Aliens and Insects II: Extraterrestrial Eusocial Mantodea.

Eusocial insect species are said to bear three defining characteristics: they organize their colonies into caste systems, they rear offspring as a colony rather than relegate them to parental care, and there is an overlap in generations that enable the elder to educate the younger as they assist the elder. All three also characterize what we have observed, through abduction cases, of the alien society.

An insect colony divides labor according to four castes or less, depending on the particular species. Assuming there are four, the top two castes are reproductive castes comprised of Gynes or Queens and the Drones or Kings, both of whom are morphologically distinct from the bottom two castes, who are sterile: the Workers, who perform the labor, and the Soldiers, who are involved in defending the colony against enemies. According to David Jacobs, judging from the mass of abduction reports there also appears to be at least four levels in the alien hierarchy.

The first two types, from the bottom up, are what Jacobs calls the Small and Tall Grays, which are essentially similar but nonetheless differ from one another in important ways. In general, the eyes of a Gray are large, black, almond-shaped and slanted and stare out at you from a bulbous cranium shaped like an inverted guitar pick with a more bulbous topside. The eyes never blink and occasionally a ridge is reported around them. The nose is nonexistent, save for perhaps a bump or, according to some accounts, two slight slits for nostrils. While the mouth has on occasion been reported open like an oval or perfect circle of black, showing no signs of teeth or a tongue, typically they are described as unwavering, lipless slits. There are no changes in the mouth or any facial features for emotional expression. The relatively large head is connected to a spindly humanoid body by means of a narrow, featureless neck. Their long, stick arms and legs bend at their so-called knees and elbows. They have three long fingers and an additional digit that seems to serve as an opposable thumb. Their feet have no toes. Nothing about them physically seems to indicate a sex, either: there are no genitals or secondary sexual characteristics.

The “skin” not only appears smooth and is utterly devoid of hairs, bumps, bruises, cuts or other imperfections, but it provides no evidence of underlying bones or musculature. No jawline, ribcage, or vertebrae. No biceps or butt cheeks — or butt holes, for that matter. No evidence of hips, stomach or genitals. Their is also no suggestion of them swallowing or, for that matter, breathing. They have none of the associated chest movements, for one thing; for another, while they often hold their faces very close to the abductee for their telepathic eye-gazing, abductees never report feeling their breath. Despite their name, the Grays can come in different colors, but that color is uniform throughout their body.

At the ass-end link in the chain of command are the Smalls, which certainly constitute the workers. Standing at three or four feet tall, they do the bulk of the routine procedures with speed and efficiency and are surprisingly strong. They are felt to be male or female. They submit to the authority of the Talls who, aside from standing up to a foot taller than his workers and wearing a distinguishing coat, robe or cape, essentially looks the same, though sometimes their faces are reported as wrinkly. They have greater telepathic ability and an increased degree of personal identity than their underlings. They also move more slowly, observing and directing at a distance until they move in to carry out the more specialized tasks, such as harvesting eggs and sperm and conducting deep, telepathically-penetrating eye-gazing. Female Talls bear all the distinguishing characteristics and responsibilities that the males do and also tend to the children in the nurseries.

Presiding over the Talls are even taller beings that Jacobs calls Instectalins; others call them Insectoids, Praying Mantises, Mantis beings or Mantids. These alien Mantodea have triangular-shaped heads with large, rounded, black, wrap-around eyes. A long, flexible neck attaches the head to an incredibly thin and bony-looking humanoid body that can stand over seven feet tall. They often have to bend their necks to avoid slamming their heads against the ceiling. Their long arms, complete with long fingers, are folded upward in a messiah pose reminiscent of the familiar, earthly mantis, though they lack the pinchers and antenna. Some describe them as graceful; others speak of fast, jerky movements. They are sensed to be either male or female and are often witnessed wearing long, dark cloaks or robes with a high collar.

They may emit a high-pitched clicking sound that can be expressed both audibly and telepathically. They also have the ability to spontaneously disappear or reappear, which some interpret as a materializing and dematerializing ability. Others posit they may be exhibiting a more advanced form of the camouflage utilized by our familiar, earth-dwelling mantids. My hypothesis is that this is merely another hypnotic manifestation of their advanced telepathic capabilities. Telepathy cannot explain their ability to walk through walls, however, as they have done in some bedroom encounters. In any case, their telepathic abilities and sense of personal identity is even greater than the Talls, and if they perform any tasks in the abduction scenario, they are the procedures usually relegated to the Talls. They often remind abductees of seven-foot-tall praying mantises, less often of sizable insects that are often confused with the Mantis, namely grasshoppers or ants. Abductees sense that they are very old, even ancient.

As with the Grays, Jacobs believes there are two levels among the Mantis beings, namely ones that wear no clothing and those that are distinguished by the fact they they wear robes or cloaks with a high collar. I take some issue with this only because I haven’t seen a reason to distinguish two different castes among the Mantodea, and it seems to me they only represent a single caste. Having said that, he’s certainly known more cases than I, most of them undoubtedly cases in which he’s actually dealt with those abductees directly, so let’s accept for the moment that he’s right. This would mean that the top two castes share morphological similarity with one another, and so perhaps represent the reproductive castes; morphological similarity is also shared among the bottom two castes, as previously explained, which appear to represent the sterile castes.

Each of the four, going now from the top down, are shorter, have less authority, have weaker personal identities, and have a less-intense telepathic ability than the order above them. Though the top two castes are morphologically distinct from the bottom two, such a thing is certainly not unheard of in insect colonies, which is by no means the only reason we might assume that the Mantodea and the Grays are members of a singular, extraterrestrial, eusocial insect species.

There may be yet another, higher caste in the Gray Mantodea colony as well. Though rare in reports, at least insofar as I have seen, there do seem to be remarkably similar themes among incidents reported by abductees in which the aliens have brought them to an entity what would appear to be a tier higher than the Mantis beings — some central authority to whom even they answer.

One such story comes from Betty Andreasson Luca, specifically through Raymond Fowler’s 1979 book, The Andreasson Affair: The Documented Investigation of a Woman’s Abduction Aboard a UFO. While reliving an abduction experience from her childhood under hypnosis, Luca described how a Gray escort placed her on a glass-like floor before a “Great Door,” which was itself made of multilayered glass. It was then explained to her that it was time for her to enter the door, go “home” and see the “One,” at which time she had an OBE and, after looking back at her vacant body, entered the door. There she experienced a blinding light and with it a rapturous sense that “everything is one.” Despite attempts made in both this and another hypnosis session on May 15, 1980, Luca seemed incapable of describing to the hypnotist what resided beyond the door.

A similar experience was described by “Susan Steiner” in David Jacob’s 1999 book The Threat: Revealing the Secret Alien Agenda, where she explains what happened after an alien escorted her through a desert, alien landscape. “And then we’re like walking and he’s grabbing my hand,” she says. “He takes my hand and it seems like we’re walking up steps but there’s no steps. We’re just floating and we float up toward this building, these big glass doors.” Though the transcript provided by Jacobs does not include what, if anything, she might have remembered seeing beyond those doors, I have to wonder what her full account of this experience might reveal. Like Luca, was she simply unable to properly articulate her experience?

The frustration over the matter of what might be behind that huge glass door — or doors — continues in an account provided by abductee Kim Carlsberg, though in her case the memory did not arise under hypnosis. In her book Beyond My Wildest Dreams, she describes how on October 18, 1991, she awoke to a blast of light and found herself “walking through a sea of glowing mist, accompanied by an entourage of diminutive grey beings.” Astonished at her degree of lucidity and control, she decided to take the opportunity to discover who was ultimately responsible for what these creatures had been doing to her. Fully admitting the cheesy nature of the demand, she asked them to take her to their leader. To her astonishment, they then seemed to submit to her request:

“The vapor dissipated as we approached a towering set of double doors. The doors parted majestically and my mind plunged into blackness. I regained consciousness as I approached the same doors from the opposite side. My request had been granted but it was obviously deemed important that my interlude remain wrapped in a cocoon of forgetfulness.”

In reflection upon this experience in her book, Kim describes her sense that the Grays were appendages of some unified consciousness, akin to “a beehive, where worker-drones, soldiers, and nurses minister to the needs of the queen, all acting under the dominion of a vast, mass-mind… a ‘hive’ mentality.” This would seem to resonate with Betty’s description of the “One” residing behind the “Great Door.”

If Jacobs is in part incorrect and the Mantis beings represent a single caste, might they be the Drones or Kings, and might “the leader” that resides behind the door or doors be the Gyne or Queen, founder of the invading colonies, puller of all the strings in the interstellar Gray Mantodea colony? What might this being look like? Though it may be a leap, there are vague suggestions that we might have been given a glimpse.

In her first book, Into the Fringe (pages 102-103) Karla Turner describes speaking with her son, David, who had experienced an apparent recollection of two scenes superimposed over one another. One of these images depicted a sandstorm on a world that was entirely desert, and “the only way I could tell the sky from the ground was that the sky was a lighter shade of tan.” The second image depicted “an outside area at night, pitch-black. But I could see something in front of me. It looked like a fifteen-foot-tall tree trunk or irregular column, and it was covered with thick, dark brown fur” and while he “could see some sort of appendage near the top of the column”, he was clueless as to its nature.

As Karla Turner noted in that same book, this experience bears an uncanny resemblance to an incident described in chapter 26 of Whitley Strieber’s 1989 novel, Majestic, which is a fictional account based on the Roswell story. In the novel, Nick Duke, a Baltimore reporter, investigates a lead given to him by Wilfred Stone, an ex-director of the CIA. In the chapter in question, the character of Wilfred Stone describes what to him was a strange and confusing experience in which he seemed to have found himself on a planet which appeared like Saturn in which he was “standing in a desert. It was strewn with sharp black boulders that shone dully in the weak light.” He described “the grit underfoot” and how “the air was crackling dry and the sky was brown.” He felt as if he were some unthinking animal as he ran across the world. He described two suns, one that was just setting as the scene began, leaving him in darkness, and the other, red sun rising in the midst of his encounter with what appeared to be a gigantic insect. It was the furry tree trunk description that resonated with David’s mental image, and David seemed to be describing the insect’s legs. Strieber wrote:

“For an instant I saw the complex face of the thing that had held me. It looked like nothing so much as a tremendous mantis. But those eyes — huge, reflecting the red air — were not blank. I was shocked. Somebody was looking at me. Joy rang out. There was peace, wisdom and then a cock of the head: the irony of our situation. Soundless in the charged air, laughter.”

Among the earthly insects, queens serve as the founder of an insect colony and her primary function is laying an enormous amount of eggs that ultimately become colony members. They can live up to 500 times longer than the typical worker and have a longer lifespan than most insects in general. If this is the case for any hypothetical queen among the Grays, it would stand to reason that the pattern of those with more authority being taller would continue. In light of this, might the being behind the door merely be a far more mature and therefore taller rendition of the Mantis beings with which we are now at least moderately familiar with through encounter and abduction reports — and perhaps akin to the “gigantic Mantis” Strieber referenced in his fictional work? Is Jacobs perhaps wrong after all, and are the Mantodea we see during abductions all members of the same caste, the Drones, while the Queen resides inside a suitably large structure on their desert homeworld that bears relatively large doors?

If taken literally, it seems doubtful, as the Mantis creatures, much like the Gray nymphs, appear to have male and female personalities. It does seem probable, even likely, that some being of either sex resides at the top, however.

In any case, there is still the question as to what kind of insect-like caste system the Gray Mantodea might belong to, as the insect colonies with which we are familiar are distinguished in one of two fashions. First, they can be distinguished by polyphenism, as with ants, which is to say with respect to their morphology, and so are inevitably born into their given caste and can only ever hope to die their way out of it. If this were the case with our extraterrestrial Mantodea, the Mantis beings would be born into the reproductive castes of the colony as Kings and Queens and ultimately die there, just as the Grays would be born and destined to die as sterile members of the Worker caste.

Alternatively, the castes can bear age polytheism, where the elder generation of the worker caste educates the younger and duties are defined in accordance with age. In other words, it could be that the alien society is structured so that the Small sterile nymphs, being younger and less experienced, are automatically relegated to the lowest of the Worker castes, where they are apprentices to the Talls and charged with menial duties. Once achieving a certain degree of education and physical maturity, they would then develop into the equally sterile Talls who, being more experienced, direct the activities of the Smalls and only step forward to conduct more specialized tasks. Eventually the Talls themselves develop into the imago stage and become Mantis beings, at which point they may actually have the capacity to reproduce.

All things considered, age polytheism appears to be the appropriate description of this presumably alien society, at least based on their behavior as displayed through abduction reports as a whole. Higher castes seem to not only oversee the activities of the lower caste but coach them in more specialized procedures, as if they will one day at least potentially adopt their leadership role. This still fails to explain the extreme differences between the Mantodea morphology and that of the Grays, however, which by itself, if nothing else is considered, makes polyphenism seem like the more suitable interpretation. The ultimate answer might be found by taking a closer look at the developmental style of our associated earthly, praying and preying order of insects.

Insects here develop in one of two styles. Holometabolous insects develop through “complete metamorphosis” consisting of four stages: egg, larval stage, the inactive state called the pupa (such as when butterflies- and moths-to-be spin their cocoons), and finally the adult stage known as imago. Mantis species as we know them on earth are hemimetabolous insects, however, which is to say that they develop through three stages of “incomplete metamorphosis,” so called due to the fact that there is no pupil stage, but instead a gradual development involving the molting of old exoskeletons as they grow. They are first an egg, then a nymph and finally an imago, or adult, but it’s a relatively smooth transition. Mantis Nymphs are normally similar to the adults save for their size, absence of genitalia and, in some species, their color and the absence of wings. There are other species, however, in which the nymphs are morphologically distinct from adults, appearing similar to ants. As it molts it changes size and develops morphologically, and in the process its diet may change as well.

If they are indeed age polytheistic, could this help explain the differences and similarities between the Grays and Mantis beings? This could imply that the alien caste system is organized according to stages of development (age polytheism), and only according to size and morphology (polyphenism) incidentally.

This leaves the remaining characteristics of eusociality, namely the group rearing of offspring and an overlapping of generations. At least with respect to “hybrids,” as they have been erroneously called (with the most appropriate term presently available being “transgenic organism”), the young first develop in “incubatoriums” or “baby factories,” are then raised in nurseries, and finally in on-board habitats. All aforementioned stages involve the brood being cared for by either the female Talls or older “hybrids” rather than their actual parents. They then ultimately enter the hierarchy at the level of the Smalls, where they become apprentices to the Talls and climb the chain of command as they grow and develop — incidentally, providing more evidence of age polytheism being the nature of the Gray Mantodea colony. We might assume the same is also true for the “pure” members of the alien species.


False Awakenings, Psychic Elastic, Paranoia and Dreams.


For the last few days, my sleeping, if you want to call it that, had come in a steady rhythm of violent spurts. I would close my eyes for twenty minutes, my eyes would pop back open in shock, and then I would close them again.

Eventually, I wake up to hear someone knocking on the door. I don’t really open my eyes; not much, anyway. As to who it might be, I vaguely recall something about maintenence stopping by, that I should be expecting them, but I’m too tired to remember or really give the vaguest semblance of a shit. So I just play dead.

I hear the door open and he comes in, and all the while I remain motionless. Just do what you have to do and go, I think. I keep my ears open, though. He makes some remark about the smoke in the apartment. “Somebody’s been partying in here,” were his words, I think. I have been asleep for hours, though, so that’s bullshit. I make no response, however, and just keep pretending like I’m sleeping, because even though he’s in my damn apartment, I simply do not feel like dealing with the guy. Then my eyes pop open. It comes to my attention that I’m not expecting maintenance, that no one had really come into the apartment. It had been yet another false awakening.

7/26/15: 3:05 AM:

I just felt as though my subtle form was pulled up out of my physical body for a moment or two, wiggled around for a bit, then let go to snap back into my bony, fleshy form, as if the two superimposed bodies were attached through some sort of psychic elastic.

I think I should take the opportunity to mention here, too, that I use certain words for lack of better ones, and certain alternative words (hallucinations, perhaps, for instance) lack the specificity I prefer. You have heard of phantom limbs that linger when physical limbs are lopped off of bodies? Well, this subtle body might be a sort of full-body analogue when consciousness becomes the (though in many cases only temporarily) amputated limb in question.

3:40 AM.

Now I got jolted by what sounded like something hit my window. I am high and mildly drunk. The window is open a little, the fan is on: perhaps someone slammed a car door and that’s all.

7/26/15, 2:30 PM.

It was like I was waking up before the dream was ready to end so it tried to rush to completion before it was forced to fade to black. For some reason the last few moments if the dream was more cartoonish than realistic, as I recall rest of the dream being (though I’ll be damned if I can remember anything else about it). A polar bear had been pushed off some mountain, and he slid to the bottom of it as if it were slipping down the side of a pyramid or something. It was like a slide. As he landed, he barely missed a guy resting on his belly at the bottom who had also been pushed off, or so it seemed. It was the actor that played a doctor on the television show House; he played the young character that committed suicide. I think I was thinking about his character at some point last night. He looks up at the bear, asks him if he’s a polar bear, and the polar bear looks at him and nods. Then I wake up.

Force, Counterforce: Revisited.

At the tail end of my former attempts to procure a new and respectable job for myself — just before acquiring the humble abode I have been in now for still under a year — I had an experience that my mind keeps coming back to.

To the chronically oversensitive, to those who live in a perpetual state of fixed overreaction, life is marked by traumas. This was my most recent major self-manufactured one, I suppose. Another mountain made out of a mole hill.

I lay in bed, painfully sober after an epic failure at job-acquiring one day and descended helplessly into this dark vortex of violent emotions, of relentless guilt and self-hatred. It was as if it were eating me alive. In retrospect, the experience was the emotional equivalent of some aggressive and uncompromising animal tearing into my skin, ripping apart my insides, but I could not sleep and even if I died I felt certain there would be no escape. I was plagued by horrible thoughts, but it all stemmed from this sense that I was fighting against some force that, however insurmountable, came from within me and refused to listen to reason.

Now I fear running up against that uncompromising force of seeming though subliminal self-sabotage again. Like an electric fence erected around the boundaries of my comfort zone, like guard dogs at the threshold of the known pond where I reside, where I can sink or swim or float through life and a land of hope, however unpredictable, ready to fight to the death to keep me within, where life is predictable, however increasingly miserable.

In retrospect, the experience itself reminds me of my experiences with Ee as a teenager. Perhaps, I think now, this is no coincidence. Maybe he, the autonomous figure who chased and tortured me in those lucid dreams or OBEs, was a manifestation of that “guard dog” force and that is why he manifests as a canine so frequently, and did so especially in the beginning.

My assumption is that this is ultimately all me, of course, it is only that a inner split is there and the other half is disturbingly autonomous. And if indeed that is the case, than I wonder just what it is that I expect of me, what I really want of me out of this life. I ask that other part of me now, officially:

Is this where you would like to die again — alone, in poverty, weighed down and torn apart by your emotions, dependent on others for survival? Is this static, infantile existence satisfactory in your eye? Isn’t this endless redundancy boring as fuck to you, murderous of any sense of meaning, useless and caging? If I am punishing myself, haven’t I endured enough at the hands of myself already?

Can’ this shit he over? Aren’t I allowed to grow — to try and live a life of meaning, to feel joy?

Alien Inside II.

“All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher.”
— Ambrose Bierce.

On more than one occasion George Carlin has said that when you are born on earth, you are given a ticket to the freak show, and when you are born in America you get a front row seat. Even better, some of us, he said, get to watch and take notes. Those taking notes would be those like himself, he has suggested — those who have removed themselves from the equation and can have the best chance at cultivating an objective perspective, a sense of being on the outside looking in; of being in the world, though not of it. A sort of third person perspective in which you can look at humanity and its affairs on the earth as a detached observer — with a witnessing consciousness. Alongside the overwhelming feeling that I belong nowhere, I find myself in that sort of witnessing perspective quite often — thinking to myself, “not my circus, not my monkeys” and applying it to the earth and humanity as a whole — and perhaps that is behind the alien theme. Maybe this witnessing aspect of my consciousness has an autonomous nature when I am not one with it and it manifests as an alien because it serves as an effective metaphor.

Maybe it persists as an autonomous aspect of my psyche because I have failed to integrate all its associated qualities — not just detached observation but equanimity, for instance. The memories of that dead, desert planet and the playtime I engaged in as a kid: perhaps that helped flesh out the metaphor, give it a fitting backstory. The memories of that lifetime? False memories. The subsequent lifetimes of the Priest and Sam? Metaphors of my apparently futile struggle to connect, to find my place, to procure some meaning out of life.

Why in my “astral projection” or lucid dream experiences did this personality manifest as a human child with alien qualities? Perhaps the two human past lives between the alien and I represent that Witnessing consciousness having humanized to some degree, integrated into my personality in some respects. Also consider the child is a symbol we frequently default to when speaking about a sense of virginity to experience — the kind a Witnessing presence can offer. Open, curious, ever in a state of flow, though possessing great wisdom. A child of this caliber would qualify as the divine child with divinity often associated with the heavens and the notion of extraterrestrials serving as the modernized equivalent. So the potential sources of the alien qualities of foreign bigger-picture perspective, fetal form and point of origin are clear to see.

Perhaps this is all a product of my utter insanity.

Lost in Dreams.

On March 16, as I sit down in the front seat of my car to go to work, I receive a flash from what had to have been a dream. I remember driving at night, looking anxiously at the dashboard as its lights went out.

When I awoke the following day, I recalled looking into the backpack I still carry around despite being 36 years of age and out of school, looking to see how many packs of cigarettes I had left. It turned out I had more than I had anticipated, which amounts to perhaps four packs of Marlboro Blacks. What should have been, to me, the clear giveaway: I have never bought a pack of Marlboro Blacks. Nor would I carry around my notebooks and books by hand along with the box of dried mash potato mix I have in my kitchen cabinet, though that crisp and colorful image also came into my head.

This is how my dream recall has gone as of late. Tiny glimpses. Often memories crop up when I awaken and I can write them down type them out before they fade, but just as often it is something in the midst of the day that triggers a creeping memory of a dream. Typically its just a fragment divorced from whatever narrative it was originally a part of. When these memories last for even the shortest duration, though, I still find evidence of my omnipresent mindlessness. All were moments in which there was clear suggestion that it was a dream and yet I passively accepted it, unquestionably accepted the circumstances I was in despite their clear absurdity, mindlessly allowing myself to be seized and absorbed by my own illusions. I was still just sleeping through my dreams. Sleeping a third of my life away, so they say — though perhaps not so much given the consistent periods of insomnia.

There have been a few “dream teases,” as I prefer to call them. A lot like the Ohio weather: promises of waking life and warm weather destroyed by perpetual and unreasonable periods of frosty, frigid deathlike sleep.

In early April, I found that my car’s brake line was leaking, and given that I had no money until my paycheck at the end of the week, I turned to Elizabeth and Jacky, two friends of mine at work, for rides until I could get the damn thing fixed. They were generous enough to help me, but this required getting up early on some days because their shifts did not always synchronize with my own. One one particular afternoon, April 7th, I got permission from Jacky to hide in her car until my shift started, as I had hours to kill with empty pockets in a town I loathe. In there, I wrote on my iPhone, read a little, and eventually found that I was so sleep deprived that taking a nap was even possible. At some point during my nap I half-awoke to the sound of my boss’s voice nearby the car, hiding the bowl full of weed beside me under my arm, and eventually hiding it in the crack between the passenger seat and the door. Only when I fully awoke later did I realize that the boss was not here today and there was no way I would be smoking pot in Jacky’s car. However dazed I was during the experience, what I had had was a false awakening.

It had been some time since that had happened to me. However much it was frustrating that I only realized its nature in retrospect, I found the false awakening hopeful. For the last few weeks I had been focusing on reading and watching more videos online regarding lucid dreaming; perhaps this served as a sign that I might be waking up from the zombie slumber that has overtaken my dream life and often seems to invade enough of my waking hours as well.

This zombie state is what I felt was perhaps referenced my dream on April 13th. While talking with someone I turned to find what looked like Hal from the movie 2001, though in this case his robotic eye lens was on the face of R2D2 like some cyclops droid.

“Nice mobile unit,” I said to Hal, turning back to my conversation.

The robot theme is building in what little I have been remembering the last few months of my dreams, perhaps in reference to my typical autopilot somnambulism, the lifeless, zombie daze I operate in during my daily life — and Colin Wilson’s idea of “the robot function,” which I find myself identifying with.

Between the 22nd and the 23rd I received two more dream flashes. In one, I was walking with a group of people along a sidewalk when I passed by TR, who was going the other way. He turned around to say hello, and I looked him in the face and returned the greeting. We shook hands and then parted ways. This was a guy I knew from high school and we had engaged in many circular religious debates. In another flash, there is a girl almost on top of me, as if she might be waking me up, and I think it is Sadie, a friend, lesbian and former workmate of mine, though she soon made it abundantly clear she was Sadie’s twin sister, Sally — a mistake that I have made more than once when actually bumping into them in public.

I made a similar mistake on the 24th, as I sat on the front lawn of my parent’s property during the warm, sunny day, sitting on the lush grass beneath the shade of trees. I was calmly looking at the house and noticing the tree right beside it, sitting to the right from my perspective. Long, narrow, it rose over the rooftop, perhaps over all the trees in thick forest surrounding the property — and high into the bright, blue sky. Shaking my head, I thought to myself that if this were a dream and I were lucid, I would want to fly and perch atop that area. It would be the perfect place to rest and observe, a natural throne from which I could, from a great height, observe things from over a great distance.

The lucid dreaming material I had been watching and listening to lately had suggested having a good idea of what you wanted to do once you became lucid in a dream. I knew I wanted to fly in outer space; I had decided that long ago. Now I was engaging in that line of thought a bit more, which I admit is good. What bothers me is this: not once, as I sat there thinking all of that over, did I consider that I was actually in a dream at that very moment.

I was lacking awareness. Mindfulness. Lucidity. All I had to do was to realize that I was dreaming while I was thinking about lucid dreaming. I just had to suspect it, seriously consider it for a moment and perform a reality check as all the countless things I had read and watched had suggested. I had all the material I needed, I only had to put it to use. Once awake within what I knew to be a dream I could engage in flight fueled by the belief that I could and perch up there in the sky as I had wished.

Needless to say, awakening to remember that dream scene was more than mildly frustrating.

Attentive in the Trough.

All the weirdness of my life happens in clusters, akin to the wave-like characteristics of UFO sightings, particularly as they were described by Jacques Vallee. More or less he described these waves as periods of inactivity broken by periods of intense activity — always following an altogether unpredictable pattern.

These waves have piques of unknown heights and troughs of uncertain depth. When riding the wave, drifting closer to the alien eye of the surreal, paranormal, psychotic cyclone, I mostly just document. During the silence of the troughs I keep trying to put it together, to determine with as most certainty as possible what they are and why this happens.

The reason is simple, really. It’s as if they wait until I have finally convinced myself that none of it ever happened, that it was all a really bad dream, that I could forget about them because they were never coming back, never really there to begin with and, bam, they return and I get to watch and feel as my life crumbles to dust all over again.

Perhaps my family of the strange and I truly are being conditioned.

To fight the recurring shock value of their return, I try and face them constantly, because the moment I turn my back and fall asleep with both eyes confidently, naively closed, I know its going to bite me on my ass.

Nothing Makes Sense.

Maybe it was getting off the Effexor mixed with the stress of trying to find a new apartment and a new job. Perhaps the mindfulness meditation has something to do with it, too. In any case, I feel an increased self-awareness lately — of automatic thoughts, relentless emotions, patterns of self-sabotage and so on. It is as if I am increasingly able to see much of what I have formerly identified as myself with more clarity and see them for the elaborate system of habit patterns that they are. Which is all well and good, though it has come paired with an apparent inability to change anything I have become aware of. I have discovered my personality, inner and outer — ego and persona — is but a masque, but I am unable to break out of it. There is this claustrophobic sense of imprisonment in my established patterns. It leaves me feeling as though I am dealing with my false self as I would another person, and I am incredibly disappointed, frustrated with and embarrassed by this person. In my head and often out loud when I’m alone I give myself pep talks, tell myself off, attempt to reason with myself. I threaten and try to coerce myself. For all my effort my masque remains the wall I keep slamming my head against, leaving behind no dents or cracks and certainly not breaking the stubborn barrier down.

To make matters worse, I have yet to get a call back for my follow-up appointment so I can get put back on mood meds — sad as it is that drugs have so far been the only thing that has managed to inspire positive change in my state of mind and life as a whole. If I were still on meds, I feel I would have gotten an apartment by now and a better job. In any case, I would not feel so emotionally unstable, so fearful and depressed, so fucking pathetic as I have lately.

As I said to the sexy psychologist upon my first appointment, I find it odd that if my alien and out-of-body experiences are truly internally generated and manifest due to stress that both have been entirely absent lately.

Nothing seems to make sense, even when I openly confess I’m a mess.

Of Aliens & Alters.

It would not make sense to claim that alien abduction accounts are due to “screen memories” of childhood abuse, and for two reasons: first, the purpose of such a screen memory would be to dull or reduce the trauma of the actual memories being “screened,” and given the terror inherent in so many of these alien experiences it does not seem to be serving its purpose. Second, not all memories stem from childhood; many have been real-time experiences. Those with Dissociative Identity Disorder often have alters who are modeled after an abuser or perhaps the “screen” that the abuser was given. The alters may then repeat the abuse, perhaps similar to the way in which the mind is thought to deliver recurring dreams in order to exhaust an intensely emotional circumstance. Is this the answer? Are the aliens I have been seeing all my life hallucinogenic exteriorizations of alternate identities? The astral projections or lucid dreams I began having in May, 1995 — experiences that began with me being attacked by a formless, vicious entity — truly a shared dream state which I had with just such an alter? Is this a possibility I could perhaps verify or falsify myself in some way?

In the Absence of Answers.

So much relies upon nailing down what exactly they are, which I, to some degree shamefully, must confess I have been trying to determine since I was sixteen — a pursuit ongoing at nearly 35 years of age. The years have done much in the way of offering elaboration to those old questions of mine, evolving them and spawning altogether new ones, but they have done zip-diddly-shit in the way of providing certainty about what the bloody fuck is going on.

“You realize you may never know the answers to your questions,” Dr. Napier had said to me so many years ago.

It killed me, but the doc was right, and I knew of that potentiality even then and found the notion agonizing. Perhaps on par with the fear that answers would indeed come, that the flames of the truth awaited my discovery just over the horizon I was chasing — a horizon ever-eager for the feast that would inevitably arrive for it to consume.

If indeed it is all true, t’was not merely I that would suffer the crushing weight of the truth, but the whole of the human species. My hope was, is to know the truth, to in the very least gain the greatest possible understanding. I wish to face the truth squarely and learn to adapt to it rather than fight to prove I’m right despite my lack of justification. Understanding is of utmost value to me.

If I was insane, my lack of trust in myself, I feared, would be irreversibly obliterated. No hope for renewal.

When the world you have come to know suddenly seems to be a steaming pile of fly-infested lies, when you are tossed into the unknown, left trying to piece together some context for all this, you realize that faith cannot be the measure of a truth; that a feeling of certainty is not necessarily the emotional component to coming to penultimate understanding. A million voices covey a million different things that differ greatly, in many cases, at their very roots. They cannot all be true, though they can all be false. You were led astray once, would you not be a fool to trust your own judgement again? If you cannot trust yourself you find yourself in a rather daunting position. How do you earn back confidence in yourself? By ensuring your judgement is reliable. By coming to understand yourself. Face yourself, who or whatever you may truly be. By digging deep in yourself, trying to identify patterns, pinpoint key influences. And after long enough in your explorations you hear the echo of Jared Leto’s voice:

“I open up my head. Inside,
I find another person’s mind.”

Exploring the potentiality the last few months that at least some of the strange memories and experiences of my life might be explained by dissociation led me to read about dissociative identity disorder. The subject of multiple personalities has always intrigued me since I first read of it through author Colin Wilson, but never had I read on it to the extent I have as of late, nor have I ever took time to really consider the possibility — only briefly in tense moments and the thought frightened me enough not to dwell on it. Personal experiences of Dissociative Identity Disorder that I have read fascinate me intellectually, but agonize me emotionally. I don’t experience the intense intrusive thoughts and chronic episodes of amnesia that such people struggle to cope with, so perhaps entertaining the idea that their world of suffering is my own serves as somewhat of an insult, however unintentional.

I don’t know what’s going in with me, and it still frustrates me to think I never fucking will.

OBEs & the Child.


After I awoke, I was on the side of the house smoking a cigarette, wondering why I felt so exhausted and weird. Suddenly I remembered that during sleep I had fallen out of body and down into that zero-gravity void. I remembered rushing through the void, falling downward and then floating around erratically in many different directions.

Something was on me, attached to my subtle body. I felt certain that it was the entity I had encountered the last time that took the form of Ken and “Satan.” Here it was in energy form, however. It wasn’t just on me, but going through my body, merging with me. As it did so, I felt as if I was rearranging, changing in form and consciousness.

More had happened, though I was unable to recall what. The next thing I remember is waking back up in my body, aware but exhausted and unable to convince myself to write the experience down on the notebook beside my bed. I felt I needed to do it before I fell back out of body again, which I for some reason felt certain was going to happen, though I could recall nothing of it.


After a long night of fighting sleepiness with coffee to get some writing done, I went outside, had two cigarettes, and stared out into space. My consciousness seemed altered and I felt very strange, which led me to wonder if I might have another OBE. I went to my bedroom, wrapped myself in Afghan blankets, went to the side of the bed nearest the wall and closed my eyes.

The blackness of my mind was soothing, relaxing me as my consciousness seemed to widen. There may have been a gap in consciousness, but if so I swiftly became aware of a blackness again, but it was a different blackness: that of the exosomatic void. Now out of body, I found this energy waving through me that seemed alive. It was soothing and I tried to harmonize my energy with it, merge with it, reminding myself that if I kept control all would be fine. As I did so, I felt us align with each other, which made me feel good, peaceful, energetic, aware.

As we synchronized completely, I felt myself fade out of the void and into a dark room. I was certain I had been in this exact room during one of my more recent experiences, perhaps during my former OBE on June 3rd.

My confusion came when I realized I was breathing: this had never happened during an OBE. It took me making some involuntary noise for me to realize out loud: “Oh, wow, I can talk.” I then tried to secure anchors in the environment that would keep me here for awhile so I might explore. I used the same methods I used when anchoring my consciousness in the physical body after an OBE: I felt my face, my skin, stretched and flexed muscles, made noises, spoke. They all acted as equivalents of stretching, wiggling, and otherwise maneuvering your hand into a glove that didn’t quite fit right.

In this case it failed, however, as there was some force trying to push me out of that body in that room; to kick me out of that reality altogether. I would attach to the body’s senses, receive a fullness of clarity comparable to the fully-functioning physical body, and them this wave if energy would come and throw me back, away from that body’s senses and into the void from whence I had come. It was like the world had a gag reflex, a bouncer, an energetic wave that acted as a guardian of the threshold.

Fighting against it brought me to a blurry, indefinite environment dream-like in quality that, as with the initial room, I felt as if I had been to before. I was at a table with two people who I seemed to take for granted were my parents, though they were not my parents at all.

I suddenly was pulled back into my physical body and after regaining control I was sure to immediately write down the experience this time.


I did some reading and, once upstairs in my room, began feeling very tired. The bed seemed to call out for me to crash on it, and I dutifully complied.

I felt the out-of-body sensations in no time, and before I knew it I was forced into a gold-tan void of zero-gravity. It had a ceiling, however, which was something I had never experienced before. Having decided to enjoy my time here, I began doing swaying motions, elegant dancing, trying to enjoy the underwater-like sensations.

It was not long, however, before I came to the realization that I was not alone. I felt hands on my feet at first, which immediately got me wondering. Then whoever it was began tugging at me. I pulled away, it tugged at me harder, and then we began to have a struggle. I couldn’t see who it was, and I was getting slightly panicky.

Almost on instinct, I slipped out of the void and closer to my physical body — not re-attaching with the sensation of my body, but getting just close enough to get a general `feel’ for it. I then tried to relax and ease myself back into the void, and it worked.

Once back down there, I looked up towards the ceiling and saw that from where I had entered through my physical body there was this oblong portal, vagina-like, with it’s outer edges rung with a red-yellow fire.

I still felt the presence, knowing it was down there and it would be on me again in no time. I demanded that it show it’s face. Whatever it was, it was on me again in no time, as predicted. It started going through my other-body, and I still struggled with it, but refused to panic again. I got the impression that the entity was playful, that it was trying to engage in a game with me.

When it began going through my body again, I looked down at it and again demanded that it show me it’s face. It had taken the form of something resembling a small, thin, snake-like creature with a shark’s face. It looked up at me with it’s black eyes and it gave me this wide, frightening grin.

Around then I began getting concerned with this tightness I felt in my chest. I was certain that it came from my physical body; the feeling of elastic being pulled to the point where it’s about to snap. I was slightly worried that I might stop breathing, so I floated towards my body close enough to ensure I was still inhaling and exhaling. I certainly felt my body doing so, but it was from the perspective of a detached observer. It was then that I wondered if it was really my physical body, as I recalled how I had been breathing in the other-body in my last experience.

I was slightly afraid that the creature might possess my body while I was away or try to hitch a ride back with me so, as I often do, I said the word only I know three times in succession, which helps me focus envisioning a white ball of protective energy around me. That seemed to force me into my physical body again.

It seemed to, but did not. Instead, I found myself in what seemed to be an alternate timeline. Once realizing I was in the wrong place, I sort of faded out, returning to the void, and tried again. It was another alternate timeline.

This went on for some time, with me continually fading in and out of alternate bodies belonging to other versions of myself corresponding to these alternate realities. I knew from experience that no matter how lost I thought I was, I always ended up back home in the end, so I just tried to relax and take it as a challenge rather than freaking out about it.

I could control my fading in and fading out to a degree, but when I came too close to a body, I would slide completely in; likewise, when I was too far away from a body, I was likely to slip totally out and back into the void. I was able to maintain conscious awareness most of the time, but it did take a great deal of concentration and it kept petering in and out a bit. It was hard to maintain a continuous memory and an acute awareness in between all the rapid shifting. Sometimes I couldn’t see anything right away save for a black or brownish blur, but I knew I was out of the void because I had a sense of gravity, of my feet being on the ground, and was able to touch things. So I would just walk around and touch things, trying to ascertain what they were. Other times I would fade in or awaken within a body and experience it all as clear as waking reality and just walk around the setting.

After this happened an uncertain number of times, I found myself in a sunny park setting where I was chased by a dog that I was sure was the same entity from the void.

The only other specific setting I recall was a kitchen. There was a group of people in the kitchen preparing for dinner. There was a parallel version of my mother, my father and my uncle there as well as some unknown girl. They weren’t surprised at my presence and seemed to take it with a grain of salt, and I suddenly figured that this was because I was merely within the body of one of my alternates. To them, it might seem as if I was acting odd, but only if they really paid attention. I figured they probably wouldn’t notice I wasn’t their son (or the version of their son specific to this universe) and I probably wouldn’t remain in this body for long anyway.

At first, I tried to play it cool as usual and was very serious. Then I suddenly began thinking: why I should spend all my time trying so desperately to be careful, fearing the repercussions of acting unusual and then regretting later on that I hadn’t taken advantage of these experiences?

I decided to just let go. I went up to the dinner table and reached out for the vase that had been placed at the center of it. I turned it upside down, watching as the flowers fell out and it toppled over onto it’s side. I looked at their faces, curious about any reactions they might have. I assumed they would be angry, but they just seemed confused, and perhaps even a little amused. I suddenly realized I had been afraid all this time for nothing. I suddenly got this sense of freedom and playfulness and began hopping atop chairs, jumping around and acting altogether weird. They didn’t know what to do. They were totally unprepared for any of this.

I opened the fridge nearby the table, got out a jug of milk, grabbed a nearby fork and jabbed it into the jug. The unknown girl asked what it was that I was doing.

“I’m making a milk sprinkler,” I said. I walked around the table a bit, pointed the jabbed end of it towards her and, with a broad smile, squeezed the milk jug as hard as I could.

The parallel-uncle character was right behind me when she picked up a large bowl of something which I believe was ice cream. She signaled me to duck below the table as she threw it at parallel-uncle, and I dropped to the ground. I then faded out.

The place I faded to next was an outside setting. I knew I was close to home, and I was approaching a house wherein I, for some reason, believed my body was lying asleep. Someone was walking along side of me, talking with me, but I cannot remember who: to them, I merely explained that I needed to go back into my body and wake up.

As I was turning the corner I saw an area of the yard squared off by a chain link fence, like some might put their dog in.

Inside, however, I didn’t see a dog. I saw a small boy. He was in a red and orange polyester jumpsuit and had his back turned to me. I crouched down to take a look at him, and he turned around slowly and looked me dead in the eyes.

He looked just like the apparently telepathic Cheshire kid I had seen in the fast food restaurant where I work on December 15, 2001. Here his eyes were deep set and cast with shadows, and when the light caught them they were revealed to be wide, frightening, and very un-human-like. The sight of those eyes gave rise to a fear in me, and that’s what finally set me back to my body.

I faded into physicality completely and instantaneously, with much more speed and ease than usual, and then sat up in bed with a shock. I assured myself that this time I was really home. I quickly grabbed a nearby sketchbook and wrote down everything I could possibly remember.