
expediency:
noun: the quality of being suited to the end in view
September 25, 2025
THE BIG BLEEP, Chapter 5
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CHAPTER 5: A DIFFERENTIAL PUBLIC DICK IN A PRIVATE UNIVERSE
“I didn’t know peach fuzz could feel so good “, I murmured, as she rubbed her branches through my leaves.
After my “night” out on the “orchard” with Miss Peach, I was feeling pretty dreamy. She
really knew how to put some meaning into my existence!
“I didn’t know my buds could blossom this fast!”, she cooed, as I wrapped my limbs around her
trunk. We sure didn’t need any bees to help us pollinate! My blossoms were still blooming — and so were my nuts!
Actually, there had been no “night”, since the sunlight in the plant universe was always shining. And there was no actual
“orchard” either. “The Orchard” was the name of a restaurant in the Random Arms Hotel Convention Center. We stopped by there for
dinner. We shared a bag of manure and a few Nitro cocktails before going upstairs to her room for an exquisite “night” of pollen mingling.
I always liked fruits and nuts back on Earth too. I like some vegetables too, if they were deep-fat fried and dipped in catsup. But now that I was leaning toward the
sunlight on a regular basis myself, I was seriously reconsidering my menu choices.
When you’re a plant, you figure out pretty quick that one of the best ways to keep from ending up on somebody else’s menu is to make yourself taste bad.
From my new perspective, I was beginning to appreciate that Brussels sprouts and spinach are very clever plants. It’s no longer a mystery to me why tree bark and acorns taste so bad
either.
The only humans who ever ate acorns were some California Indians, and they ate them only when they got tired of eating dried grasshoppers. Squirrels, I suddenly realized, were definitely not as cute as I used to think they were
either. Anyway, right now, (whenever now was) I had bigger problems than worrying about somebody eating my fruit.
Back in my British Epistemology class at A.E.I.O.U., I once had to memorize a passage from a book that I’ll never forget. It was written by some world famous philosopher, but I can’t remember his name. Anyway, he said: “There
is a theory which states that if anybody ever discovers exactly what a universe is for and why it is there, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory Which states that this has already happened.”
Of course I wasn’t sure about that because I have never discovered what a universe is for or why it is there. However, I did know about the disappearance and replacement part — it had already happened to me! So, maybe everything really was just an illusion and none of this plant convention thing really existed? Or maybe nothing really existed at all and everyone is just dreaming. Or worse, if everything really is just part of somebody’s dream, then I was definitely paying too much rent for my office space.
I was beginning to wonder if the reason I had gotten lost in this strange universe had something to do with my own ignorance or carelessness? Frankly, I could care less and I really didn’t want to know. In spite of the delightful Miss Peach, I just wanted to get back into my own body, on my own planet, in my own time, in my own universe.
Casually, I asked Miss Peach a few discreet questions, carefully designed to get her to reveal the secret of how I became a tree and landed in a “Different Universe”, without alerting her to the fact that I wasn’t really a tree. I just looked like a tree and wanted to have sex with a tree. So, I gently prodded her with a few subtle inquiries, assuming that her boss hadn’t told her my secret.
“Just tell me one thing, baby. How the (bleep) did I get into this whole plant convention thing anyway!? And how did you and all these other plants get here? And where the (bleep) is here?” I burst out, no longer able to maintain my usual stoic composure.
She looked at me blankly for a moment and said, “I don’t know.”
“Oh”, I said. “Well, how do you explain all of this?”
“Well, I don’t. I just try to enjoy myself while I’m
here. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess. But, don’t you want to known where you came from and how you got here and what’s the meaning of it all or what’s the purpose of existence?”.
“Not really”, she said.
Typical woman. They only want one thing from a male: to take them shopping and listen to them talk about how fat they feel. They never want to discuss the esoteric, philosophical issues of life. It was a good thing I waited until after we had mingled to ask questions.
“Well, don’t you care about anything?”, I demanded.
“I care a lot about peaches and pollinating. I also care about all the males I’ve mingled with – especially the ones whose names I can still remember. I think that most trees only care about each other because they think they’re going to survive better or longer or more pleasantly with other trees around them. But, most of the time they end up sharing an unfulfilling emptiness with no real goals or purpose. They just grow, pollinate, bear fruit for awhile and wither. I mean, it’s not like we’re ever really going to go anyplace, is it?”.
“I suppose not…but I can’t help feeling there are other places to be”, not mentioning my recent arrival from the Physical Universe. Still, I couldn’t argue with her logic, so I didn’t, in spite of my recent discovery that there is more than one universe.
So far, discovering the meaning of life was an unsolved case. It was always just around the next corner. It was the only case I hadn’t solved yet – except for the one I was working on, of course. Miss Peach was right — I felt alone. Yet, at the same time, I felt like I was being driven by outside forces — survival impulses, fate, the forces of the universes, some unseen entity – whatever.
“I’ve never really been interested in playing the usual ‘tree games’. You know, like territorial conquest, water rights, root depth, trunk size, how smooth my bark is, shading power, seed production — that kind of thing”, said Miss Peach, arousing me from my momentary musing. “Those games are based on what other trees think about you. Mainly, I just want to be happy with what I think about myself”, she said.
“The best games I ever played were simply having somebody around to play with — to keep from being bored. But, most of the time, playing games is just a temporary distraction from my perpetual preoccupation with the primordial purposelessness of existence”, I said.
“Who knows? Maybe playing is the purpose of existence”, replied Miss Peach.
“I came, I saw, I played”, to paraphrase a dead Roman emperor, although I don’t think he did it in that order” I said, forgetting where I was momentarily.
“Sounds good to me! Let’s play ‘mingle and tingle’…”, said Miss Peach, gently jiggling her fruit toward me. Anyone who thinks trees are just unfeeling vegetables, has never been mingled and tingled by Miss Peach!
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up the next “morning”, or the same day or whenever it was, Miss Peach was gone. She hadn’t left me a note or anything. I figured she must have gone to work. I went down stairs to continue my investigation. I still didn’t have any more clues about how to get back to Earth than the “rulebook” I got from “Mr. Personality” in Plant Land Security.
When I got downstairs the convention hall was empty. Just a few trampled signs and banners and leaflets strewn on the floor. Just a few trees sweeping up. I went over to the Plant Land Security office to see if Miss Peach was here. I started to knock on the door, but found it slightly ajar, so I pushed it open and went in. The office was completely vacant except for Mr. Cactus who was just putting some papers into a box.
“Where’s Miss Peach?”, I inquired.
“Not here. She left to go back to the home office. The convention’s over buddy, or didn’t you notice?”
“Oh, well how do I get in touch with her?”
“I’m not her babysitter, pal. You can go see her whenever you want.” he said.
“Well, would you mind telling me the address of your home office so I can contact her?” I asked as politely as possible.
“Listen, Mr. Peaches, or whatever your name is, I gave you a copy of the “rules” when you were here last time. Can’t you read? Just follow the rules. Anyway, I’m out of here. Goodbye” said Mr. Cactus, who unceremoniously picked up his box and shuffled out of the office.
“But…but, I don’t know…”, I said, trying to follow him. By the time I got through the door and out into the convention hall, Mr. Cactus was gone. The entire hall was empty and still.
“Well, (bleep)!”, I fumed. My voice echoed in the hall. Another voice answered me from the other side of the hall. “What’s the matter, buddy? Do you need help?” It was Peter the Potted Plant.
“Peter! Am I glad to see you! Where did everybody go? I was trying to find Miss Peach and she’s one and I don’t know where she went or how to get there. Can you help me, please?” I grabbed him round his skinny little trunk and shook him gently, with growing desperation o get some answers.
“Hey, take it easy pal! Look, it’s easy. Just go out to the hotel lobby and ask them o give you a copy of the “rules”. Then just follow the “rules” and you’ll be fine. Anyway, listen, I gotta run. I just ran back in to pick up my tie. I left it in the dressing room back stage. Hey, see ya’ buddy! Don’t let the aphids get you”. Peter disappeared behind the stage curtain and was gone.
I hurriedly shuffled my roots out to the lobby of the Hotel Random Arms. I rushed up to the registration desk and rang the bell on the counter. A sleepy looking Tomato Plant came out fromthe back office to the desk. “May I be of assistance, sir?”
“Yes! Yes! Peter the Potted Plant told me to ask you for a copy of the “rules” so I could find out how to get in touch with Miss Peach”, I babbled, without trying to hide my anxiety.
“Very good, sir. We are always pleased to be of assistance to our guests at the Random Arms”, he said, reaching beneath the desk and handing me a single sheet of instructions. I eagerly glanced down the list. It was the same exact sheet of Rules to a Different Universe that Mr. Cactus had given to Miss Peach to copy for me. I still had my original copy stuck in my branches.
“Great! Now I’m right back in the same (bleeping) place I started from!!”, I shouted.
I guess the sheer volume of my own totally exasperated shouting must have snapped me out of it — whatever “it” was. I was lying in my sofa at my office. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remembered before the Plant Convention was lying in the acupuncture office, with needles stuck in my butt…. I felt my behind. There were no needles, but I had a butt!
“I have a butt!! I have a butt! I have a butt!”, I shouted. “Wow! This is great!
I have a butt!”, I shouted some more. I was never so happy to have a butt in my whole (bleeping) life. I will never take having a butt for granted ever again.
I was pretty sure I was back in my own universe again. Or maybe I had never really left it. Or maybe I just needed a couple stiff shots of “Old Nitro”. Wait a minute…minutes? That was something that had been in short supply in A Different Universe. Now that it was available to me once again, that’s all I really needed: some real, honest-to-goodness time to figure all this out.
I looked at the clock. I ran down the hall and got a newspaper out of the vending machine. It was still the day of my appointment with Dr. Alice. And the same time. As far as I could tell, no time had passed since I was laying on the table at Dr. Alice’s place. I’ve heard it said that time is relative, but all this was making me feel relatively insane.
Dr. Mellingerer was my old professor of Eschatological Rhetoric back at A.E.I.O.U.. He once said something very profound to our class. He said, “an ignorant man is one who doesn’t know what he has discovered“. I didn’t know what that meant, and I really didn’t feel like figuring it out either. I was tired. I needed a nap. I felt like I had been awake for days. Nevertheless, in some vague way, Dr. Mellingerer’s observation seemed to apply to my situation.
The next morning I woke up in my sofa again, still in my office, with my own clock which stared at me rudely from my very own desk. I was very happy to be back in a universe that actually had time in it. The clock said 7:37. Actually it didn’t “say” 7:37, but it did have a big hand pointing in the general direction of the “7” on the clock face and the small hand pointed to the 7th little tick mark to the left of the bottom, center tick mark.
Since the sun was shining in my eyes through my office window, I assumed that would indicate the antemeridian rendition of 7:37, as in past mid-night and before mid-day, thereby confirmed by my perception that photon particles and/or waves from the star nearest our planet where striking and illuminating the atmosphere in the vicinity nearest my current location relative to the interminable rotation of said planet on its axis, during a phase in which that rotation, which recurred at 24 hour intervals, as measured by said clock, variably modified by the inclination of the Northern Hemisphere toward or away from said star, mitigated, of course, by the precession of the planetary axis, was situated in juxtaposition to said star with regard to it’s roughly elliptical orbit through the solar system, at a precise point in one of 365 such intervals, to which planet I was affixed by the resultant gravitational forces generated by the coincidental interaction and various cyclical rotations of the aforementioned stellar bodies, which are located approximately on the very outermost edge of the so-called Milky Way galaxy, which I assumed must belong, nominally, to some larger, intergalactic political confederation, of which Earth, or whatever designation might be given by such an organization to this infinitesimally minute and obscure planet, to which no one from any other planet seemed to want to make themselves known, inasmuch as “alien entities” seemed to consistently avoid obvious communication with the creatures of our planet, as witness their conspicuous absence from Earth which, by deductive reasoning, led me to conclude that “aliens” either 1) don’t exist, for which probability the mathematical odds are nearly infinitely impossible — besides which, I’d already been abducted by them myself at least once that I can remember — or 2) such beings would rather be caught dead than associate with homo sapiens, which, judging by the usual headlines in the daily newspaper, would indicate a reasonably advanced intelligence on their part, or at least a reasonable distaste for stupidity, greed, murder, mayhem, war, general chaos and charred cow flesh consumed together with deep-fat fried vegetables dipped in tomato catsup.
Obviously, my adventures at the plant convention had left me somewhat confused about the nature of reality, which I was already confused about. I recalled that the list of “rules” I had been given in “a Different Universe” mentioned something about reality being whatever you can create that can be perceived. My instructor in “Conjunctive Perspectives of Perception” class back at AEIOU once made an astute observation about the essence of reality.
“Reality is really, probably, nothing more, perhaps, than a hunch that many people have, sometimes, which they fairly often agreed upon as being not-too-far-fetched, depending on how recently they have either eaten or been
eaten or have had sex, which in many cases may be very similar, depending on one’s individual tastes“, he observed.
Until now, I had never run across another definition that was any better. Anyway, I didn’t have time to waste on wild speculations about reality. Besides, as I had recently discovered, reality is relative to the universe you’re in at the moment, or not.
It was time to get back to work on the case I was getting paid to solve so I could afford to pay for some ground up, charbroiled flesh of a dead cow which had, during it’s brief life, consumed several tons of my former plant acquaintances, a small portion of the resulting flesh being placed between two slabs of ground up, denatured grain which had been incinerated at 350 degrees for approximately one hour and topped with more dead vegetables, each of whom had given their lives, without apparent resistance, so that I, being more “intelligent” than they, or at least mean enough to condone their premeditated murder, could sustain the carbon/oxygen burning flesh engine, currently operating at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, which I myself inhabited, the chemical-based incendiary devise, or stomach, of which was making rather obnoxious gurgling sounds at the moment.
My cheeseburger and fries sat, uneaten, on the table in front of me at a local burger joint, while I perused the newspaper to check out what I might have missed while I was “away”. I was still looking for clues about the disappearance of Carmel Wormwood.
Carmel told the Admiral that her maiden name, or alias, had been “Carmel Cortez”. So far, I found out that she lied about that too. There was no such person in any public record I had checked. I was beginning to suspect that the Admiral had been lured into a premeditated scam by this Carmel person, whoever she was.
Nevertheless, I casually thumbed through to the obituary listings and personal ads, just in case I might turn up anything. I stopped on page 16, bottom left-hand column. There was a small headline that took my breath away!
Mysterious
Mass-Suicide of Amazon Rain Forest Logging Crew
Death
Caused by Self Inflicted Suffocation!
Entire World In Shock!
I read through the short article with breathless excitement:
“…a logging crew of 74 men were found dead in their work camp located in an isolated region of the Amazon rain forest. All had died of asphyxiation. The police investigating the scene concluded that the deaths were the result of a bizarre self-inflicted mass suicide cult ritual popular among the local Indians. A leader of the local Indians told reporters that the deaths were caused by what a native translator loosely interpreted to mean ‘angry spirit of the trees”. Local police dismissed the statement as the hallucinations of a ignorant barbarian caused by chewing leaves of the dung-dung tree.”
I stuffed the newspaper in the back pocket of my jeans, ran out of the joint without even eating my burger and jumped on my Harley. Back at my office I waited impatiently for my dial-up Internet connection to pull up a search
engine. I had to find out more about the rain forest incident! I used every key word I could think of, but couldn’t find many more details about the Amazon deaths. After clicking through several dozen links, I finally found an environmentalist news website with more information about the incident:
“ …the Pope declared an international day of mourning in response to orders from the World Bank Foundation and the Mega Oil Corporation, who jointly funded the clear-cut deforestation project in the area of the Amazon rain forest where the apparent suffocation suicide deaths of 74 loggers occurred. A massive strip mining operation was to be undertaken to clear the deforested land of unsightly semi-precious metals, after which plans had been made to create grazing land for cattle and oil drilling operations on the barren landscape in what a Vatican spokesman described as a “humanitarian effort to create REAL jobs as oil rig workers and meat packers for displaced native Indians”.
A spokesman for the local Indawood-Weepoo Indians issued a statement in a press conference held at their refugee camp: “Our people survived very well in our rain forest for the last 7,000 years, along with 27,374 other indigenous species of plants, insects and animals, nearly all of whom are now extinct because of the logging, mining and oil drilling. The cows brought here by the oil company men are eating the few blades of grass that are left of our homeland!”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find out any more about the suffocation part of the incident. The local police closed the area off to outsiders and closed the investigation because they had “solved the case”. So far, I had two dead end investigations in one day: Carmel and the Amazon.
I slumped down in my chair in front of the computer and stuffed my hands in to the pockets of my jeans while I thought about my next logical move. There was one common thread between both mysteries — Dr. Alice Nettles.
As far as I knew, she had been one of the last people to see Carmel before she disappeared into thin air and I was the last person to see her before I disappeared into the A Different Universe.
I jumped up out of my chair, heading for the door on my way out to see Dr. Alice. I pulled my motorcycle keys out of my pocket. A neatly folded piece of paper fell out onto the floor. I picked it up and unfolded it. At the top of the page it read, “RULES TO A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE”.
Dr. Alice and I needed to talk! Now!
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If you haven’t read it yet, here’s the link to Chapter 4: http://lawrencerspencer.com/2011/06/01/the-big-bleep-chapter-4
September 23, 2025
HIGH PRIESTESS HANALORE OF CELTIC GAUL
Republished by Blog Post Promoter
High Priestess Hanalore of Celtic Gaul calls to order the annual meeting of the Druid High Council in 437 B.C.E.. Special guest speaker at the meeting was Chester Langhorn, President of the Desmoines, Iowa Chapter of The Order of Omega Time Travel Cult. The subject of his lecture was an explaination of the “magical picture box” he used to take this digital photo of the occassion.
September 22, 2025
ACE OF CUPS
Republished by Blog Post Promoter
Ace of Cups is a card used in Latin suited playing cards (Italian, Spanish and tarot decks). It is the Ace from the suit of Cups. In Tarot, it is part of what card readers call the “Minor Arcana”, and as the first in the suit of Cups, signifies beginnings in the area of the social and emotional in life. Tarot cards are used throughout much of Europe to play tarot card games.
Playing cards first entered Europe in the late 14th century, probably from Mamluk Egypt, with suits very similar to the tarot suits of Swords, Staves, Cups and Coins (also known as disks, and pentacles) and those still used in traditional Italian, Spanish and Portuguese decks.
The first known documented tarot cards were created between 1430 and 1450 in Milan, Ferrara and Bologna in northern Italy when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were originally called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards known simply as trionfi, which became “trumps” in English. The first literary evidence of the existence of carte da trionfi is a written statement in the court records in Ferrara, in 1442. The oldest surviving tarot cards are from fifteen fragmented decks painted in the mid 15th century for the Visconti-Sforza family, the rulers of Milan.
The Ace of Cups shows a hand holding a cup or chalice that is overflowing with five streams of water. The hand that appears from the clouds represents our consciousness of spiritual energy and influence. Radiating from the hand are rays which symbolizes that you must always trust your inner feelings and your heart to lead the way. This is your intuition and inner power talking to you. The five streams represent the abundance and power of the spirit and the effect of spiritual energy upon our five senses. A dove holding a wafer or small disc in its mouth descends from above, signifying the incarnation and appearance of the spirit in the material world. Below the hand is a great sea covered with lotus blossoms, symbolizing the awakening of the human spirit.
The Ace of Cups Tarot card’s meaning is of joy and inner peace from friends and family. The five streams pouring out of the cup represent the five senses: sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch. As a symbol of possibility in the area of deep feelings, intimacy, attunement, compassion and love, in divination, it shows that a seed of emotional awareness has been planted in your life although you may not yet recognize it. When the seed sprouts, it could take almost any form. It might be an attraction, strong feeling, intuitive knowing, or sympathetic reaction. On the outside, it could be an offer, gift, opportunity, encounter or synchronistic event.
This card also suggests inner spirituality. Cups are the suit of the heart, and the Ace stands for the direct knowing that comes from the heart. Trust what your feelings are telling you. Seek out ways to explore your consciousness and your connections with Spirit. Allow the power of your emotions to guide you in a new direction. Embrace the love that is the Ace of Cups.
MAKE FRIENDS
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Maxwell Maltz (March 10, 1889 – April 7, 1975) was an American cosmetic surgeon and author of Psycho-Cybernetics (1960), which was a system of ideas that he claimed could improve one’s self-image. In turn, the person would lead a more successful and fulfilling life. He wrote several books, among which Psycho-Cybernetics was a long-time bestseller — influencing many subsequent self-help teachers. His orientation towards a system of ideas that would provide self-help is considered the forerunner of the now popular self-help books.
The book introduced Maltz’s views where a person must have an accurate and positive view of him- or herself before setting goals; otherwise he or she will get stuck in a continuing pattern of limiting beliefs. His ideas focus on visualizing one’s goals and he believes that self-image is the cornerstone of all the changes that take place in a person. According to Maltz, if one’s self-image is unhealthy or faulty — all of his or her efforts will end in failure. — (reference: Wikipedia.org)
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