WADE FRAZIER : A Healed Planet

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Right after making that post on Ed, I discovered that Lydia Sargent died last month. She co-founded South End Press and Z Magazine, which were Ed’s and Noam’s primary publishing conduits for many years, ever since their first joint effort was spectacularly censored. Here is the eulogy from Michael Albert, her business partner for a half-century. Michael, like so many on the Left, is a materialist, which comes through loud and clear in his eulogy. He will be pleasantly surprised one day.

Awe-inspiring work, Lydia, and you are definitely missed.

See you soon,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I can’t speak for others with eidetic memories, but I have always hated rote memorization, and refused to do it. The only exception I can think of was memorizing my lines for acting.

During my first year at Cal Poly, that only class that I got a B in was probably the most worthless class that I ever took. Management classes in general were worthless, but that class was some kind of survey class, and the textbook was filled with gossip and trivia. Test questions were literally like, “On what page was Lee Iacocca quoted on his opinion of Chrysler?” The only way to get an A was to literally memorize the entire chapter, including the page numbers, and I refused to play along. It was like filling my mind with garbage.

My intermediate accounting classes that year were the “weed out classes” in the accounting curriculum, and are the hardest classes in any accounting program. The accounting theory portion of the CPA exam nearly all came from intermediate accounting classes. For me, those classes were harder than the calculus classes for scientists that I took. The most conceptually challenging classes were my favorites, but even in my second semester of calculus, the teacher made us memorize calculus trigonometry functions, that was about when I dropped out of my math-science studies, and when that voice would soon talk to me.

I recall that when I was six, I made a commitment to never forget those memories from when I was two, and I recall revisiting those memories over the years as I grew up, and how purposefully remembering them seemed to keep them fresh. But, that was the only time that I did something like that. For the rest of my memories, they are just there. Sometimes, I’ll “play” memories about events, when I am looking for something specific, to see if it comes up, and sometimes it will. I can’t do it like I used to, as I become an old man. But having an eidetic memory is pretty involuntary. Also, I burned out on “brain teasers” at about age 10, and have refused to do them ever since. I suppose that some good can come out of that, but I always wanted to use my mind on a meaningful goal, not just to do something that might be exercising some mental muscles.

It was only years later that I came to realize that all of that accounting knowledge that I gained was in the service of a worthless profession. I keep score for the capitalists today, and likely will for the rest of my career. That voice has plenty of explaining to do.

I remember how I thought with each of these birthdays: 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, and 60. Each one was a kind of time-marking exercise for me, as I thought about what was behind me and what might lie ahead. I turned 10 a few months after winning the Serra Elementary spelling bee, and my parents seemed to realize that they had a prodigy on their hands when I was a toddler, but it was not until winning that spelling bee that I began to realize that I was rather talented. But I was still a Boy Scout, and there was really no ego in it for me back then. I was expected to do great things, and I felt a responsibility to live up to it. I overheard my father telling some relatives about my high IQ, around the time that I was placed in my first gifted programs. I think that it put pressure on me to hear that.

My bookworm status never really changed, and I read everything that I could get my hands on, including the tabloids that my mother brought home from the grocery store, which I gave up at age 13, when a childhood friend’s nuclear physicist father had his son take me to task for reading junk like that. I gave up TV at age 18, which was my mother’s other bad habit that she gave me. The incongruity of my father’s IQ being about twice my mother’s did not strike me while growing up. But after I left home, I increasingly did not have much in common with my mother, and we grew apart.

What is coming on this thread are key memories of my lifetime, and how they impacted me. Some impacts were obvious while they happened, while other impacts did not become evident until years later.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When I went through my memory box recently, I unsuccessfully looked for a comment that an early-grade teacher made, and maybe in summer school, about my fascination with nature. I’ll probably never know just what all was stolen.

That teacher’s comment might be the earliest hint at where I was heading. In third grade, my parents sent my brother and me to a Saturday morning science class at a museum. During that year in Texas, we visited relatives and two my grandfather’s pals from his World War II days. One relative, my paternal grandmother’s half-sister, had a home on the shores of a lake near Brownsville, Texas. As I recall, that great aunt shot at an animal while we were there, which is typical rural Texan behavior. As we drove the backroads when visiting them, some roads were literally lined with mounds of fossils. I believe that they were Permian fossils, mostly reef remnants, perhaps. How do you keep young boys from that? We eagerly played in fossil mounds, and I found one particularly interesting rock, which seemed to have skin on it. It took it to my Saturday science teacher, and he tentatively identified it. It became a prized possession, and when we moved back to California a few months later, I brought it with me. Not long after we moved to Ventura, my prized fossil rock went missing, and I don’t know if it just got tossed into the garden as worthless, or it was a conscious theft.

I vividly remember the look that my father gave me when I was in third grade, after an hour-long checkers game with him, when he said that he had a new game to teach me. By the fifth grade, I had read all of the paleontology books at Serra School’s library, and read the World Book Encyclopedia each night in bed, as the family library was in my room. By age 12 or so, I could probably recite most of the records in the Guinness Book of World Records. I was an information and learning junkie. By about age nine, I read the newspaper daily, which lasted into my early 30s. I stopped reading newspapers altogether by the late 1990s, partly because of the rise of the Internet, and partly because of what I discovered about the “news.” Trying to parse the truth from the lies can be a dismaying and wearying task, and I eventually decided that newspapers just were not worth the time and effort any longer. I understand why Ed and Noam kept analyzing the media, and getting Ed’s monthly articles in Z Magazine was infinitely more edifying than reading the paper.

I clearly recall my fascination while reading about my beloved trilobites, Cambrian seas, and the like. I had toy dinosaurs, mammoths, pterodactyls, and the like, which were not unusual child possessions in those days. I was precocious, but I really did not see myself as any different from my friends and neighbors, in a middle class boomer neighborhood. But that all began to change one June morning, soon after I turned 12, when my mother walked into the kitchen and announced that the corn flakes I was eating were bad for my health. That was my first introduction to alternatives. As I think back to that morning, just how I was different may have been in evidence, as I soon discovered. I did not receive my mother’s comment with indignation, as I literally had my spoon in my mouth, but wanted to know more. I think that I read Stale Food Versus Fresh Food that morning.

At age 12, I was not exactly a candidate for a heart attack, but my father was, and I had no resistance at all to that new diet, and I rarely “cheated.” But, when I began telling friends about our dietary change, I was shocked by the indignant reactions. They called it crazy, and the like, and they really did not want to know more. That was in Southern California, where all fads started, and healthy diets became a fad. In 1976, a song about a secret junk food junkie became a hit, and I was teased about my diet into my 30s, and in Ohio, as a vegetarian, I was treated like a celebrity of sorts. Nobody in Ohio was threatened by my habits. It was more like I was a mythical creature that people had heard of in legend, and they finally got to see one. It was gently amusing by that time. More than 40 years after reading Stale Food Versus Fresh Food, and a generation after it was banned in the USA, I discovered that mainstream medicine adopted the advice in that banned book. Seeing that arc, as well as with my fasting practices, as they are now in vogue, and vegetarian foods are the hot new capitalist play, are some of the more amazing experiences of my lifetime, as I watched marginalized, ridiculed, and banned practices go mainstream.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I stopped trying to interest anybody in my life in alternative medical treatments many years ago. Those experiences with alternative diets, when I was 12, began to prepare me for how people react to anything out of the mainstream, and I never was successful with getting anybody with degenerative diseases to try an alternative, even those who had been given death sentences by orthodox medicine. I watched them embrace certain death over even questioning their indoctrination, which I soon came to realize was normal. When my former assistant asked me what I would have done, with her diagnosis, I was surprised that she would even ask. I threw her some names, but really didn’t expect her to do anything with them. She didn’t, and was dead six months later.

A longtime pal, who arranged my first visit to Gilliland’s ranch, has a wife who was diagnosed with breast cancer six months ago. He asked me back then what alternatives were available, although he did not expect his wife, a nurse, to try any of them. I gave him my usual suggestions of Gaston Naessens, Ralph Moss’s investigations, etc.

Now, six months later, after the usual brutal methods of orthodox therapy and no improvement, of course, his wife is now willing to maybe add some alternatives on top of the orthodox treatments. He asked me yesterday what I could recommend, I found myself surfing a little, and discovered that Gaston passed on in 2018, at the ripe age of 94. I spoke with his wife for an hour back in 1997, as Gaston never spoke good English. Ralph investigated Gaston a generation ago, and was impressed, and there is plenty out there on Gaston’s discoveries and treatment.

Fare you well, Gaston,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Every few months, I pop into the exceptional NDE stash that is continually updated. While this one was good, this one was truly exceptional, not only for the multiple NDEs, but the “galactic tour” last account on that page. The “God’s gratitude that we came here to be physical” theme is not too unusual (Brinkley had a similar message, for instance).

I wrote a little on the evolution camps recently, and while I know that materialism is a false faith, I also don’t buy a lot of the intelligent design stuff that I see. Both camps often suffer from the limitations of their faiths. I doubt that evolutionary theory in the Fifth Epoch will have much resemblance to what we see today. If some of our nearby galactic neighbors are humanoid, it brings up profound questions. I think the first would be if we are related, in that they helped seed humanity on Earth or intervened in our evolutionary journey. If so, that is going to have major impacts on evolutionary theory, and it is mindboggling to consider. If there is some kind of preferred form for biological life to take, guided by higher planes of existence, that will be equally mindboggling. How much of the universe’s life has something like DNA in it? The people in that heavenly Roads world knew many of those answers.

Until we can actually study such life, it is all a bunch of speculation. I hear plenty of stories, but they are just stories, until the evidence can be examined, if it can be examined. I think that it is indisputable that evolution happens on Earth, and that Darwin got a lot right, more than he could have imagined, while he also got plenty wrong, such as denying that mass extinctions happened. But that does not mean that materialism is valid, or that Bible-banging “science” is valid.

I don’t know how many of my questions on these subjects will be answered in my lifetime, or if I am even brought in on the joke on the other side, but they are subjects that people can chew on for the rest of their lives, and profitably. It is the process that is important, IMO, not the current state of the science.

Best,

Wade

[Bill Ryan]

Posted by Wade Frazier (here)
I wrote a little on the evolution camps recently, and while I know that materialism is a false faith, I also don’t buy a lot of the intelligent design stuff that I see. Both camps often suffer from the limitations of their faiths. I doubt that evolutionary theory in the Fifth Epoch will have much resemblance to what we see today. If some of our nearby galactic neighbors are humanoid, it brings up profound questions. I think the first would be if we are related, in that they helped seed humanity on Earth or intervened in our evolutionary journey. If so, that is going to have major impacts on evolutionary theory, and it is mindboggling to consider. If there is some kind of preferred form for biological life to take, guided by higher planes of existence, that will be equally mindboggling. How much of the universe’s life has something like DNA in it? The people in that heavenly Roads world knew many of those answers.

Wade, what are your thoughts on Lamarckism? (The inheritance of acquired or learned characteristics?)

• Lamarckism: a different theory of evolution

[Wade Frazier]

Hi Bill:

That is a huge subject. Peter Ward recently wrote a book titled Lamarck’s Revenge, as epigenetics makes its rise. I sure don’t know what the answer is, but I suspect it is something along these lines…

Evolution is real, and there is a real physical basis to it, but DNA mutations are only part of the story. As far as embryo development goes, today’s science knows hardly anything at all. They found part of the blueprint with DNA, but that says nothing about any architect (materialists believe that there is not one) or how the workers go about pounding those nails. DNA’s primary purpose is being a blueprint for making proteins. Cranking out proteins says very little about how cells and organisms are constructed.

Epigenetics is a new area of evolutionary controversy, and we’ll see how much Lamarck might be vindicated. For the record, Lamarck is one a long line of scientists who were viciously attacked by their peers, and he died a ruined man, which is the reason for the title of Ward’s book. The giraffe example is a Lamarckian classic, and my guess is that it is not just all chance mutation and selective pressure, which is the orthodox position today. Darwinian theory is probably quite valid on the survival of the fittest, but the issue of the arrival of the fittest is the key area of contention these days, and Lamarckian theory is part of that milieu. Again, this is all fascinating, and I doubt that those controversies will be resolved in my lifetime, unless, of course, the ETs land on the White House lawn.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

On that “ETs on the White House lawn” scenario…

If that day happens, evolutionary theory will certainly be up for reappraisal, and we’ll see how much of today’s body of theory survives, but all of that pales to insignificance compared to the technologies that the ETs used to get here. That is going to be the primary transformative aspect of that scenario; the rest only changes our story, not the way we live.

That is why I try to not pay too much attention to the ET circus. A great deal of it is disinformation, paranoia, denial, and the rest, and largely a distraction.

I am not that interested in how our story will change, and am not that interested in whether captured ET technology was behind my friend’s show. What matters to me is that those technologies exist, and what their transformative potential is. The rest is noise. That is where a comprehensive perspective can help understand what the Fifth Epoch means, as well as rank issues in their importance. Next to free energy and the attendant technologies, everything else in human affairs pales to insignificance. The GCs understand this well, which is why they have the lid so tightly on this stuff. The ET issue is primarily kept under wraps as a way to keep those technologies under wraps. If one comes out, the other will closely follow, which is why they are joined at the hip.

We are seeing what looks like limited hangout behavior on the ET issue lately, and we’ll see what comes of it. I pay some attention to it, but not all that much, and today’s electoral circus has simply nothing to do with it, as any sitting president is a puppet. Trump is not the white knight on a steed that will save the day, and I don’t even want to talk about Biden.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Back to my memories. I am a boomer, and a member of history’s most privileged demographic group – white educated American men – and raised in an idyllic California beach town, so life must have been good, right? In many ways, it was. But in others, not so much. When I look back at the racist and bigoted environment that I was raised in, I have to shake my head. My memories of JFK’s and RFK’s assassinations were stark ones, as were the deaths of the Apollo 1 astronauts. I have to admit that MLK’s assassination was not as big a deal in my life or of those around me. I am sure that racism had something to do with that. That my great nation was engaging in genocide on peasant societies was lost on me when I was 10. At 10, for some reason, my mother took me to Berkeley’s campus on the way to Washington, for our usual summer trip, and I remember watching cops dragging a woman through the main square (a clock tower was nearby), but I did not understand what I was seeing.

I did not learn that Saint Serra was California’s equivalent of Hitler until I was in my 30s, nor did I have any understanding of the bloody “settling” of my great nation until my 30s, after I had been awakened and began hitting the books.

My father was unhappy working for the Navy, my brother a year younger than me was smarter than me, but with a criminal mind, and in a few years, when my youngest brother began kindergarten, it became obvious that he was a special needs child. His IQ is somewhere around 80, if I had to guess, and maybe a little lower. The genetic roulette that my parents played had some bad outcomes. My special needs brother has had a lifetime of misery, and my criminal brother became a fringe-dweller. I was the Boy Scout and family hero, but my memories of life before high school are not really all that happy, and I am sure that that all contributed. As I reached high school, it really was the beginning of leaving home, and my life became a lot happier.

It was during my first year in high school that I got my energy dreams, followed by my eye-opening trip to Europe, and then my mystical awakening a few months later. 1974 was a pivotal year in my life, and “coincidentally” when humanity’s greatest period of prosperity ended. I used to be able to do it, and I have not tried to for many years and doubt that I can any longer, but I used to be able to remember every day of that European tour, in some detail. One memory that stands out is when I was sitting in the lobby of our hotel in Paris, after a week in Europe, and it felt like I had been there a year, as I was processing so much. The next summer, my first day at Boys State felt like a week.

But, probably the most spectacular memory of those days was when I watched that woman raise her hand and say that Isaac Brown was missing the end of the index finger that she raised. I can still see her doing that, and I remember my awestruck surprise upon seeing it. I was on my way to becoming a scientist/materialist only a week earlier.

My worldview irreversibly changed in that moment, and I did not know it yet, but I was ruined as a mainstream scientist from that moment forward. When it was my turn, and I diagnosed my case’s medical condition as a stroke that paralyzed her right side, when all I had to go on was her name, age, sex, and city of residence, it seemed kind of normal to be able to do that.

I can’t overemphasize what a divide that moment was. I have only had a few others in my life, which are coming before this thread is finished, and some are even more spectacular, such as the times that that voice spoke to me, and my day on the witness stand. All of those happened by age 30, and everything since then has been the small stuff, except probably for meeting Brian and being introduced to Ed’s work, but I was 32 when I began reading Ed’s work, and I met Brian the next year. So, the past 30 years have been fairly uneventful in my life, and I suppose it has been compensation of a sort, but not without its challenges.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When that voice first spoke to me, there was a pattern to its arrival that I recognized the second time it spoke to me. In both instances, I felt backed into a corner by events, and only prayed for the voice in desperation. The first time, I had no idea what would happen, or if anything would happen.

On one hand, it felt like I was being manipulated into those dark corners, and I was always a little resentful of that, but it brought me to that place of being all out of inspiration, after trying everything, and praying for help. I’ll never forget the first time I heard that voice, with my first waking thought, when I was 19. “Have you ever thought of studying business?” was a completely alien thought in my head. Some people actually hear a voice (1, 2). For me, it was just alien thoughts in my head, and Dennis likely had a similar experience. In none of those events was it heard in some kind of exalted state, but in normal waking awareness, although under extreme circumstances each time, although mine was nowhere as extreme as those others I just linked to.

I guess that when I heard it the third and last time, I was kind of in an exalted state, as I had just prayed with all my might for Mr. Professor’s soul, saw him in his heaven (and he sent me an undeniable message from there), and I saw him, accompanied by his mother and two angels (they were columns of light, with the angels about twice as tall as Mr. Professor and his mother), as his widow said goodbye to his body. When that voice took “credit” for leading me to Mr. Professor, as I stood next to his dead body, that was some tough medicine! Mr. Professor came through at his grave 11 years later, in what I quickly understood was his way of trying to assuage my pain. I still don’t want to hear from that voice again. No more suicide missions, thank you. And with eidetic memory, I get to see it all, whether I want to or not, in technicolor. In a way, it has been a form of torture.

Over the years, people have stated how blessed I was to be guided like that. Well, if I was, then that voice sure demanded a lot, as my life was soon ruined, along with the lives of many others. I saw many wrecked and shortened lives, and I had to wonder what it all was for. To a significant degree, my efforts are carrying on for Mr. Professor, Brian, and Dennis. But, I am also chasing the biggest event in the human journey. Sometimes I step back and take that in, and realize that the voice was all about leading me there, and wrecked and shortened lives seem to come with the territory. God and I are going to have a little chat about that after I pass over. Does it really need to be this way? A few heroes sacrifice their lives for a humanity that is unaware and simply does not care about anything other than their immediate self-interest?

Actually, I don’t think that it has to be that way, which is where my choir idea came from. If relatively few people can reach productive awareness on this issue and sing in chorus, the Fifth Epoch is not far away. But can they get there without going through the free energy meat grinder? That is still what I am trying to find out. I think that with people with the right stuff, who were not wrecked by their journeys and can do the work, it is possible. I do not seek more candidates for my personal pantheon. There are not enough of them on Earth for the hero’s approach to work, and that has its own downsides. I am trying to form something far more modest, which can only help, should not hurt anybody, if the gung-ho newbies can heed my advice and stay out of trouble, and it might be the critical missing piece.

When that voice speaks to you, you never forget it. It stays high in your memory, as an extraordinary moment. For me, what that voice led me to was kind of hard to believe, as I got to chase my teenage dream. I can’t regret any of it, but I only had one life to wreck on a journey like this, and I continually pick up the pieces of my shattered life. One day, I may be able to tell it all publicly, but a few more people have to die before I can. Oh, the memories!

Next up will be memories after college graduation, on the way to being led to Dennis.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

As an addendum to my previous post, when I write of my personal pantheon and those who laid their lives on the line, there are really not many of those. Dennis towers above the rest, as the Indiana Jones of free energy, who should be dead dozens of times over. Mr. Professor comes in next, as he truly sacrificed his life. Alison is up there, and Dennis’s assistant who replaced me is nearly at that level.

Brian, Ralph, Gary, and Rodney Stich all sacrificed their lives, although, like the rest of us, they really did not know what they were getting into. Late in his life, Brian said that if he had any idea of what he was getting into, he would have kept sipping his Ivy League sherry instead. Those crucified doctors and scientists also rank up there, and they also did not realize what they were getting into. None of us really did.

For all of their greatness of spirit, Ed, Noam, and Howard really did not play at those levels. They are still in my pantheon, however. The rest of them that I listed in that post are not really at the pantheon level, but still acquitted themselves relatively honorably.

My point is that there are just not enough people on Earth for the heroic approach to have a prayer of success.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Last night, I watched parts of Shoah, which I watched in the theater in 1986 in Seattle, when I first worked for Dennis. At over nine hours in total, it was shown over three nights. I bought the Blue Ray, almost for the nostalgic value, but also because I can’t seem to get enough of studying World War II, the Holocaust, those NASA Nazis, and the like.

In LA, I subscribed to Christian Science Monitor, thinking that I was getting a thoughtful take on the news. So, in looking back, I can see that I was trying to awaken, before my radicalizing ride with Dennis. That Easter Bunny question about my profession was also an early sign that I was trying to awaken. As I have written, I saw many people around me, during my ride with Dennis, who didn’t really understand what was happening, and they didn’t want to understand. If people awaken depends on whether they want to awaken. People have the choice to refuse to see what is evident. Nobody is as blind as somebody who refuses to see. I see awakening as a combination of willingness, ability, and opportunity. That willingness hinges on that rarest of commodities. If a person is not willing to awaken, the rest won’t matter.

When I got my first post-collegiate job, at that small CPA firm, I quickly had a headache for every waking hour. I thought that it was somehow my reaction to living in the Seattle winter, after 20 years of living in sunny California, but as soon as they fired me, the headache went away. I now know that it was my first stress reaction. CPA firms are brutal places to work. I would go on to having much worse stress problems in LA. Downtown Seattle was a land of the homeless when I got out of college. The name “Skid Row” was coined in Seattle, as logs were skidded down the street to the water of Puget Sound, for transport. But what I saw in Seattle was tame, compared to what I encountered in LA.

In LA, I was thrust into LA’s Skid Row, and worked there for six months. In August 1983, it was smog season, when LA’s air pollution was legendary. When I drove into downtown LA then, I could not see the skyscraper that I worked in until I was less than a mile away. Some days, from the 27^th floor where I worked, I could only see for a few blocks from the windows. That summer of 1983, when I did not stop at my office and kept going for several more blocks into Skid Row, was like driving into hell. From an idyllic beach town, from bucolic San Luis Obispo, from the forests of the Northwest, to Skid Row Los Angeles, was one hell of a shock.

I have written on how I burst into tears one morning, driving into Skid Row, after a month of it. I don’t know what happened, but after that morning, working in Skid Row never bothered me again. It became “normal,” but that is also when my drinking problems began to blossom. One of my starkest memories of my Skid Row days was turning the corner, across the street from where I worked, on the way to lunch, to nearly stumble over a dead body. That dead Mexican-American man was the first dead body that I ever saw, as I altered my path to step around him. He died of blunt force trauma to his head. What is probably most memorable about it is that we kept walking for another 50 yards to enter the eatery, and we didn’t even talk about what we just saw. You just didn’t talk about the daily horrors that you saw in Skid Row. Each day held the promise of some new horror or moment of disgust.

I have written plenty about the racist and bigoted environment that I was raised in, and I was far past that by my LA days. In that first stint in Skid Row (I had a few in those years), I helped audit LA’s redevelopment agency, which was in the heart of Skid Row, about a block away from the Greyhound Bus station. My CPA firm could not legally perform the audit by itself, but a “minority” auditor had to partner with us. When I walked past the dead body, it was with the woman that represented the minority firm. She was a nice black woman, about my age, who got an accounting degree at a disreputable program. We used her for the audit’s most menial tasks, and she was getting essentially no training or career development, kind of on the accounting plantation, as her firm hired her out to audits like ours. It seemed like a scam to me, and one day at lunch, she asked me if her tenure with us, working alongside one of the big firms, would enhance her career. In my honest, nerdish way, I gave her the talk that nobody else would give her – she was just being used by her firm and the system, to comply with an empty law. A few years after that, I began to realize that our entire profession was worthless. We only kept honest companies honest.

To this day, I am the only former auditor that I know of who wrote anything like this. Ed once mentioned that fatal conflict of interest at the profession’s heart, and he and I are the only two people that I know of who wrote about that. So, our professional lives overlapped long before I became his biographer.

So, those memories of my life immediately after college are hints of where I was heading before I met Dennis. But, I truly believe that if I had not met Dennis, I would have never awakened like I did, and I would likely not have much worth saying.

It was also in those years when I heard of the secret life of a close relative who was a contract CIA agent, who nearly tried to recruit me into the business.

I have found myself raiding those memories of those early years before I met Dennis, seeing how I was struggling to awaken, and I can clearly recall how I thought in those days, particularly during key moments, and what I thought as they happened.

My LA days were my life’s unhappiest years, I got away to the mountains whenever I could, and I can tell that my “friends” were setting me up for my ride with Dennis. For all that I experienced in my life until that voice told me to move to Seattle, I had yet to see anything. The real class was about to begin.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

It is not easy to see ourselves as others see us, whether their perceptions are valid or not. I was an emotionally centered prodigy, who was expected to do great things, a member of history’s most privileged demographic group, raised in a racist and bigoted environment, in the crazily competitive USA. In some ways, I must have been a trip to be around. I am in the autism spectrum, a social misfit in ways, but also a Boy Scout. I had criminal and special needs brothers, a father who hated his career, a mother who was overmatched, as soon my criminal brother reached adolescence, and I was the family hero. I didn’t really sign up for the job, but it kind of fell to me.

I got into track because I was chasing a girl, and went to the university, chasing another girl. I was not exactly planning my life very consciously. When I graduated, with record test scores and the like, the LA accounting firms rolled out the red carpet for me, but I wanted to live in Seattle and hike instead. My career was not really that important to me. But I picked the worst recession in 40 years to graduate from college, and was soon crawling back to California, defeated, to begin my career. My Cal Poly department chair got me an interview with the computer consulting division of Arthur Andersen (called Accenture today), but I was about one programming course short of being qualified, at least in their eyes. I would have been brilliant in that career path, and I have always been an “IT-tweener” in my career, doing system design and the like, but only the high-level IT people had much appreciation for my talent. I was usually smarter than my bosses, and because my innovations saved them money, they usually let me play my IT games. But they could not really understand my big breakthroughs. I tried to take my company “paperless” in the back office, a generation before it became hip to do so. They didn’t even understand what I was talking about, and soon went out of business. I could have saved them, but instead saw thousands of lives impacted, some of which were wrecked.

But, upon graduation, at my first job and in LA, some colleagues called me stupid. Not only did they call me stupid, but it harmed my career almost before it got started, and I encountered that “you are stupid” attack clear into my 40s. I was in the big leagues at times, and I was around plenty of smart people, but stupid, me? I finally realized that it was just the shark tank environment that I was in, in corporate America, and it gave me some ego issues. It was kind of crazy that I had to establish my intelligence with those people, particularly when I look back and realize that I had most of them by a long ways on the intelligence scale. Mr. Mentor encountered similar behavior, from people who could not tie his intellectual shoes. It was just how the game was played in the shark tank.

Almost immediately after college graduation, I stopped playing competitive anything. I hated how constantly competing ruined me in ways. In the Fifth Epoch, people will not compete with each other much, if at all. It took me many years to really learn the roots of where all of that crazy competition came from, of a world of a few winners, and the rest losers. It goes back to the roots of why social animals are social. In our world, there is only so much energy to go around, and in a world of scarcity and fear, competition and survival is the name of the game. Today, in history’s richest and most powerful nation, its 59 richest citizens have as much wealth as the poorest half of its citizenry. The system is broken in surreal fashion, and Americans have no idea of the awesome price that that disparity produces. The GCs are capitalism on steroids, and all of humanity is enslaved to their dark agenda, as we make Earth uninhabitable. And good luck with finding people who know much or care much about that situation. It has been a walk through the desert, looking for them.

Around the time I graduated, somebody called me a “know-it-all,” and it had some validity, because I did want to know it all, and still do. Why wouldn’t somebody want to know as much about their world as they could? Or at least try? It was initially dismaying to find out how few really wanted to know. They almost always sold out their sentience for a full belly, and the laughter at my “Easter Bunny” question was not only a classic indicator of how out of place I was, but also where the mainstream of such “smart” people was. The name of the game was self-interest.

I got street-smart, and fast, in Skid Row. My life depended on it. Walking around in Skid Row at night was a terrifying experience (I only had to do it once, as I recall, and that was plenty). I look back at those days, and can tell the cognitive dissonance I was going through, as an idealist thrust into hell. I tried to make sense of it all, but I was quite naïve, too. I was really a fish out of water, and still am, to a great degree, keeping score for the capitalists.

So, my LA days gave me a drinking problem, some ego issues, and in my last year in LA, at least for that stint, I could not get a full lung of air. I was constantly gasping for air. During my second “busy season” (the winter months), I got that condition, but it went away when the busy season ended. It came back in my third busy season, did not go away when the season ended, and I had that problem for the entire next year. I finally went to a doctor that I knew from my social life. After his examination, he said that I had classic stress symptoms, and he advised me to quit my job or else face a physical catastrophe. But the next busy season was about to begin, and it was disloyal to the company to quit then. You were supposed to quit after the busy season, not right before it. I was still crazy loyal to the place that gave me my health problems. But I was also a complete failure as an auditor: I just couldn’t play the game, and my stress problems were frying my brain. I did not understand that frank admission by that partner, the year before, about the worthlessness of our profession. That did not become clear until a few years later, after I had been awakened.

In looking back, I can tell that my “friends” were setting me up, and I have very mixed feelings about that. I finally got to understand how our world generally worked, and it can be the booby prize. Not many can come to that understanding and retain their sanity and willingness to carry on. I have witnessed many casualties over the years.

But in that shark tank, some did care about me, and Alan tried to look out for me. But I was kind of dead meat already, as he gathered me in on that bank audit for the second year. I was a complete wreck by that time, and in January 1986, it came to a head, and we had a frank talk. I would not be promoted that spring, and it was up or out in the big firms, but Alan said that my loyalty would be rewarded, and when we returned to LA, I could stay at home and look for work as long as it took. When I went back to my apartment that evening, I was giddy, with a great sense of relief, and as I reached my apartment and reached in my pocket for the keys that I had on a separate key chain (my “audit” key chain), they were missing. At that moment, I knew that something was up. It was the only time in my life that I ever lost my keys. I knew that my “friends” were messing with me, but I did not know why or what was up, and my radar was up as I retraced my steps, to find my keys. I searched my car and the path to my apartment, and the next step was driving back to the parking lot at the office, several miles away, and continue the search there. As I drove into the parking lot, on that rainy night, that hooker ran toward my car. I may have saved her life. That began a month-long dance, of me and the hooker, as I spent $1,000 on her.

As I look back, I think that it was the final test by my “friends,” before they led me to Dennis. I lived through those events, and can still hardly believe that they happened.

I have written at great length about my ride with Dennis, and don’t need to rehash much of that territory, but I am going to recall those key moments of my journey, and what I felt and thought as they happened. I have not quite done that before.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

To my previous post on how I never lost my keys in my life, other than that fateful night, I am attaching the evidence of it. That is my key chain today. The “chain” is a grenade ring. I believe it was 1974, either just before or just after my trip to Europe, when my father gave me that relic from his Marine days, to hold my keys, as I began to learn to drive in those days. I have been a pacifist since around age 19, when that voice first spoke to me, and to carry around a war relic in my pocket for the past 46 years has been one of my life’s many ironies. I obviously never lost my keys.

As I think back to my youth, I now recall that before I was given that key ring, I wore my house key around a string on my neck. I am not sure how long I did that, but I have a vague memory of that style of carrying around a key or two, before my father gave me that grenade ring.

Best,

Wade

[Ewan]

Posted by Wade Frazier (here)
Hi:

It is not easy to see ourselves as others see us, whether their perceptions are valid or not.

Best,

Wade

It is not my intention to start interrupting your thread Wade but I wondered if you were aware of Robbie Burns ode To a Louse

The last verse reproduced below

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!

I also had a near miraculous finding of a lost key - on a wild common of long grasses.

[Wade Frazier]

Hi Ewan:

Poetry is welcome here. Melinda writes her poetic work here. I have written plenty about my Scottish heritage, but I don’t read or speak any Gaelic, or whatever version of English that might have been. I recognized “ken” in that poem, but only because I watched Outlander.

Lost keys can obviously have plenty of symbolism around the event, and I wonder if my “friends” had that in mind when they orchestrated my adventure with the hooker.

Best,

Wade

[Ewan]

Posted by Wade Frazier (here)
Hi Ewan:

Poetry is welcome here. Melinda writes her poetic work here. I have written plenty about my Scottish heritage, but I don’t read or speak any Gaelic, or whatever version of English that might have been. I recognized “ken” in that poem, but only because I watched Outlander.

Lost keys can obviously have plenty of symbolism around the event, and I wonder if my “friends” had that in mind when they orchestrated my adventure with the hooker.

Best,

Wade

Apologies, I never considered you would not decypher it, here is a translation for you.

O wad some Power the giftie gie us - Oh would some power the gift give us - Appeal to a higher power
To see oursels as ithers see us! - To see ourselves as others see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us, It would from many a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion: And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, - What airs in dress and gait would leave us, - How we dress, how we walk ~ the self we present to others
An' ev'n devotion! - And even devotion! - He never thought too much of the church is best I can do there.

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

It seems that I can read books on my Kindle faster than I can the paper versions, which is a pleasant surprise. In the past nine days, I read these two books (1, 2). The first pretty much ends Terry Brooks’s career as a novelist, another romantic fantasy author who moved to the Pacific Northwest. I read The Sword of Shannara in 1979, at my college roommate’s recommendation, and have read each Shannara book when it came out ever since. That is my longest tenure as an author’s regular reader, probably only rivaled by reading Ed’s work, which I read nearly every month, from 1990 to when he died in 2017. Brooks is no Tolkien, but I looked forward to each new book, and I’ll miss waiting for the next one. Now, I wait for Brandon Sanderson’s latest (whom I discovered when he was chosen to complete Robert Jordan’s masterwork), which comes out in a few weeks. We’ll see if I live long enough to finish his masterwork. I have to supplement my heavy reading material with fantasy, as it helps keep me balanced (as well as hiking). I am a member of the legions patiently waiting for Rothfuss to finally get his act together and finish his trilogy.

That second book that I finished last night was extraordinary. It was written by a woman who grew up at the camp that her parents used to study baboons in the Okavango Delta in Botswana. It was four hours travel to the nearest town, and an hour to their nearest neighbor. The author, Keena Roberts, largely grew up in Africa, as her parents studied primates, first in Kenya, and then the last 11 years at what they called Baboon Camp. Her early years at Baboon Camp, beginning when she was eight, were idyllic, and her parents used her as a research assistant from that age. I was precocious, but I can hardly believe Keena’s precociousness. When she was eight, her parents judged her capable of helping them, she was treated like an adult from that age, and she kept a journal, documenting her adventures with baboons, lions, hippos, elephants, crocodiles, etc. People were killed (a tourist) and eaten (a guide, and a research assistant barely survived a leopard attack) while she lived there, and as she looked back as an adult, she realized how insanely dangerous their lives were, living amongst the African megafauna, without any means of protection. But she knew how to spot lions (and always be ready to climb a tree), how to speed past hippos on the delta, before they could bite her boat in two, how to avoid man-eating crocodiles, and the like. Her book could bring tears to my eyes, especially when she had to drive their boat, with her younger sister as her passenger, to their neighbor’s camp, when she was 10, as she sped past the hippos and crocodiles, all so that some vacationing executives could have enough beer for their stay.

Africa retained its megafauna because humans evolved there, and Africa’s megafauna learned to avoid humans. The megafauna in Australia and the Americas never had a chance, once humans arrived. That comes through clearly in Roberts’s book, as the megafauna generally avoided the smell of humans, so Baboon Camp was not overrun, at least in those idyllic early years. They did not encounter many elephants or lions near camp at first, but megafauna populations increasingly migrated into the area, and warfare in nearby Zimbabwe, which generated refugees, as well as Botswana’s AIDS epidemic, inexorably changed life in Botswana, and it impacted the camp. On her last stay there, in 2003, when she was 19 and going to Harvard, she was nearly killed by a lion, and they dismantled the camp that year.

Her days at Baboon Camp were incredible, every adventurous child’s dream, but each year, she had to return with her parents to Philadelphia, where they were college professors (where Ed taught, and I encountered her parents’ work in my studies), and stay at least a few months before heading back to Baboon Camp. She was at home at Baboon Camp, and had her biggest problems with fitting in at her private school in Philadelphia, where her fellow students often treated her like a freak from the jungle. She could not wait to go back to her real home at Baboon Camp. I’ll take memories of her account of Baboon Camp to my grave.

I have a primatologist relative who led safaris in Africa, another worked at Dian Fossey’s compound and even slept in her bed, during a gorilla census (and her encounter with a silverback is the stuff of legend), as they spent years in Kenya, but the Baboon Camp tales are astounding.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When I heard of my close relative’s secret life as a CIA contract agent, it was years after I lived with him. I heard it from another relative, who only knew about it because an operation blew up, bodyguards and the like got involved, my relative was then brought into it, and told me about it years later. I stayed silent about it for many years afterward. It was a several hour conversation, in which I just listened, and when I heard that he nearly tried to recruit me into the business, I was relieved at the time that I wasn’t asked. Years later, when I began to understand what the CIA was all about, I thanked my lucky stars that I was not subjected to a recruiting effort. I doubt it would have worked, but I also am happy that I did not have to find out.

When you hear something like that, when the account goes into great detail, with anecdotes and life-wrecking dynamics, and from an impeccable source, it can be something else to digest it. It was eye-opening at first, but as the years went by and I understood more, I became pretty angry at how my relative’s life had been ruined. He likely never figured out the evil that he was part of, and he essentially drank himself into an early grave.

When I heard Dennis’s story in Indochina, several years later, and heard other Vietnam vet stories over the years, I could barely imagine what they lived through, all for the evil empire. Not only were they sworn to secrecy, which was part of the job, and I only got to hear about it long after the events, but they also were not proud of their service, and tried to forget it. The veil of secrecy was not that hard to enforce, as they did not want to talk about, and did not really want to remember it. One close pal I knew for many years, and only heard from another friend of the operations that he was involved in in Vietnam, manning the machine gun in an “off the books” operation. I have heard tales of desertion, torturing captives to death (and worse), killing them with one’s bare hands, and the like from pals and relatives. There is no way that the American suffering compared to that of the residents of Indochina, as multiple genocides were inflicted on them, but it was pretty grim to witness the toll that it took on the perpetrators, who were usually duped or forced into it.

I took that all in, and it helped form my worldview. If you had told me that my own stories would be even more unbelievable, I would have suggested that maybe somebody else could have those experiences. Since 1990, I have tried to live a relatively quiet life, with varying levels of success. I could have done without getting dragged back into the game by Dennis and Brian, but I couldn’t help myself, and am so happy that I rejected the last offers that Dennis and Brian made to me. Doing interviews was OK, and I’ll likely do more before long, but building the choir is all that I am interested in anymore.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I often find myself rereading that recent book on vaccination. It is a supremely logical tour of the vaccination issue, as it clearly points out the many irrationalities of vaccination, and a quote is in order (from page 17):


“This brings me to an obvious point: if vaccines were equal to the extravagant claims made for them, if they were truly effective in conferring a genuine immunity similar to that of coming down with and recovering from the natural disease, then the unvaccinated kids would pose a danger only to themselves, based on a free choice of their own making.”


That is a crux of the issue. Vaccines do not work like their proponents allege, but they want to force compliance, to make vaccination compulsory, to supposedly save people from themselves, even for mild childhood diseases such as measles. Fluoridation is compulsory in my great nation, and try to find an alternative cancer treatment in the USA. The Land of the Free, indeed. That is the Orwellian nature of this entire affair, as something that is not safe or effective is forced on populations for their own “good,” which “coincidentally” is a huge windfall for polluters and Big Pharma, which hides the “science” of their treatments behind a veil of secrecy. It is much worse than the days of proprietary medicine and snake oil, but is sold as the epitome of medicine. It is completely insane, and a dark pather’s dream.

It is just one of many areas like this. Global Warming is a very real existential issue for humanity, as a record hurricane season winds down, and I have come to accept that I am going to have to deal with annual fire-season smoke, which will ruin my hiking plans. Perhaps the most surreal part of my journey today is that I know that the technology that not only makes that threat disappear, almost overnight, is not only on the planet and older than I am, but I have yet to find one Global Warming alarmist with the slightest interest in the solution that dwarfs everything else. That reality crashes their intellectual houses of cards, and they are quite content to hack at branches that go nowhere. Almost daily now, I read about some “bright idea” in alternative energy or how to combat Global Warming, and it is just a rehash of the stuff that Brian advocated nearly 50 years ago, before he realized it was all too little and too late, which is where his “none of the above” writings came from.

On that note, I find that I need to make the unique nature of what I am doing very clear. Virtually everybody in the so-called political class has their awareness focused on the elites, and that is not the focus of my work. I simply do not care about the elites. They will vanish in the Fifth Epoch, they know this, and that is the primary reason behind their organized suppression. The Left denies the existence of the GCs, for ideological reasons, while the Right obsesses on them, but the conspiracist fare that I am bombarded with is nearly all invalid, paranoid, tabloid-level raving and disinformation. I am so tired of seeing all of the speculations on what the Black and White Hats are doing, and most of the stories out there are either outright lies or fantasies, with no objective evidence for them at all. It is like arguing about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

All that people can do is cheer or boo, and that the Right sees Trump as some kind of hero is bizarre (and Biden might even be worse). Trump is a megalomaniac and always has been. God, why do people put their faith in him, and concoct these QAnon fantasies? It is the adult equivalent of waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. The GCs don’t even care who the American president is, as that office is so far down the food chain of power on Earth. I am doing something that is a 180-degree turn from stuff like that. But people can’t go there if they think like victims, and all of the denial or obsession around the elite is victim-oriented thinking. It is time to think like creators, and creators create with love. Moving from victim-consciousness to creator-consciousness might be the most difficult feat on Earth, but I seek those who are there or want to get there. They are the only hope that my approach has.

Time to begin my busy day.

Best,

Wade