Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Roswell and the Reich: The Nazi Connection
Joseph P. Farrell
Adventures Unlimited Press
I am not a ufologist, nor did I ever intend to address that topic directly in any of my books. And, in a certain sense, I am not addressing that subject in this one. What I am addressing is one particular aspect within it, an aspect that has assumed almost mythical status within the ufology community, and rightly so, for thanks to the tireless efforts and research of many others who are unapologetic ufologists, the government’s various explanations for the events at Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947, have all but dissolved, except for the first one, namely, that the United States Army Air Force, in July of 1947, had recovered the debris of a crashed “flying saucer” in the sands of the New Mexican desert.
Seig Heil! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Nazi-mania! It’s a Nazithon! It’s in New Mexico! With all the books written on the Roswell incident (and trust me, I’ve read most of them), this is hands down the silliest, and that’s the best thing about this book.
I find the book to be overwritten in regurgitating the same old tiresome material that has repeated and over hashed since the early 1980 concerning the supposed Roswell incident.
Seriously, I don’t think there is anything ELSE to say. Whether an alien spacecraft crashed outside of Roswell, New Mexico or not has become irrelevant, and at this point, I really don’t give an unidentified flying fuck. The fact is that something happened and people keep on writing about it, and every weirdo and his mother believes it. I no longer what the hell is going on in Roswell. But I do know that something supposedly happened, and this book does not help one bit. Granted, we know the Nazis had some incredibly high technology, and we know from the last book I reviewed on Roswell Area 51, by Annie Jacobson, that it was that very Nazi technology sent over by the Russians that crashed at Roswell. I am telling you, at this point in your life, everybody crashed at Roswell, including me.
I will say this about Roswell and the Reich. Despite the fact that the author overwrites and offers no support for his thesis, it is a book that, in all fairness, should be read by anybody who is interested in the Roswell story. After all, this story is as good as any.
It is reported that Dead Man's director, Jim Jarmusch said he did not want star Johnny Depp to appear Native American until the end of the movie. Combined with his inability to look at Indians directly or to speak much of his deceased family in Cleveland at the beginning of the film, and the immense air of homecoming and acceptance in the final scenes in a completely Native community, one wonders how much Depp's William Blake is passing. And, no, I don't just mean as a dead man walking around or a man convinced he may be his namesake after he has been starved, drugged, and shot enough.
Playing Native or just being Native, it's interesting to see Depp cast in a western and even more interesting to see Gary Farmer playing a straight out badass as Nobody who's a bit of a hard sell as THE Indian, a role that comes with a brilliant reveal about halfway through the flick. I have to appreciate Jarmusch's willingness to go for racial and cultural messes in Dead Man in ways Native filmmakers haven't really tackled in a movie until Ryan Red Corn.
And, it is always nice to see every one of the principal actors get their moment of genuine intensity, of impressiveness. Robert Mitchum, as the bossman of town Depp's Blake travels to, looks as if he has both feet firm in his grave, but he simultaneously looks like he could whup you without breaking a sweat. Mili Avital plays a former prostitute who gets a couple devastating lines in before the plot really gets rolling. Even if you thought you could take old man Mitchum in a fight, Iggy Pop looks like nothing but leather and muscle even in a dress in this movie. Lance Henriksen plays a quickdrawing psychopath with what seems to be actual decent fast-draw action. Crispin Glover just has to ask about lying in boats and suggest we have travelled into Hell to shake the foundations of the movie's universe in ways it never recovers from.
You are off-balance, punked out, and threatened by everything in Dead Man, from the acting to the cinematography of the legendary Robby Muller and a loose and hard soundtrack by Neil Young, the editing of Jay Rabinowitz, which is terrifying and impossible to steel yourself against. To be fair, this was the third or fourth picture that Muller, Rabinowitz, and Jarmusch had done together, so you are being tag-teamed by people strongly familiar with one another's work. You have to sit there and deal, sit there and let it control your experience. Which is fair, since it is the same position William Blake finds himself in. It's the same position most, if not all of the characters are in during the course of the movie, but Blake knows it. We know it.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
I was thinking if people will send copies of their books, cds, handmade crafts, etc., besides getting a mention or review I can offer your wonderful products as prizes. They will be seen, felt and loved by many. I will also promote your websites, all for the love of creative people.
What do you think? You may send products to Gypsy Art Show, c/o Belinda Subraman, 4712 RL Shoemaker, El Paso, TX 79924
Be sure and click the LIKE button on the right sidebar and if you'd like to join the Gypsy Art Show group to join in conversation click the Gypsy picture on the top right.
Please pass along this info to all your creative friends. The more the merrier, for all of us!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Psychomagic: The Transformative Power of Shamanic Psychotherapy
Reviewed by BL Kennedy
Having lived many years in Mexico City I had the opportunity to study the methods of those called ‘witches’ or ‘folk healers’. They are legion. Every neighborhood has one. Rising up in the heart of the city is the great Sonoma market, which sells exclusively magic products: colored candles, dissected fish shaped like the devil, images of saints, medicinal plants, blessed soaps, tarots, charms, plaster sculptures of the Virgin of Guadalupe turned into skeletons, and so on. In some back rooms, plunged in semidarkness, women, each with a triangle painted on her forehead, rub branches of herbs and holy water on those who come for consultations; they practice “cleansing” the body and the aura. .Professional doctors, being faithful sons of the university, despise these practices. According to them, medicine is a science. They would like to find a precise, ideal remedy for every illness, with each treatment distinct from all others. They want medicine to be one official method, with no variation, to be applied to patients who are treated only as bodies. None of them propose to cure the soul. To folk healers, on the other hand, medicine is an art.
I first discovered Alejandro Jodorowsky at a midnight movie at the Elgin theatre in New York City through his film El Topo. There’s something about Jodorowsky who is also an artist, film direction, actor, musician, and magician that just reached into my psyche at the tender age of 16. I really can’t explain it. There is something simply magickal about the man and every project he approaches.
Now, we have Alejandro reaching beyond film and finally entering the world of language and dreams. While living in Mexico, Alejandro Jodorowsky became familiar with the colorful and effective cures provided by folk healers that approached the dream state with a rationality to reveal unresolved and psychological problems. The end result of this teaching is this book Psychomagic. I cannot recommend it enough.
If you are spiritually inclined, and you have a deep need to unravel the deep mysteries of your psyche and find true transformation, then I highly recommend this book by this visionary writer and innovative psychotherapist who is currently living in Paris. So, throw all those stupid self help books you’ve been collecting over the years in a big box and drop them in your neighbor’s well. Get off your ass, get real, purchase a copy of psychomagick, and transform your fucking cowbell of a couch sittin’ life.
Available on Amazon.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
"My painting is a journey of bringing together my personal experience of the world, inner and outer, with the magic of painting materials and their properties of colour and consistency reflecting the marriage of matter and inspiration.
My work is about relationship:- of my inner nature to the world, of man and woman, of mother and child, of wind and sky, of colour and brush.
Relationship of geometric and organic, of sharp line and curve.
The relationship of a look to the focus of the story.
The relationship of opposites, dark and light, near and far, the mythical in the everyday, all is in relationship.
My search is to find the essence of my inner vision, to be with it as I paint - to be totally open and connected."
Diana began painting at the age of fourteen, and attended the Bath Academy of Art in Corsham, England, from where she graduated with a Distinction in Sculpture in 1964.
Visit Diana's website.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sing One for Todd Moore
By Scott Wannberg
the mesa is full of sad howls tonight
ride soft, gunslinger
the moon is learning to shine
sing one for todd moore
the sage whispers
they got the big barn dance
at work in your somersault west
toward the invigorating big muddy
and the yodeling light
johnny dillinger is finally asleep
and the rock n roll just needs to cut loose
todd moore he painted this sunset
he lifted raucous boulders for free
see his footsteps ascending the holy mountain
composed of dreaming castanets
si sue puede jefe
i’m off to the burning cantina
gonna whittle me a workable town council
the senoritas will dance all your tunes
i’ll be seeing triple come morning
the poet, the historian, the singer
todd moore sent us
the sustaining waterholes
and the hootenanny
hands me your card, todd
and i say
Scott Wannberg was a Carma Bum, a be-bop guru, and quite possibly Keyser Söze. His books include Mr. Mumps; The Electric Yes Indeed; Juice, the Musical; Harvey Keitel, Harvey Keitel, Harvey Keitel (with John Dorsey and SA Griffin); Rockets Redglare (with Davis Smith) and Strange Movie Full of Death.
By Kevin Roderick:
Scott Wannberg's influence as a poet-writer reaches well beyond his hometown of Los Angeles. The genuine article, Scott was one of a kind, a larger than life American original; the stuff of myth and legend. I was lucky enough to be his friend and publisher for almost thirty years. For twenty years with The Carma Bums, we traveled across the country and the internet, our last gig together in Kansas City, MO, August 2009. Over the course of his time as an employee of Dutton's Books in Brentwood, Scott had cultivated an amazing network of fans and friends including Ed Harris, Amy Madigan, Dustin Hoffman, T.C. Boyle, Ry Cooder, Peter Case and historian Page Smith. Viggo Mortensen was a very close friend. Viggo's Perceval Press imprint gave us Scott's most recent book, Strange Movie Full of Death," and Scott's forthcoming "Tomorrow Is Another Song."
The past few years via Facebook, Scott had cultivated a whole new audience that was literally global. Generous to a fault, Scott mentored many poets via the blogs, especially younger up and coming writers. With 4,391 "friends" and fans at his death, Scott had arguably become the Poet Laureate of Facebook.
His loss and legacy are immeasurable.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Paperback: 184 pages
Publisher: Crossing Chaos Enigmatic Ink (October 1, 2009)
Smoke, intelligent fog, fun house mirrors, death house aesthetics, a city lit from within and a city of living houses. Riddles and enigmas. What was that language, where is its key? City webworks for instant travel by elevator or magic bus. People who are you and me, only fictional. Elf clubs burrowed snug in the friendly earth and nightclubs whose floor show is literally murder. St James Infirmary as you've never heard it in your life before. Song styling's of owls. Storytellers way too interwoven with the stories they tell. Red and blue water on tap. Dream or real? You or me? Happening to us or do we make it happen? Plain language that almost makes sense. Bloodsuckers alive and undead. A once-majestic hall of mirrors that now exists somewhere between memory and legend. Alive and und--ead, alive and unde--ead. . . Vomiting parties, economic indices, theme-book competitions. Action and suspense, stories that begin. Till human voices wake us. Have you noticed how cities are like dreams? Anything imaginable can happen in them. Cut the deck and snap the cards. Step right up.
About the Author:
Martin Heavisides is a prolific writer of all things literary. Most recently, his stage play, EMPTY BOWL, was performed at The Living Theatre in New York City. His essays have been featured in ArtMagazine, Toronto Art News, Canadian Forum , and on radio at CIUT in Toronto and CBC Radio in Regina. Short stories have been published in a multitude of fine literary magazines such as Studies in Contemporary Satire, Cella's Round Trip, and Mad Hatter's Review. Martin is the recipient of a PEN Syndicated Fiction Award, a Harbourfront Reading Series Discovery Prize, and a Canadian Writers' Collective Award.
Friday, August 19, 2011
What is it about the zombie picture that inspires filmmakers to be forthright with the progressive social politics? With vampires, werewolves, the politics tend to be immediately regressive, to be steeped in suspect Victorian paranoia against passion or sexual prudery. Movies about ghosts are frequently overtly nostalgic without examination or cognizance. Slashers, aliens, robots are psycho-sexual disasters or inexplicable. But, when the movie maker takes on zombies, from the plantation conditions of White Zombie with Bela Lugosi to George Romero using the first quarter of Dawn of the Dead on cops who use an undead outbreak to excuse racist and classicist brutality on tenement buildings, the news looks elsewhere. And, so is the case with Wild Zero, a vehicle for the Japanese hard rock band, Guitar Wolf.
Early in the movie, when Ace has a simultaneous attack of fear-of-zombies and homosexual panic on discovering his "true love" whom he had just met prior to their being set on by flesh-eating ghouls, he abandons her and is visited by the mystical presence of Guitar Wolf, lead singer of his favorite band, who tells him, "Love has no borders, nationalities, or genders!" and encourages him to get his act together. In a slasher flick, the mere hint of transgender would mean someone was getting stabbed to death, even if it were done ironically as in Dario Argento's Tenebrae. A vampire film would reaffirm some hetero-normative proto-freudianism, intriguing but unpalatable in the light of reason (see Twilight, Dracula, The Vampire Lovers). Wild Zero represents a juvenile injunction to adult responsibility.
No mistake, the adult behavior in the film is a juvenile version thereof. It is a super-heroic responsibility and those failing to live up to those standards are, basically, genuine human beings, genuine adults. This is perfectly in line with the racial and class politics of Romero's zombie pictures, the bullshit sexual dynamics exploded by 28 Days Later, or the venereal horror of early David Cronenberg movies. It is perfectly in line with the ethos of a band-promotion movie, a rock and roll love story, a grande guignol. Maybe youthful optimism is simply the reflex response to the finality and forever of death. Death also has no borders, nationalities, or genders, right? But it is infinitely less fun than love.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Revised 2nd Edition w/ audio cd
Reviewed by BL Kennedy
Somewhere along the line I began to notice the grown-ups don’t ever let kids stand still. The moment I start lounging around doing nothing, some grown-up steps in and gets me moving.
The Ancient One used to call it day dreaming and said it was as important as breathing, but the official name for it is Dead Air, and its frowned upon. They’ve got Dead Air Detectors just about everywhere now, at the Triple Eye and in most public places, and there’s a big push to make them required in people’s houses and modes. But I’ll tell you what; my mom is worth ten DADs when it comes to catching kids day dreaming.
This is the revised second edition of John Bennett’s classic novel Tire Grabbers. However, with this edition, we also have included the extra treat of an audio disc which contains the entire text of the novel read by the author. Now, I did mention that I have reviewed this book twice in other editions, and that I am a really big fan of it.
However, this new revised second edition has a cover that just rubbed me the wrong way. If you can just picture a comic book-like image of a gothic Conan the Barbarian on a motorcycle wielding a giant machete being watched by a strange lizard person, you can see the cover. You just have to see this cover. I mean, the lizard person is like Kermit the Frog with fangs.
But that’s just the cover. The book itself is better than ever. This second revised edition is easier to read, mostly due to its typography, and it’s JUST a GREAT story. As in the past, I am urging everybody who is a fan of John Bennett’s work or who is discovering the work of this author for the first time to run out and “grab” a copy of this new edition. You will not regret it. In my opinhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifion, this is contemporary classic written by an author whose voice has penetrated through decades of American culture. So, order the book. You will not regret it.
Available from the Publisher.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Kafayat Quadri, a young artist from Nigeria, started playing guitar at the age of 13 years. Her father, a land surveyor introduced her to the guitar since she was 6 years old. He later bought her a mouth organ which he taught her how to play. He played tunes from Rex Lawson, Fela Anikulapo Kuti and Haruna Ishola on the guitar and mouth organ sometimes accompanied with the talking drum.
Kafayat's first guitar performance was at her secondary school (FGGC, Shagamu) in 1996 at the school's Annual Musical Concert. Listen in the video below.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Online PR News – 28-January-2011 –In Dark Running, Artemus searches for the murderer of his sorcerer-brother, PHILIP, in a darkly-atmospheric New Orleans. Deluged with a host of surreal characters, almost every one of them a suspect, Artemus soon discovers that Philip was killed in his connection in the recovery of an ancient grimoire in Malta: the fabled Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus. Anyone possessing the artifact can control great powers; Artemus takes on the case and then discovers he’s been hexed to die – ripped to shreds by a faceless demon, summoned by the forces of the Tablet itself.
Not fully believing in the Tablet’s existence, Artemus escapes harrowing encounters with his demon and assorted villains using powerful black magic. As clues (and bodies!) pile up, the investigator tries to connect the dots to the mystery, but nothing seems to make sense. With the help of a voodoo psychic, Artemus discovers the only way he can be rid of his hex is to have the caster willfully destroy the "binding object” with which it was made. Death stalks every shadowy corner as the ghost-hunter flies from the rainy streets of New Orleans to the far-flung shores of Malta, hoping to discover the secrets behind the murder and the location of the Tablet itself. At the end, confronted with death and dismemberment by his horrific nether-demon, Artemus discovers something startling about his own identity and his connection with the Tablet … a revelation that will change his life forever.
Regarding his novel, M. Cid D’Angelo said: “I ask myself, what if a murder has occurred in which magic is the culprit? Who would be called in to investigate a crime when the modus operandi is altogether … intangible? Dark Running is the first novel in an urban fantasy series that is Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons meets Delano and Ennis’ Hellblazer graphic novels. In a world where black magic is real, ARTEMUS DARK is a paranormal investigator without a gun confronting demons, sorcerers and ghosts in a barrage of cases that often – literally – are to die for.”
M Cid D'Angelo has been published in literary journals such as EUREKA LITERARY MAGAZINE, AIOFE'S KISS, LADY JANE'S MISCELLANY, THIRD WEDNESDAY, MORONIC OX (WWW.MORONICOX.COM), MIDWAY JOURNAL (WWW.MIDWAYJOURNAL.COM), MILITARY HISTORY, and LOST TREASURE. He was agented at one time by the WriteHigh Literary Agency (Beverly Hills, CA) and the Cherry Weiner Literary Agency (New Jersey)
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Accretion: Volume I
My Friend Are In Trouble
To Uncaring Life’s Life Demands
Unsheltered And Without Opportunity
They Are Pulled
Into Sadness Depressions and Storms
Of Unrelenting Disquiet
I Stand At A Distance
A Beacon Perhaps
To Calmer Waters
Unwilling To Reach Out
Share the Security
Of My Foundation
I really enjoy the work of Jack Donaldson, a poet who I had the opportunity to meet during my days hosting the open mic at Poetry Unplugged, the poetry open mic at Luna’s Café in Sacramento, California. Accretion: Volume I is Donaldson’s fourth collection of poetry, and shows great improvement in the writer’s practice of his craft. There is a concreteness here that creeps in between each of the poets individual lines. Donaldson writes with acceleration and a spiritual separation, a natural progression of time and space. This is good work.
Do I recommend this book? Yes I do. As I’ve said in the past, I like Jack Donaldson’s work and consider him both unique and insightful. It seems to me that which each book, the poet gets better. So, where does that leave us? Go out and buy the book!
Saturday, August 6, 2011
When I Was a Poet
City Lights Books
San Francisco, CA
they can be anything
from shopping lists
to legal briefs
but its what’s not there
nothing to do w/
words work best when
they know they can’t
I love the work of Doc Meltzer. In my eyes, David Meltzer can do no wrong, and in this collection of the City Lights Pocket Poetry series #60, Meltzer just hones his craft. This is a poetic milestone because Meltzer is one of those genuine writers, and this primal book is his masterpiece.
Here are portraits of the poet’s life, which includes the classic “California Dreamin Whe” and the wonderful title “When I was a Poet”. These poems are almost mystical, and will take a quick effect on the reader with profound meditations on love, death, loss, and aging. When I was a Poet is a substantial contribution to American poetry by one of its foremost practitioners. So, get up, go to your nearest bookstore, and purchase a copy of this book. You will not regret it.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
How did so beautiful a film as the Journey of August King manage to make so few waves upon release and to be barely recollected at all today? There are a lot of reasons I can come up with, none of them satisfactory but many of them probably true. It is a film about the pre-secession South that does not infantilize, apologize for, demonize or whitewash its characters. Directed by John Duigan from John Ehle's novel (adapted by Ehle, himself) the movie hinges on genuine empathy from its audience, not the sort flagged by cheap symbolism or worked up by cinematic trickery or genre-coding. We have, as a movie-literate culture, a predilection to ignoring any evidence that not only can Thandie Newton act, but she is likely one of the finest actors of her generation. That is to say, we have a difficult time, as Americans and probably worldwide, in acknowledging that black actors are acting and not merely being, that women acting can delve as in-depth and seriously as men, and that attractive features somehow deny one genuine talent.
While Newton does not play the title character, a widower traveling quietly with his livestock played by Jason Patric, it is her character, Annalees, an escaped slave, with a special relationship to her owner, which suspends the movie over its potential point assassin. Though both characters, the slave and the man who can help her hide on her route to freedom, are of few words, August King is a white man traveling freely, afforded a dominance and rightness- in- being that does not require him to speak much, while a young black woman in a pre Civil War America - and in a period piece taking place in an antebellum America - is without demanded presence, erased. Annalees knows it, too. Her most simple form of escape is to recede from presence.
I appreciated seeing a movie that acknowledged I might be capable of - inclined to - empathy without having to be steered towards it by a change in the soundtrack or a loud metaphor. I cannot stress that enough, even in the face of the movie using a white man for our collective eyes and heart.
I am surprised, even with the gorgeous cinematography and lush acting in The Journey of August King, that I am unbothered (mostly) by the fact that it is yet another in a long tradition of nonwhite narrative told from the nearest available white perspective. It is Annalees' story that produces our narrative, it is she that is the hook for the audience, and it is she reinforced by the narration of Maya Angelou. But it is Patric's August King who is subsumed by her presence in his narrative, so he serves as audience-association not (solely) because he is the nearest available white man of any sympathetic nature but because he empathizes with Annalees' situation at a distance.
If there is one thing certain in the history of film, it is that we have all been trained to see through the eyes of straight white men, at least as long as the camera is on them; the Male Gaze is this and only this - Trained acceptance. Whether this is intentional on the part of the filmmakers, or inevitable in our euro-centric, patriarchal society it is a functional reminder for the audience to not dehumanize or distance Annalees, to see her living and being not as a stock character, and to recognize, too, the man that is King is more than the sum of his parts.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Reviewed by BL Kennedy
Area 51: An Uncensored History of America’s Top Secret Military Base
Hachette Book Group
New York, NY
The Secret City
This book is a work of nonfiction. The stores I tell in this narrative are real. None of the people are invented. Of the seventy four individuals interviewed for this for this book with rare firsthand knowledge of the secret base, thirty-two of them lived and worked at Area 51.
Area 51 is the nation’s most secret domestic military facility. It is located in the high desert of southern Nevada, seventy five miles north of Las Vegas. Its facilities have been constructed over the past sixty years around a flat, dry lake bed called Groom Lake. The U.S. government has never admitted it exists.
There is a quote in Annie Jacobson’s book, an old gypsy quote that I’m going to paraphrase which goes something like this: “you are not really dead until the last person who knows you dies.” I kind of like that; it makes me kind of reflect upon how lucky I have been to live the life I have in reviewing books as well as writing and publishing over these many years. Okay, now back to the review. Enough of this stupid reminiscing.
Like Roswell, Area 51 has become the stuff of legend. Whether or not a UFO crashed at Roswell, whether or not alien bodies were discovered and shipped off to Wright Patterson Air Force Base where they sat in some hangar for several years before being shipped off to Nevada in 1951 is all part of legend and speculation. In fact, I kind of like the idea that the supposed crashed UFO and alien bodies were shipped to Nevada in 1951, and that’s how area 51 got its name. That’s just one of the many little tidbits that Annie Jacobson drops in this massive 500 plus page book, Area 51: An Uncensored History of America’s Top Secret Military Base.
Actually, all the Roswell stuff is just kind of an add-on at the end of the book. And, I might add, one of the most frightening books I have ever read in my life, and its not because of crashed UFOs or aliens: that is a totally different ballgame. Truth be told, the parcel of land near Groom Lake, Nevada that has become known as Area 51 was purchased by the Atomic Energy Commission with the sole purpose of above ground and below ground atomic testing to see what the effects of radioactive fallout would be on the residents of Nevada and Utah. This is not only frightening, but it is fact. The whole flying saucer, CIA, spy plane, whatever you call it that Area 51 is known for today is the tip of the iceberg, and didn’t begin until 1956, when the CIA got involved. Before then, whatever it was that crashed at Roswell stayed at Wright Patterson Air Force Base until 1951, when it was shipped over by military UPS to the Atomic Energy Commission for supposed reverse engineering. Could you believe this shit? This is sicker than the sickest science fiction I’ve ever read in my life.
We have speculation going on in this book by Ms. Jacobson, who, don’t get me wrong, is a very, very good writer and holds many honors (she writes for Los Angeles Times Magazine and she is a graduate of Princeton University). Somehow, she has managed to conveniently locate seventy some odd former employees at Area 51, who have now talked to her, because the projects they have been working on all these years have finally been declassified.
I don’t know what to think here. I don’t know if our government is using Ms. Jacobson and filling her with disinformation, or if they are prepping her for a position within the secret government itself. What I do know is that the Atomic Energy Commission did indeed use the Groom Lake area (a.k.a. Area 51), for atomic testing throughout the 1950’s. In fact, its well documented that they used to have atomic bomb parties in Las Vegas, and people at casinos were invited to come out and watch the explosions. We know that the entire cast and crew of the John Wayne movie “The Conqueror” filmed near the Groom Lake Area died of cancer.
Annie Jacobson fills us up with tons of facts. For example, most historians are familiar with Operation Paperclip, in which the United States created new identities for Nazi scientists and smuggled them into this country. We’re talking about People like Wernher Von Braun and other Nazi scientists, whose files are still classified as of 2011. Let’s face it, these people created our space program. I think its kind of funny that if not for the Nazis, Neil Armstrong would have never walked on the moon. One very interesting story early on in the book tells about Von Braun in America, testing one of the first missiles in New Mexico, and almost blowing up the city of El Paso, Texas. This is a very frightening book, and if you’re paranoid about our government, this will make you even more paranoid. If you’re anti nuclear, I suggest you turn off the lights and see if you glow in the dark. This is a scary, scary book, and it is a book that I suggest all thinking Americans read.
Available on Amazon.