The Russian Cosmists

 You should read this.


Author Warren Ellis says: “The story of (fringe) philosophy, from one perspective, is the journey from putting humanity at the centre of the universe to a more reflexive position of humanity at the edge of the universal experience. The only holdouts were old science fiction writers, I guess. You can see the seduction of this simpler and yet somehow much more daunting idea: that everything everywhere is raw matter that we must attend to or fail in the eyes of the supreme being of your choice.”

I couldn’t possibly agree more. . . .

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WTF = Why Tolerate Futility?

Why indeed. Read more by clicking those 2 words….


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2015 in review

I found this report to be interesting, occasionally bleak, and helpful. The Night Run will—like me—remain nocturnal, but is undergoing a transformation in order to better represent me as a writer. Stick around, if you will. Oh, and thanks to my 1 reader somewhere in Russia. If I may ask, you aren’t the hit-man who came after Gray Palmer in my book Johnny Flash, are you? That was a work of pure fic—

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,800 times in 2015. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Haven’t been here in a while, and I apologize. Anyone following The Night Run will know why. I’m running out of relevant subject matter, mostly because of deep disenchantment with the current state of so-called paranormal investigation. During my most recent interview, with whip-smart Michael Lauck of Podcast UFO, I was asked whether there will be a follow-up to Black Light, and responded with some ambiguity. That book is only one-year old, but I’ve learned so much since then that I feel honor-bound to write about it.

I have, of course, been thinking about writing a follow-up, a book very different from Black Light. Not because I hate repeating myself (a genuine concern), but because I’ve been scraping away at many of the “classic” UFO events, and found my “take” on them to have been misguided. I’ve studied some very technical analyses of reports going back as far as the 1890s “airship” sightings—one of which (Sistersville, WV) occurred not far from where I reside. No need to belabor you by recounting this, but I now accept that most airship accounts are products of journalistic joking, something I had a hard time wrapping my mind around. For some reason, I assumed reporters of that time were always serious, bereft of humor. Wrong. Humankind has always relied on humor to snuff the sting from our collective head-bashing against life’s cabinet-corners. Too, it is barely possible that blimp-like vehicles actually flew once in a while. Barely.

Reports after the airships—let’s say 1940s, 50s, 60s—fall apart under close scrutiny. Many of you know this. The widely ignored factor is belief, and the need for same. Some of us fill the disturbing vacuum of all that is unknown with what we require to make us feel better—I’m not free of this. Religion doesn’t work for me, since all we “know” has been written by those with a control agenda or, as in UFO accounts, a secular need to replace “God.” I’m not willing to embrace atheism, though I could, because the current zeitgeist leaves no room for intuition, and fails (for me, at least) adequately to explain certain anomalous experiences. During the last three interviews I did with George Knapp, Daniel Ott, and Michael Lauck, I labeled myself as “a ninety-eight-percent skeptic, with that annoying two percent that keeps me interested.” I am now a 99% “skeptic,” uncomfortable even with that term, but what else do I call it? Doubter? Questioner? Some other slippery, annoying word?

As Michael Lauck remarked, my statements are probably exploding believers’ heads. Well, as John Keel noted, “belief is the enemy.” True enough. But the rest of Keel’s statement often is ignored: Something about belief opening the door to authentic exploration. Paraphrasing, of course. And believers (especially the faithful) usually don’t open any doors—they weld them shut. Riskily quoting the closing lines of my Introduction to Black Light: “I don’t want to believe. I want to understand,” no longer works. I’ve concluded that I’ll never understand, because it’s impossible to assume a machine-like objectivity, no matter how much I claim to value logic. As poignantly noted by Jacques Vallee: “Human actions are based on imagination, belief, and faith, not on objective observation—as military and political experts know well. Even science, which claims its methods and theories are rationally developed, is really shaped by emotion and fancy, or by fear. And to control human imagination is to shape mankind’s collective destiny, provided the source of this control is not identifiable by the public. And indeed it is one of the objectives of any government’s policies to prepare the public for unavoidable changes or to stimulate its activity in some desirable direction.”

Recent commentators have tried to label Vallee as paranoid. They are wrong. Sure, I’m aware that some of his private work was done for government contracters—so what? We continue to invest “the government” with godlike powers they certainly don’t have. They do have the ability, and are (ab)using seemingly godlike technology to spy on anyone, a vast waste of time and resources we’re expected to trust. Whatever. Not my call. I just work here. But Vallee’s ice-cold assessment says all I need to know. He wrote it in 1969. Think about that. If I’m ultimately proved foolish for accepting his words, so be it. My gut tells me he was “right.”

I’d be seriously shocked to learn any government on this mortal coil gives the least damn about UFOs—even though some group, possibly outside the official structure, almost certainly pays attention to sighting reports in the guise of anti-terrorism. Someone must.

So, if I write another nonfiction book, more than likely it will be a summation of everything I’ve learned about the deconstructing of the “facts.” Even those, behind my own life, I took as gospel.

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Podcast UFO

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My wife Leanne has been diagnosed with Stage-two breast cancer, and we would be grateful for any donation, no matter how small.

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A Literature of Comfort

No one talks about this, but I’m willing to drop my usual (probably annoying) reticence and get to the point. While I can’t possibly speak for anyone else, I can admit that a big part of my fascination with UFO/Paranormal “literature” lies in escapism. Like nothing else, articles and books covering these matters “abducts” my attention from cold reality into a wholly other realm—for good or ill.

Simply because I have a vested (literally) interest in writing about such topics does not rule out my human need to “get away” from the mundane (often brutal) facts of day-to-day life. While I claim no belief in either extraterrestrial beings or apparitions of the dead, I DO keep perhaps 2% of my fizzing mind open to the possibilities, and have said as much during recent radio interviews. Though there exist many opportunities for me to criticize “believers,” I rarely do so. Why? Because I recognize the deep spiritual/emotional craving among some to peer beyond Shakespeare’s mortal coil. Even stone-cold atheists must—once in a while—lean back in their easy-chairs and wonder.

Intellectually, I have many reasons to accept that humankind is a useless race churning with useless passion hardwired for biological survival. Sure. No problem. But to what end? Why must we survive, if the black Lovecraftian gulfs beyond are nothing more than freezing vacuum and silence eternal? An optimist might well counter: Grabowski, how do you know humankind is a useless passion? Well, I don’t. No one does. I’m a romantic realist, in that I hope for the best but expect the worst. My British mother, God rest her, drilled that into my head. She did, though, believe in God. For what it’s worth, I have no trouble accepting some form of external intelligence, but doubt (assuming IT is there) any specific focus and/or concern over our existence. It’s a big multiverse, and as someone said, it would be a hell of a waste of space if Earth were the only planet hosting life.

I have read the harshest so-called nihilist philosophies: the Marquis de Sade, Anton LaVey, Nietzsche, and many others I won’t bother to list. To a man (usually these are male), they have had terrible, almost cursed, lives. Even modern thinkers like Thomas Ligotti (author of The Conspiracy Against the Human Race), for all his galactic blackness as a horror writer leaves me afraid and empty. I can’t live like that, and doubt anyone can. None of these aforementioned ended in suicide, so even their worst statements are suspect. I’ve always said to myself: “If you so hate life, then check out.”

What I sense from these writings is a genuine survival instinct, shorn of sentimentality. Between me and me, I am easily as harsh and dark as any of these. Disappointed, actually, in our potential, and seeming default to instant gratification. They remind me of screaming infants, “Comfort me! Or else!”

Of course, there’s more to it than that. These writers were—and are—at least making the effort to “wake us up.” What they don’t perceive (or admit) is that some of us were born with oversensitive nerves. Musician Tom Waits asks: “Why are the wicked so strong?” Because they weren’t born sensitive. Period. All progress is driven by this dichotomy—the crazy creative types advance culture, and suffer the consequences. They don’t consume culture. They make it.

This is why, to return to my topic, I’m able to read books and articles about UFOs and so-called paranormal topics simply because I cannot justify being alive without their comfort. Even the worst among these I enjoy, because their very existence says more about what it means to be alive than any theory about ghosts, UFOs, etc. Even if none of these things are “real,” why do so many think they are?

To me, this fact tells me all I need to know. We’re a living testament, searching for something to tell us what we are, and why we’re here at all.

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Nobody Here But Us Martians

Am I the only one sick unto death about seeing nonsense “explanations” for physical anomalies imaged on the Martian surface? I hope not.

When I first started paying attention to these images, my curiosity was alive. But no more. C’mon people, even if the red planet once supported any kind of life, it’s long dead. Millions of years’ worth of wind-sculpting has created the surreal shapes now unforgivably reported as saucers, bones, people, entities, etc. Yet our ever-honest media craves our “clicks,” and titles these images in ways almost guaranteed to get them. “Is this a skull on Mars?” etc., when they must know better. To hell with them.

I won’t be at all surprised if once-living microbe fossils are discovered, or even those of rudimentary life-forms—but that’s it. These stabs at sensationalism ought to be beneath any serious “news” reportage. Nice to know I’m considered a complete blithering idiot, except I’m not.

Meanwhile, here on Earth, the crash of an F-117 Stealth fighter (which the genius media keeps referring to as a “bomber”) is reported, with no reassuring headline mention (even in parentheses) that no one was injured or killed. Nothing. I had to watch the video just to be sure. No shit they were lucky! And I’m so relieved the wreckage was immediately removed to prevent some kid from back-engineering the non-classified technology.

Absurdity on this level makes me pine for the old days of three TV channels, cigarette-smoking news anchors who told you (mostly) the truth, and no Internet. Of course I’m a hypocrite. I’d be dead in the water without the Web.

That, however, does not forgive blatant grabs for clicks based on manufactured hysteria. Amen.

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I’m a tad late posting this. Thanks to all who watched, and sent questions during the show….

William Grabowski interview with host Daniel Ott

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On Coast To Coast AM with George Knapp

What a rush, my friends.  Now I understand what people mean when they say they had “A life-changing experience.” I gratefully join them in expressing this.

I urge you to have a listen. Even though I’ve followed George’s Emmy Award-winning career since the Area 51/Bob Lazar break-out in the late 1980s, I had to catch my breath (literally) and respect the opportunity to actually discuss BLACK LIGHT with a man who’s been in the paranormal (and investigations of the Mafia) trenches. If you haven’t picked up a copy of George Knapp’s and Colm A. Kelleher’s HUNT FOR THE SKINWALKER, then please do so. The book documents high-strangeness in Utah equal to that of Point Pleasant, WV. Disturbing material. My voice mostly held out, but got a bit ragged toward the end. No excuses. I drank three enormous glasses of water, which I hope no one heard. Glug glug glug, but my mouth was drier than the friggin’ Sudan.

Regrettably, I strayed more than once from George’s incisive questions, which he very subtly redirected me back onto. I love the hell out of him for playing, during commercial breaks, the Foo Fighters, Robin Trower, and Ten Years After–rock bands close to my black heart. I was terrified my portable landline would fail, but obviously it didn’t. Thank you, Godz of the Wires.

I constantly–who knows why–had to remind myself I was actually on the air with the actual George Knapp. Probably this is noticeable, but I got over it. Could any writer possibly ask for a more generous intro? Nope–not THIS writer. The Nick Redfern portion was killer, and thank George for mentioning the segue would be seamless. I agree.

Beyond this, I have nothing more for this post. Just genuine thanks to George for taking interest in my Magonia piece last year, where I wrote of my long-ago first reading John Keel’s THE MOTHMAN PROPHECIES.

Thanks to all who listened, and shared their thoughts.

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