Chapter 6
FEEDBACK (OF SORTS)

Considering the rather dramatic aspects of the Axelrod affair, it might at first seem unlikely that I could forget about it. But except for meeting the contacts in front of a stuffed elephant and having a hood placed over my head, the Axelrod affair wasn’t all that different from many other official and unofficial experiments I got involved with. Many of those experiments had equally dramatic elements. Most were done in careful secrecy, and my weekly schedule along these lines was jammed with this kind of activity.

One might wonder how it is possible to forget about humanoids and structures on the Moon. Well, for one thing, there was a 50-50 chance they were there or not there. Further, as with all Psi experiments, there was a 100 per cent chance I had been viewing my imagination and fantasies.

As I took it, there was to be no feedback to help resolve the imagination issue one way or another. Since people tend to operate based on feedback, they tend to forget about stuff that never achieves the feedback. Then there are two additional, but extremely subtle phenomena that appear to be involved. They can begin to take on meaning only if they are identified and opened up for inspection. The first phenomenon has to do with the fact that most people forget (and avoid) whatever does not fit within consensus realities.

The second phenomenon has to do with the fact that most humans forget about the Moon altogether. It is THERE, of course. But beyond that, interest in it is exceedingly minimal. It is somewhat difficult to articulate this. One way of beginning to do so is to point up that people are very much interested in Mars, for example, or in the possible existence of Intelligent Beings somewhere in the VERY far distant reaches of space.

But with the Moon, it’s almost as if Earth-side  human consciousness of the satellite is somehow rigged so as (1) to avoid thinking too much about it; and (2) to disregard any unusual lunar phenomena, I’ll try better to articulate these two factors ahead.

As it was back in 1975 and 1976, is not actually forgotten, my memory of the Axelrod affair had receded into some deeper subliminal areas of memory storage. And if I thought about the affair at all, it was only to note that it had happened, that it was over and done with, and that I didn’t dare to talk about it for reasons so numerous that it was the better part of valor to forget them, too.

However, whoever or whatever is behind the scenes dealing out the cards of circumstances was not finished with the Axelrod affair. For at some point in 1976 (during the summer, I think), what might be called the second chapter of the Axelrod affair opened up.

For I received in the mail, in a plain envelope which did not bear a return address or even a postmark, although it did have stamps. The envelope contained a book and nothing more. It was entitled Somebody Else Is On the Moon. The author's name was George Leonard. I spent the next few hours reading it, and then re-read it two more times.

Apparently, at the time of my ultra-secret visit, Mr. Axelrod had already known that this book was coming out, and of course he had been interested in whether I knew the author or not.

Leonard apparently had obtained NASA photographs of the Moon, which after all are in the public domain because most of NASA’s work is funded by our tax-paying money.

“What NASA knows,” the frontispiece of the book began, “but won’t divulge! With careful logic and reason, George Leonard has studied all the data (including official NASA photographs and the astronaut’s Apollo tapes) to prove his theory of a highly advanced underground civilization that is working the surface of the Moon - mining, manufacturing, communicating, and building!”

Leonard’s book was filled with veritable data, official photos, and sketches of structures etc., he created from the photos.

Well, I can tell you I ran to my own drawings and spent a week comparing and re-comparing them to the sketches and photos George Leonard had provided in his own book. Many of Leonard’s sketches resembled some of mine. Yes indeed, the mysterious Mr. Axelrod had provided me feedback as promised, for there could be no doubt that it was his jolly self that sent Leonard’s book to me. But could Leonard’s book be considered adequate feedback? Well, if not completely, at least somewhat.

For example, ARE there structures on the Moon?

As Leonard pointed up, one of the most remarkable photos, taken by the astronauts of Apollo 12 on their flights around the Moon, portrays what is referred to as Super Rig 1971 (NASA photo 71-H-781) and which is very similar to another photo of a similar Super Rig (NASA photo 66-H-1293) taken five years earlier.

The astronauts of Apollo 14 (1971) obviously were EXPECTING to see this Rig or one like it. When it apparently came into view, they referred to it as “Annabel" - which was,

“just like the one we saw yesterday. She’s sitting right on the ledge, and must be over a mile high. Did you see THAT! The light flares coming from the dark part of the crater, just below Annabel. Oh, cameras, don’t fail us now!”

(This conversation is paraphrased from that given on page 54 of Leonard’s book).

Indeed, there seem to be a number of “towers” on the Moon, and an equal amount of confusion about them. As I discovered (when I later began my Moon research in earnest), during the early 1960s NASA sent Orbiters to the Moon in preparation for the manned Apollo missions. A released NASA photo numbered Lunar Orbiter III-84M quite clearly shows two structures rising up in the Sinus Medii region. The first of these became referred to as “The Shard.” This structure towers up from the Moon’s surface for about a mile and a half.

Near The Shard is another structure referred to as “The Tower.” This has been photographed four times from two different altitudes. It rises up about five miles and is capped with what appears to be cubes joined together to form a very large mushroom-like crown having an estimated width of over a mile. Several independent geologists who have examined the photos indicate that no known natural process can explain the two structures, which is something of an understatement. Please note that copies of the photos referred to above can still be obtained from NASA supplier. But I've been told that evidence of the towers has by now been airbrushed out.

After studying Leonard’s book, during the next two weeks I wasn’t certain whether to sleep or stay awake, and all my bio and mental cycles found themselves quite interrupted. I fully expected that Leonard’s book would shake the nerves of all us Earthlings.

But, most people I ranted to just smiled and said that Leonard’s opinions must be just that, and that “there must be some other and more logical explanation,”
Even some UFO people I knew were hardly interested, a factor which I found (then and now) quite confusing and mysterious. As it turned out, it seemed that most people simply couldn’t handle the implications of Leonard’s book. Today when I mention it to people, well, they blink, have never heard of it and a sort of film appears on their eyeballs. That they don’t WANT to hear of it is more likely the case.

Well, I was interested by the implications. For if there are extraterrestrials on the Moon, surely getting themselves to Earth should not be much of a problem for them. I thus decided, in my small mental recesses to be sure, that we on Earth may have neighbors who are not from Earth!  And/or that some of our systems and organizations may indeed “contain” extraterrestrial “influences” in them. I mean, how much does it take to put two and two together?

I began to see why Mr. Axelrod’s group, if they themselves were not extraterrestrials (as I wondered at times) was ultra-secret, and came and went under changing subterfuges of one kind or another.

Soon, however, I was sucked back into the hectic pace of my life and research work, Soon, I’d “forgotten” all of this. If I thought about it at all, it was only to have the fleck of an idea that the Leonard book constituted the feedback, and so that was that.
 

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Chapter 7
THE EVENT IN LOS ANGELES

During August and September 1976 I traveled several times between SRI and Los Angeles. I went to La-La Land to pursue yet another of the many kinds of studies I had undertaken hopefully to increase my understanding of higher human functions.

I had several good friends in La-La Land, and I was staying in the house of one of them. This was a certain Conrad W. who had many extraordinary qualities. One had the feeling that Conrad was a kind of uncomplicated “old soul,” who was somewhat out of place in a modernist society that had become dramatically detached from even remote elements of wisdom.

Conrad seemed to absorb insightful information by telepathic osmosis. He was articulate about many things, but very laid back and with a subtle sense of humor. In other words, he was delightful to be with.

I was also in touch with the marvelous researcher, Dr. Shafica Karagulla, and her research companion, Dr. Viola Neal, both of whom have passed on.

Shafica was a neuropsychiatrist who had broken with mainstream psychiatry to establish the Higher Sense Perception Foundation, and had published in 1967 her famous book, Breakthrough to Creativity.

Viola was a notable clairvoyant whose psychic mapping of human biofields and psychic diagnosis of diseases had been confirmed by doctors and in hospitals. Viola and Shafica were very kind to me in many ways. Their combined knowledge levels seemed extensive, even endless.

One had the impression that their consciousnesses were existing in some higher frequency range - from where they could look down into the dross of average human life. And in this dross, this dynamic duo could perceive conspiracies everywhere at work - conspiracies erecting invisible prisons into which human abilities were incarcerated and destroyed. Beyond this, the two were plugged into the unofficial tom-toms of science central and its many fringes which included parapsychology, governmental plans and plots, and the carryings-on of contemporary mystics and occultists.

But they were careful about relaying important gossip because, as they said, doing so «as dangerous not only to reputations but in extreme cases to life and limb.

They were interested in my “work,” but a little paranoid because of the close governmental connections to the developmental project at Stanford Research Institute. What this meant was that the duo would gossip only to a certain degree about the conspiracies of the world, but were careful NOT to say too much,
I, of course, wanted the whole package, for Karagula was not simply one of those off-the-wall conspiracy buffs dwelling in notable confusions characteristic of at least some conspiracy enthusiasts.

In her earlier days in the Middle East she had actually worked for a number of official intelligence agencies, and in truth she WAS familiar with the internal workings of the vast international sub rosa organizations. In order to get deeper into the whole conspiracy package trembling within the duo, I had found that if I plied them with a little good wine, their reticence lost its edge and they talked more freely.

While staying at Conrad’s place, I planned another liquid safari into their reticence. Conrad was also a conspiracy addict as was I, and so I asked him if we could have the duo to dinner at his place. Since gourmet cooking was a passion with me and with Conrad, and since I had explained the full purpose of the meal, we had to plan a superlative menu and lay in supplies for it. The supplies, of course, included reasonably good wines. Conrad drove us to very large Hollywood supermarket filled with, among other things, the lush produce of the San Fernando Valley farms and orchards. I had decided to start the meal with artichokes stuffed with crab and breadcrumbs, topped with cheese melted with a fine brandy.

In order to reduce shopping time, I gave Conrad a list of other comestibles. He went in the direction of meats, and I went in the direction of the vegies. The supermarket had huge tables loaded with artichokes-At one of the artichoke tables was standing a ravishing woman. She was notable not so much for her excessive female physical endowments, but by the fact that they were barely covered. She was dressed in the briefest of halters of pink with big yellow polka dots. Beneath that were short-shorts so short they barely existed. Far beneath that she wore a pair of platform high-heels about eight inches high.

She had volumes of gorgeous black hair, and her eyes were covered by purple sunglasses. She was absolutely awesome.

I thought: “Good Heavens!!!"

She was rummaging through the artichokes, and I wanted some, too. So I worked my way covertly and nonchalantly into her proximity so I could closer appreciate her near-naked breasts. To make this look natural, with my eyes barely on them, I fumbled some selected artichokes into a bag. And then! For absolutely no reason at all I experienced an electrifying wave of goose-bumps throughout my whole body.

The hair on my arms practically stood at attention, and the hair on my neck definitely did. Without rime or reason or forethinking or anything at all I suddenly “knew" she was an alien, an extraterrestrial.

My throat went dry. My hand’s started shaking. And so I decided to back off and start examining the oranges and grapefruits for the fruit aspic Conrad and I were going to try to achieve. To get to the oranges, I had to turn - and then! Way down the line-up of vegetable cases I recognized, of ALL astounding and possible things, ONE OF THE TWINS! HE was watching the woman. HE saw that I saw him, and then immediately arose in my mind an image of a white card: Please do not speak, and please act normal.

Trying to gather my surprised wits, by now somewhat shattered, the silliest thought then occurred to me. Well, if one of the twins is HERE, of all places, then the other one must be, too. And sure enough, the other twin was at the opposite end of the vegetable line-up - and he was watching the woman, too.

This time, both the twins were DRESSED IN BLACK! Not the infamous black suits worn by those who are said to warn those who have seen UFOs not to talk about them. Here were black jeans, black boots, and black tank-tops, looking like macho hoodlums of the L.A. variety.

At this point, I realized that I was so me where I should not be, and I made a hasty and strategic retreat to the bread section on the other side of the store. By the time I reached the bread section, a considerable wave of TERROR had begun to make itself felt.

Something here now needs to be clarified. If I hadn’t seen the twins, I might have attributed to my imagination something of the strange effect I experienced near the ultra-sensuous woman. But that was now not possible at all. The twins' presence, coupled with my psychic alert, confirmed that the woman WAS an ET. I don’t quite remember how the rest of the shopping went.

Conrad and I got our groceries checked out. On the way to the car, I explained that we would not attempt the orange aspic after all. Once in his car in the parking lot I asked him to wait a few moments. He asked what was wrong. I said “just wait.”

Shortly, the female came out pushing a loaded grocery cart.

“Study that one, and tell me what you think,”

Conrad looked briefly at the woman - and then said the most remarkable thing.

“Well, if you mean do I think she’s an extraterrestrial, yes,” said Conrad in a bored way. “We’ve got a lot of them here in La-La Land.”

I didn’t ask him what he thought about the two who were observing her squeezing her fabulousness and groceries into a broken-down yellow Volkswagen. I sank down in Conrad’s car and urged him to make a quick departure. The dinner for Shafica and Viola was a complete success. Naturally, after plying them, and ourselves, with copious amounts of good wine, we told them that we had seen yet another ET down at the supermarket.

This opened up rather inebriated discussions about the ET civilization which was busy infiltrating Earth. Shafica and Viola discussed all of these things in whispers - and the more serious they became the harder it was to hear them.

Viola:

“There are a lot of THEM, you know, and many are bio-androids."

Shafica:

“They’re dangerous, you know, and they realize that Earth psychics are their only enemies. Be careful, Ingo, be careful.”

All of THIS information package - without ME ever mentioning the Axelrod event.
 

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Chapter 8
GRAND CENTRAL STATION

It was only a few days after The Encounter that I returned to New York for much needed relief from research. I only half expected a call from Mr. Axelrod. It was not long in coming.

The phone rang early one evening, and a cheery female voice on the other end asked:

“Mr, Swann?”

I said, “Yes.”

“A friend of yours would like to talk with you.”

“OK.”

“He wants to talk to you on another telephone. Is it convenient for you to be in Grand Central Terminal at 7:30 tonight?”

“I suppose so" I replied.

“Very good, then. Go to the vicinity of the information box in the central concourse and wait there until you see someone you will recognize."

My telephone then abruptly went dead! No good-bye or thank you, no sizzle, static, or dial tone - as if the telephone was out of order. I picked up the receiver again in a few moments: it was still dead. I took the subway to Grand Central, and joined the masses thronging around the information box in the grand and very large main hall.

There is a large dock on top of this information box, and I saw I was five minutes early. Those five minutes passed, and so did ten minutes more. I said to hell with it, and went to get a take-out cup of coffee in one of the arcades just off of the main hall. I lit a cigar (these were the days before no-smoking in public places.)

Then, standing about ten feet away, I suddenly saw someone I recognized, I think I had noticed him before, but the fact had not registered. He, of course. was one of the twins, but dressed in a fashion which made him look like one of the homeless vagrants that hang out in the great railway station. Seeing that I now recognized him, he put a finger to his lips, and I gathered I was not to show any signs of recognizing him. I don’t know why my hands were shaking a little, but they were. I sipped my coffee. The twin spent about ten minutes carefully surveying the Goods of people in the terminus.

Finally he gave me a slight nod, and headed in an easterly direction of the arcade away from the great hall. I gathered I was to follow. He went down one of the corridors leading to Lexington Avenue. There were, and still are, some stairs leading down to a subway entrance inside this corridor. Making sure I was in tow, down them he went. I followed.

I next caught sight of him standing near to a bank of telephone booths (which don’t exist today.) He stepped into one stepped and I could see him through the glass dialing a number (these were the days when telephone booths with doors still existed).

I kept at a distance, but I am sure he never said a word into the receiver. He then put the receiver down on the small counter inside the booth, and moved away. I gathered I was supposed to go into the booth and pick up the receiver.

At the other end was a little static, and not knowing what else to say I said “Hello.”

“Mr. Swann?” It was the same cheery female who had telephoned me at home.

“Yes.”

“What is that thing on your right hand?”

“Oh, you mean my tattoo?”

“What is its color?”

“Mostly green,” I replied.

“Good, then. Please wait until you are linked.”

Linked? What did THAT mean? After which followed several beeps and noises and different forms of static.

Finally, Mr. Axelrod came on.

“I’m sorry to have to do it this way," he began, “but we had to get you to a telephone which scrambles our conversation, and where you can be watched.”

I was about to say hello, but Axelrod’s voice became very firm.

“Do not say anything except answers to my questions."

So knowing he was going to yell at me because of my inadvertent encounter in LA LA Land, I remained quiet as a mouse.

“I may seem a little aggressive,” Axel said, “but we would like to know why you were in that Los Angeles supermarket?”

“I was staying with some friends, and we decided to cook dinner. I wanted orange aspic with lamb chops and I wanted to stuff artichokes. We didn’t have any.”

Silence. Then:

“There was no other reason?

”No"

“Had you ever seen that woman or seen her since?”

"No"

Silence. “Why were you looking at her?”

“Well, for chrissakes, she was extremely sexy and nearly falling out of the few clothes she had on. I first saw her from the rear, and just tried to see what the front looked like up close. She was messing with the artichokes.”

“You’re sure there was no other reason.”

 

“Absolutely.”

More silence. Then:

“What did you think of her?”

Now it was my turn to be silent for a moment,

“Well, I don’t know why - but I got the impression she wasn’t, well, exactly like us.”

“What WAS she like?”

I nearly choked on the word.

“Extraterrestrial!”

“What made you think that?”

“I have no idea. It was just an impression. She had some kind of vibes or something. She sent chills up my spine, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck starting to stand up.”

“Have you felt you have seen people like her before?”

 

“If you mean have I seen extraterrestrials before, the answer is no. Strange people, sure, but nothing like I got from her.“

“Why did you run away so fast?”

“After I spotted the twins, I realized something was going on. The whole thing scared the shit out of me"

“OK,” Axel said after a pause, "I'll buy it. Do you think she noticed you psyched her out?”

“I have no idea. She was into the artichokes. The whole thing happened too fast. But she never looked at me, at least I couldn’t say for sure, since her eyes were hidden behind those strange purple glasses."

“Think, man!” Axel insisted. “This is very important. Did she notice you at all?”

I suddenly started shaking. “No... my best guesstimate is that she did not.”

“Were you at the counter first, or was she?”

“Well, she was. I first saw her from way down the aisle, and then I decided to go up and have a closer look.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure of what?”

“Well, did she make any attempt to get close to you, or was it you who made the attempt?"

I wanted to blurt out that the twins well knew the answer to this, since apparently THEY had her under surveillance.

”I don’t think she saw me at all, and she was there when I got there!”

A tone of desperation had entered into my voice.

Silence. Good.

"OK. I feel obliged to tell you that she is very dangerous. If you ever see her again, especially if she approaches you, make every effort to put distance between you and her. But act natural, always do it naturally.”

I had no idea what to say, so I said nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“Not really,” I managed to whisper, “but I guess so.”

“Good. How is your remote-viewing work coming along at SRI?”

By this time sweat was pouring down my sides from my armpits.

I was relieved to have the topic change.

“Very good. We are getting good results, and I am understanding more everyday. I am aiming at least for 65 per cent accuracy across the boards.”
 

“Hum,” Axel breathed. “Can you actually achieve that?”

 

“Probably, but frankly not in every case. We all, our clients too, are interested in the possibility.”

Another long silence. “He would be interested in... we have a special task... can you let us know when you reach 65 per cent? How long do you think it will take?”

“Well, if we don’t do it soon, we might not get more funds for next year.”

More silence, this time a long one. My hand on the receiver was sweating. Finally:

“You have an office with a desk in it, right?”

“Yes.”

“When you reach 65 per cent, take an ordinary piece of bond paper, 8” by 11”, write 65 on it, and leave it beneath the blotter.”

How did he know my desk at SRI had a blotter?

“OK,” I said.

 

“Good. We will be in touch shortly after that. Do you understand everything?”

Hardly. I understood nothing. But I said, as conspiratorially as possible:

“Yes.”

“I’m sure,” Axel continued, “you get the general drift of all this... that no one, NO ONE should learn of any of this?”

“I get the general drift. All this is serious - and ‘dangerous', right?”

I didn’t think I should tell him of our dinner conversation back in Los Angeles where apparently everyone viewed sexy extraterrestrials everyday.

“You got it.”

Axelrod hung up. These people, whomever they were, never said good-bye or thank you. The line went dead for a moment as the “link,” whatever it was composed of, was disconnected. But then at least a dial tone came back on. The twin had apparently seen me hang up, and when I came out of the booth he nonchalantly walked by with a paper cup as if he was soliciting a hand-out.

Attached to the cup was a small card:

“Go directly to Lexington and grab a cab. We will guard your rear. Do not look back.”

Nervous as hell, but thinking it would appear proper, I boldly pulled out a quarter and plopped it into his cup, where it changed with other coins. I went to Lexington Avenue and flagged down a cab as fast as possible, never once looking back. But I didn’t take it directly to my address, but to the corner of Eighth Street and Third Avenue, where I loitered for some time, trying to see if I had been followed.

I then went to my favorite bar nearby and over-consumed cheap beer. My imagination was going full steam ahead. The paranoid fears that followed this event occupied me for some time thereafter. I had the distinct feeling that everywhere must be extraterrestrials and/or Axel’s henchmen or operatives.

And? WHO WERE this Axelrod and his henchmen, anyway?

I spent days, weeks, cycling through the possibilities. CIA, KGB, Mossad, M-5, some ultra-secret military goings-on?

Worst of all was the speculation they, themselves, might be extraterrestrial.

Perhaps there was a space opera going on in which two different sets of extraterrestrial troops were fighting some kind of war here on Earth - while both at the same time were somehow ensuring that HUMANS never realize that they, themselves, are psychic. What a scenario, huh? Talk about being on the outermost fringes! Fringes so outermost that one didn't even know where the fringes were in relationship to anything else.

The worst thing was I could not talk, certainly did not dare to, about any of this to anyone. I was sure I had gotten into something quite over my head. I worried I might get killed or kidnapped - disappeared - and end up as slave labor in the mines on the Moon. Even as I now write, which I am sure many will find too incredible, for words, I have to wonder...

About a year later, in June 1977, I placed the 65 per cent signal under the blotter on my desk at SRI in California, which is to say, in our allegedly secure, guarded premises there. Entrance to my office was code locked. Only I knew the code, and it only existed in my mind. I checked under the blotter every day and afternoon thereafter for about three months. Then one morning when I lifted the blotter the hair on my arms once again stood up. The signal was gone.

In its place was some dust-like powder in which a finger had scrawled two words: “Expect contact.” I brushed the powder into my trash, and sat down, completely unnerved. My next meeting with Axel and his crew completely blew my mind, knocked my socks off! The result of the promised “contact” was that if I had any remaining doubts about whether they existed, such doubts were shortly to be resolved.

I almost got killed in the process.
 

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Chapter 9
MR. AXELROD AND HIS TRAVELING PLANS

The expected contact came early in July 1977, a few days after I discovered the message in the dust.

The “campus” of Stanford Research Institute has a very nice dining room where my colleagues and I often ate lunch, especially if we were being visited by “dignitaries.” Access to the dining room is through a large lobby, at one end of which stands a very large globe of Earth about six feet in diameter. I don’t remember who we were lunching with that Friday, but when we passed through the crowded lobby on the way to the dining hall, there was Mr. Axelrod standing as large as life, but I suppose inconspicuously, by the globe of Earth.

When he saw that I had noticed him (I had actually stopped dead in my tracks) he walked quickly into the men's room adjoining the lobby.

So I did what I thought he expected of me. I excused myself from my colleagues saying I had to take a leak. To do this, I had to get the key to the toilet from the dining room hostess. Everything at SRI was kept locked because of its Pentagon connections and the fear that terrorists might plant a bomb in the heads. When I entered the men’s room, Axel boldly locked the door with a key and whispered in my ear:

“Can you get away right now for the weekend? I want to take you somewhere and show you something? Just nod yes or no.”

I nodded yes.

“There’s a car in the parking area outside the lobby. I'll wait for you there. Invent a convincing story for your friends. You may be away as long as four days.”

He then unlocked the door. I had to think fast about what might stand up as a “convincing story" as I joined our group the dining room. But all I could really think about was how Axelrod had secured the key to the men’s room.

I told my colleagues that I had just remembered I was supposed to join some friends in San Francisco for a long weekend, and without further ado just left them.
The “car” outside proved to be a high-wheeled Jeep, and Axel himself was the driver.

We sped out of the SRI grounds in silence. Axel made it to the freeway heading toward San José. Then:

“Have you ever seen a UFO?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Can you describe it?”

“Well, when I was in high school in Tooele, Utah, I used to climb to the top of a large hill called Little Mountain.

“From there you can see across the vast Bonneville Valley and see the Great Salt Lake to the north. It has big islands in it, you know. The view of this vista was just wonderful.

“I used to take naps up there in the late afternoon, but on this particular day I noticed a speck of light really high in the sky over what must have been Salt Lake City.

“It was flying west, and I thought it was an airplane moving really fast.

“But at a certain point in its westward flight it abruptly made a right angle turn downward, not a curved turn down but exactly 90 degrees.

“It plunged straight down, and felt into the shadows of the islands or mountains because the sun was lowering in the west and making shadows go to the east.

“I stood up, thinking that the plane had exploded or crashed.

“But as I did the thing rose directly straight up, out of the shadows.

“It rose up to its former elevation, like about 35,000 or 40,000 feet up, and once there disappeared directly into the west in a burst of speed, which was dazzling.

“I didn’t know what to think of this, but years later decided it must have been a UFO after I had learned that some of them make right-angle turns.

“Why it did what it did is beyond me. The whole of this down and up and speeding away took place in less than a minute. All I really saw, though, was a speck of light.”

Axelrod was silent. It was hot, the Jeep had no air conditioner. Then:

“Me may have an opportunity to see one of them rather close up. Are you game?”

Even among all the astonishments available in the Axelrod scenario, nothing could have amazed me more.

“You mean there’s one around here! You’ve captured one?”

“Oh, no, not that. We have to take a trip, then a hike to a place where one shows up at intervals. Are you game?”

Was I GAME! Who wouldn’t be.

Axelrod drove us to the San Jose airport and, leaving the Jeep in a “no-parking" area in front of one of the terminals, we walked directly through the lobby and out the other side to a waiting Lear jet. Other people had flown me in similar planes, wealthy people who were interested in talking about using Psi to discover sunken treasures and oil deposits. I loved the elegant jets for their sense of opulence and power, one of the most poignant status trophies for having “arrived” financially.

Waiting alongside the jet was one of the ubiquitous twins, this time dressed in an olive green jumpsuit and helmet - definitely “military” in appearance.
We were aloft in about three minutes. It turned out that the other twin was doing the flying.

Once aloft, the twin provided some sandwiches, and Axel said:

“We are going to the middle of nowhere. It will be rather cold and rough there.

"But we have all you will need, including a supply of your cigars (he smiled), so after you’ve eaten you should catch some sleep. It’s about a five-hour or so flight.

 

“It will be dark when we arrive, and then we have to drive about two hours after that.

“Don’t ask where we are going, since I can’t tell you that - and (with some hesitation) it’s better that you not know.”

“You know, Axel" I replied, “it may be that I could function better if I knew what was going on.”

Axel frowned through the sandwich he was eating.

“Well, I can’t tell you very much since doing so would endanger our mission and perhaps you, too.

 

“But I could ask you what YOU think is going on...?”

So here it was again, the one-way conversation typical of all “Mr. Axelrod" encounters.

“Well, I guess you guys, whoever you are, have a problem, and from all I can tell, Earth is under some kind of siege.

“UFOs appear everywhere, are seen by thousands.

“Yet they are illusive, but of concern, and so you are trying to fit the pieces together. And I would suppose, too, that you are desperate, enough at least to try to employ psychics to help you out."

“You see,” Axel laughed. “I don’t have to tell you anything, do I?”

It was no use. So I settled down and tried to sleep, which I actually did even though I thought I would not. Axel woke me later. "Fasten your seat belt, we re going to land in a few moments.” I glanced out the Windows. It was dark outside, and there were no lights anywhere.

But shortly we bumped along a runway without the aid of ANY lights.

“No lights?” I commented.

“It’s a very high-tech plane,” Axel commented. “It just LOOKS like a standard Lear.”

Once landed, we descended from the jet into not just cool but icy air, rich with the smell of pines. Our only lights were flashlights the twins were carrying.

Nearby was a van of some kind, painted with camouflage colors. Nearby I could make out a small building, but it was empty, or at least had no lights in it.
Inside the van:

“Here is a jumpsuit,” Axel said.

 

“It is thermalized, yet light. You have to remove everything, and you can have no metals on you.

 

“I know you have teeth filings, but there is nothing we can do about that. All the fasteners on the jumpsuit and its hood and attached gloves are made of wood and leather.”

So shortly I was geared up, finding there were pockets large enough to hold a cigar supply. While I was changing, the twins had started up the van and we were on our way to wherever we were going. The drive lasted about two hours. He climbed up some mountains, and negotiated some steep hair-pin curves. No one talked at all.

Against the dark sky I could see tall pines whose own darkness blotted out the amazingly beautiful spectacle of billions of stars. We were in the far north, I concluded. At a certain point, the sound of the van's motor ceased. Yet the van kept moving. I had, and still don’t have, no idea of how a van can move without its engine going. Finally, the van parked beneath some pines.

We disembarked.

“We have to walk about forty minutes, now,” Axel whispered.

“It’s extremely important that we be as quiet as possible. Do exactly as we do, make no noise, and DO NOT talk! And DO NOT light a cigar!”

So we walked in what amounted to almost pure blackness, but at a good pace. At certain points, one of the twins would take my arm to help me, for instance, across a small creek or around an unseen rock.

They had some kind of goggles over their eyes, which I took to be night-vision things, I didn’t at ail see why they had not provided me with them, too. We went up and over some ridges, and then down into some kind of large, flattish area dense with pines. Then we climbed into a sort of arroyo. Once there, we walked a few feet further and sat down on a thick cushion of fallen pine needles behind some large rocks.

Axel whispered:

“We’re here. Out there in front of us is a small lake. As dawn comes, you'll be able to see it through the pines. We now wait, and hope we are lucky. Say nothing, do NOT make any noise.”

“’Lucky’?”

What did that mean?
 

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Chapter 10
SEEING ONE

I couldn’t see anything at all, save the narrowest dark blue-green glimmer of dawn in the east.

I whispered back to Axelrod:

“What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Just observe, we’ll debrief later,” he responded, “But it’s really important now to observe complete silence from this point on. And do not move unless I tell you to. They detect heat, noise, motion like mad.”

So, I was silent.

There we were, four of us sitting silently like rocks ourselves. But suddenly, the two twins gave some kind of hand signal.

“It’s begun," Axel whispered. “Please, please, DO NOT make any noise, and do not move unless we tell you to.”

My eyeballs rolled around trying to perceive what had begun. I couldn’t see anything unusual at all, save for what appeared to be some gray fog forming up in the direction of the lake. I thought it was just morning fog coming up. This fog continued forming for about five minutes, and suddenly I saw what had "begun."

For in a moment’s eye flicker the gray fog changed, first into luminous neon blue, and then into angry purple. At that point, Axel and one of the twins put a firm hand on each of my shoulders, and it was a good thing they did. A network of purple, red, and yellow lightening bolts shot in all crazy directions through the “cloud”, and I would have jumped up if not held down.

And then, there it was. Somewhat transparent at first, but in the next second, as if fading-up (like the movie term) out of nowhere, there IT WAS! - solidly visible over the lake whose reflecting waters I could now clearly see.

And IT was GETTING BIGGER!

I don’t really know what I had expected, but I had assumed that what I would see, if anything, would be something like a flying saucer. No chance of a saucer here, baby. Because IT was triangular, and its top angle sort of inverted in pulses, so that overall it appeared to be diamond shaped.

At that moment in my astonishment, we could hear a “wind" coming, and it moved past us like a tangible magnetic field, rustling the pine trees around us so much that some cones and branches fell on us. The two firm hands on my shoulders tightened, warning me not to move in pure physical reaction.

At the same time, ruby-red laser-like beams began shooting out from the “thing”, which incredibly was now growing even MORE in size - while still stationary in its original position over the lake.

One of the twins now TALKED softly, although the sound of his voice was like thunder to me.

“Shit! They’re enveloping the area! They’re going to spot us!”

I had no time to wonder about what he meant. Indeed, some of the laser-red beams had begun blasting pine trees! Of all things! At the same time, the “thing” had now increased its size to what may have been about ninety feet wide. The whole of this so far had been accomplished in COMPLETE silence, and even the electric bolts had not “crackled."

The blasting of the trees, though, was now audible, while at the same time I could begin to hear low-frequency pulsations.

“They’re blasting deer or porcupines or something in the forest,” Axel explained softly in a calm but tense stage whisper. “The beams sense biological body heat, and they’re sure to hone in on us,”

At that moment, the two hands tightened on my shoulders and I was dragged and practically thrown back down into the arroyo. There was a terrific “pop” where we had been, and some large branches of nearby pines cascaded down on us. That was my last sight of the triangular thing, but in that last moment I could see the WATER OF THE LAKE SURGING UPWARD - like a waterfall going upward, as if being sucked into the “machine!”

I had landed rather hard on my butt. But with my feet dragging, the twins pulled me up and ran with me between them down the arroyo a short way where they suddenly flung me like a sack of corn under a rock overhang of some kind. Axel plopped in virtually on top of me, and the four of us huddled packed together like mice in a matchbox.

Axel was breathing hard. The twins were breathing hard.

I was barely breathing at all, and it took some while to realize that a rock or stick had cut through the jumpsuit into my leg, and that the wound was bleeding.
However, I needed no whispered instructions to be as quiet and still as possible.

I was virtually petrified with a kind of terror for which there are few if any words to describe. But there was also a kind of thrill. I HAD seen one!

There we remained for a period which could have lasted anywhere between five minutes to five hours for all I knew. In this timeless zone, I heard one of the twins say “All Clear Now,” - which seemed absolutely the most ludicrous thing I had ever heard. If ANYTHING was clear, I had not the faintest idea of what it was. Axel asked if I was hurt. The twins stood up and, of all things, calmly took leaks while surveying the environment. For the first time, I noticed that the sky was sunlit, the pines gloriously dark green, and that birds had been sounding off for quite some time.

I stood shakily up - and threw up the contents of my stomach no less than three times.

Axel fussed with inspecting my leg wound (not very large, but bloody enough) and I started to say something like,

"Yeah, yeah” I snorted, “don’t tell anyone, huh!”

“No," Axelrod responded. “I wasn’t going to say that, but that it’s gone now, and everything’s okay.”

I stared at him incredulously, and just as irrationally said: “Then it’s okay to light up a cigar, huh?” which I proceeded to do by pulling out a pack from the jumpsuit leg pocket. The cigars were smashed, but while sitting on a rock I licked one of them back together and proceeded to smoke. One of the twins was limping. The other was nonchalantly cleaning his fingernails with a small stick. As for ME! Cascades of the most forbidding anger were pulsating through my entire body, making my hands shake. My reality-hopper was in ultimate wreckage. La-la land, to the max.

Finally, Axel said that the water in the stream was good to drink, and one of the twins jerked his head as if meaning we should depart, which we did as if just coming back from a hiking expedition.

“So,” Axelrod asked while walking, “what did you sense?”

 

I burst out laughing: “You’re completely nuts, Axel! I have to be calm, cool, collected, and in good shape to sense anything. But you can bet your ass you’ve got a real problem, haven’t you!”

Then, from a queasy area of sense-making not exactly intellectually conscious:

“It was a ‘drone’ of some kind - unmanned, controlled from somewhere else - wasn’t it?”

Axel frowned, looking at the slope of the hill we were descending.

“What was it doing here?” he asked tentatively.

“Well, for chrissakes! It was THIRSTY! Taking on water, obviously. Someone, somewhere needs water - ...so I suppose they just come and get it.

“You don’t need to be psychic to see that! Yeah! That’s it, supply 'ship’ Earth! Let’s drive over to Earth, go shopping and pick up what we need, that kind of thing.”

More silent walking until we were again driving down the bumpy road in the van which had unsmashed cigars and sandwiches in it.

“You know, Axel" I finally said, “they’re really mean to blast away at ‘deer and porcupines'. What can possibly be the sense of that. I've read that some landed UFOs incinerate humans. Is that true?”

Without waiting for an answer, which I knew I wouldn’t get, I talked back to myself.

“I suppose it is. I guess we would have been blasted, too, wouldn’t we? You guys seem used to this, do you do it every once in a while?”

When we finally arrived at the airstrip, which I expected to be a secret one, I found it was thickly populated: with a USA-Alaska mail plane; three Caucasian men in plaid coats and cowboy hats lounging on the wood benches near the small hut; a police pick-up truck replete with two big-bellied “sheriffs”; ten women who I supposed were Eskimo. All these kept their distance from US.

Near the plane was what might be called a la-la-land special: a hot-dog cart with an orange and blue umbrella. No one was operating the cart, but the twins walked over to it and made themselves some steaming hot-dogs.

“Want one?” Axel asked. Indeed I did, three of them in fact, dripping with ketchup and mustard.

“Do they know what you are?” I asked, nodding to the observers. At this I finally got an answer to a question!

“Well," Axel responded, “they generally have been told we are wealthy environmentalists and bird-watchers who are assessing acid rain damage.”

“Such bullshit" I giggled. “They know what happens up there. That’s probably how you found out about this Go-To-Earth Shopping Cart.”

The twins had started up the jet. As we lifted off, I could see three of the Eskimo women pushing the hot-dog cart to the hut. About ten minutes later we passed over a tall range of beautiful mountains, then another, and about forty minutes later over a coastline and out over the ocean.

“Alaska, I suppose, That’s what the mail plane said,” not expecting an answer, murmuring it to amuse myself.

“Any feelings about how the object transports itself?" Axel asked.

I looked at him and burst out laughing. He had to be kidding! The “object”, indeed.

“Well, it must be some kind of ‘space displacer', but really Axel, I haven’t a clue. But I CAN understand why people who see something like this don’t believe it - and why people who haven’t seen it CAN’T believe it.”

Axel was silent, staring out the window. I went on:

“As I remember it, the thing did not ‘transport' itself. It GREW in place right where it appeared.

“It was a pyramidal thing, not a saucer. We think of a saucer flying about, and in fact when we think of things in the air we think of flying in the air.
“We do not think of things growing in place in the air.”

Axelrod studied me, but I saw he was perspiring.

“Are you sick or something,” I asked.

“Ah, I think I cracked a rib when we tumbled. Never mind, it’s nothing serious. What’s your point here?”

“In our research of remote-viewing capacities, we have learned that when the viewers “see" something they don’t understand, they explain it in ways that make sense to them.

“For example, to a viewer who has never seen an actual atomic reactor, what they are sensing can be described as a teapot, both of which are hot and ‘cook'.

“We call this ‘analytical overlay', meaning the mind-dynamic process of overlaying something unknown or unrecognized or unfamiliar with a mental image which is recognized"

“The psychic subject in remote-viewing a site with an atomic reactor may well overlay the impressions with a ‘teapot’ or a ‘furnace’ because these are the memory images which come closest to what is being psychically sensed.

“If you take the time to let the viewer study diagrams of atomic reactors and photographs of them and their surroundings, the next time they encounter one in psychic seeing they are more likely to identify it correctly rather than call it a teapot.

 

"But in general, people do something like this all the time. When they encounter something they do not understand, they tend to interpret it in ways they do understand, and they arrive at an interpretation which really doesn’t have much to do with what was experienced.

 

“In others words, they process the unknown through what I call their 'reality-hoppers' and come up with something that fits their present realities - but which may not, and probably does not, pertain to the actual reality of what they experienced.

“People fill in the unknown with what fits with THEIR known.

“The proof here exists in the fact that when five people are shown something which is outside their experience, one of them might say that they don't know what it is.

“But the other four might produce four different explanations of what they saw.

“For example, you called that thing an ‘object'. But what I saw materialized, grew in place, and I suppose dematerialized after we tumbled down the rocks and dirt.

"It may have achieved an object status at one point, but to my way of thinking this was an ‘appearance' rather than an object.

“A shifting-appearance at that.

“A full part of the problem is that it is a REALITY problem FOR US.

“That thing is outside my reality-experience, and so if you keep asking what I sensed, I am quite likely to begin seízing on overlays to explain it to accommodate you.

“For example, I used the phrase ‘space displacer’, but I really don’t know what that would be or consist of.”

Axel twisted in his seat to get more comfortable.

“In other words," he commented, “you assess what you experience only within the terms of what you already have experienced, is that it?”

“Pretty much so. Certainly so in experimental tests of remote-viewing, clairvoyance, and sometimes even telepathy.

“But this is a KNOWN phenomenon understood in psychology for quite some time. The only thing is that this understanding is not generally applied to human understanding on a broad scale.

“If it was broadly applied, then it would have to be admitted that what most people believe would turn out to be little more than reality-hopper ‘explanations' of what they hadn’t understood in the first place.

“We explain what we do not understand THROUGH whatever we think we DO understand.

"I certainly do not understand what l saw at the lake, and I think it is the better part of valor to admit it.”

“OK, OK,” Axel grimaced. “I got the point - which is that there are two parts of the Problem. What they really are, and what we are going to use to realize what they are.”

“Yeah" I giggled. "A remote-viewing novice can study a book with diagrams of all known atomic reactors. You got a book which diagrams all seen UFOs?

“If you had even told me it would be a materializing, levitating triangle, I might not have been so shocked and could have watched it more closely without having my reality-hopper get scrambled.”

Axelrod laughed, and changed the subject.

“Well, I got your point. It was probably a dangerous risk to expose you to this, ah, appearance, and we really had no right to do it.”

I laughed, and relaxed. “Jesús, Axel, I’m ready to go for it again! Who wouldn’t be.”

“Well, probably that will not be possible. I shouldn’t tell you, but our mission will be disbanded shortly and the work picked up by others, because of strategic security reasons involved.”

“Others who will not mix in with psychics, I take it,” I giggled.

“You got it. Next week you will be summoned for a complete physical examination, ostensibly in line with overseeing the health status of the people on your project.

“We just want to be sure you experienced no physical damage. The physicians performing the examination will be ordinary doctors who have no knowledge of our existence. Can you explain your leg injury in some sensible way?”

“I won’t have time next week. We’re going to Catalina Island to do an underwater remote-viewing experiment with a submarine. I’m OK, and the cut on my leg is small- I won’t have to explain it to anyone.”

The last I saw of Mr. Axelrod was at the San José airport, and so there ends the tale of my encounters with him and his ultra-subterranean covert mission. And I cannot prove a word of that tale - and because this WAS the case. I never intended to make a written record of it.
 

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Chapter 11
UFOs EVERYWHERE - DENIALS EVERYWHERE, TOO

As the years passed, two later developments changed my mind about making a written record of what I could remember of the Axelrod Affair. Both developments somewhat jolted me, but also inspired a certain astonishment about how EASY it had been to forget about that affair. Indeed, one would think that the Axelrod sequences would have been indelibly etched in one’s memory.

But this was not the case at all. And because this was not the case, I slowly became aware that there was something associated with the sequences - something perhaps best described as a kind of amnesia. The first jolt of memory, however, came about as follows. I am a subscriber to FATE magazine, which for a long time was the only publication in the United States that reported on phenomena the modern mainstreams denied could exist.

In late January, 1991, I came across an article by a certain Felix A. Bach, whom I had never heard of. His article was entitled “Can Moon Illusions MOVE?” The article was headed by a blurb:

“For many years one of our readers has been contributing unique illustrations to objects on the Moon’s surface. Now he reveals how he is able to see them - and how you can see them, too!”

According to the article, all one needs is a reasonably powerful telescope, Mr. Bach recommended one with high resolution powers up to 500x, which the manufacture of Celestron telescopes says allows viewing of lunar details as small across as a football stadium. Mr. Bach indicated that his telescope was a new SPC 8-inch one set at 600x, and which enabled him to see “at one whack* many towers, nets which come and go, mining equipment, “beads” and “wires,” and whole arches. Bach noted that the structures “come and go” for reasons unapparent and inexplicable, but that they can be seen by telescope is now beyond question.

The article contained sketches made by Bach, some of which more or less resembled the sketches George Leonard placed in his 1976 book, Somebody Else Is On The Moon. And so, of course, Bach sketches somewhat resembled my own made in 1975 for the benefit of Mr. Axelrod. Not long after Bach’s article, a Ufologist friend of mine visited me, and brought along a book published by some Moon enthusiast in Japan, and which, of course, was all in Japanese.

But the book was about structures on the Moon seen through a telescope. The structures were very hard to identify with the naked eye, but the book provided sketches of what the photos contained. With this help, it became credible that there were structures on the moon. I eventually tracked down the telephone number of Felix Bach and had several conversations with him. In short, with a small telescope, it takes a “very experienced eye” to separate the vague structures from the lunar background. This development caused me to consider TELESCOPES, and the details that could be acquired by them. The matter of telescopes will be discussed in the following section.

As a result of the Bach 1991 article, memories of the Axelrod affair now welled up. They had all along been lodged somewhere in memory, but I was somewhat astonished that it took Bach’s article to bring them to the surface. The Axelrod affair had jolted me in more ways than one. Why, then, was it not easy to remember? One would have thought that the memories would constantly have been trembling on the edge of immediate recall. The second development that helped resurface the Axelrod memories was the advent of Camcorders available to the public.

Before easy-to-purchase video equipment became available, there had, of course, been many still photos of UFO crafts. It was easy to discredit the authenticity of the still photos simply by suggesting that they had been altered in well-equipped photo labs. This suggestion was cast in cement when SOME photos were proven to be faked, which spread the assumption that all photos “must have been produced” likewise. Thousands of independently achieved video footage can hardly be said to have been faked- It might be possible to do so, but only with the help of rather significant amounts of money and extensive digital computer techniques.

During 1991, Earth-siders worldwide had begun to accumulate miles and miles of Camcorder footage of UFOs, many of the craft being simultaneously taped by several recorders, but from different angles and often miles apart.

As a result, a lot of the video footage was shown on various TV shows specializing in oddities - such as Current Affair, etc. While the increasing availability of live video footage is gross in size and dimensions and unavoidable implications, the net result is that official denial did not, and still has not, changed. The sustained denial involves government, scientific, and military attitudes.

That the denial IS SUSTAINED is a patent fact. The question is WHY?

It is 1998 as I write this. I have just read my installment of the weekly UFO UPDATE available on the Internet. There are UFOs being rather convincingly reported everywhere. And everywhere, at least in mainstream echelons, the reports are either denied or completely ignored. Back in 1991, largely because of the Felix Bach article, and largely because I had become aware of memory problems regarding the Axelrod affair, I decided to remember all I could of it and write it down - and to do so before I really did forget it altogether.

You see, I had begun to suspect that Earth-siders as a whole seem to be caught up in some kind of strange but broadly shared amnesia induced, perhaps, in some kind of wholesale way by means totally unrecognizable by human intellects. I seem to recall, but can’t remember where, a science fiction story of social-wide amnesia having to do with hypnotic commands to FORGET. FORGET what you have seen, and ATTACK AND DESTROY those who insist they have seen it.

This kind of thing is really far out, and this writer, of course, cannot insist on anything of the kind. In Part Three, though, I’ll begin to build upon this possibility a little, but only for what it might be worth to the reader. In order to get at these suggestive issues, we can ignore what has been presented in this Part One, which, after all, is only a personal tale. Instead, we can profit by approaching the issues by reviewing two categories of evidence, even is some of it is only circumstantial.

We will begin by examining some of the evidence about the anomalous nature of the Moon.
 

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PART TWO

MOON ACTIVITIES
 

Chapter 12
THE MOON AS A TARGET FOR SPIN DOCTORISM?

The major purpose of this section is not to present evidence of anything, but to show that evidence does NOT seem to matter. The answer to WHY it doesn’t matter is embedded in an on-going, rather deep and tangled confusion. And it will take mental equipment far more stalwart than mine to penetrate it. A considerable volume of very strange evidence exists about the Moon that is simply not challengeable even if it is strange.

But since evidence doesn't matter, we need not examine the entirety of the volume to make the point that it doesn’t matter. The above sentence probably sounds like a babble of words. But the babble might become more understandable if the concept of “information management" is factored into it.

Information management has to do with establishing whatever is to be conceptualized as constituting reality within any given societal framework, or within any social grouping. This is to say that reality-making and information management are somehow interrelated - largely because the reality cannot be constructed unless information relevant to it is managed in this or that way.

The process of constructing a reality requires three activities, all of which require information-management talents:

(1) facts, evidence, and information that might support the reality (thereby proving it real) need to be emphasized and, best of all, taught as the truth
(2) facts, evidence and information that would tend to deconstruct the reality need to be disposed of somehow
(3) the willful introduction of useful illusions if and when (1) and (2) above cannot be made to seem consistent or to be creatively managed

Anyone who can become expert in dealing with the three factors above will find his or her talents as a spin doctor much in demand. The term “spin doctor” is of rather recent vintage, of course, but the craft it represents is a quite old and traditional one. The factors briefly outlined above seem straightforward enough, especially in that the activities of spin doctors are sometimes mentioned in mainstream media.

Indeed, what DOES a spin doctor DO if not to manage information along the lines of the three factors outlined?

Spin doctorism is usually mentioned only in relationship to political intrigues, most specifically those emerging or on-going at the highest echelons in Washington, D.C.

But the extended fact of the matter is that science, philosophy, economics and sociology are also cluttered with spin doctorism or residues of them. It is necessary to dig a little deeper in order to achieve a more firm grasp of the meanings of the above considerations. It can be observed, at least hypothetically, that the average human being cannot function very well unless a few realities are established, and which thereafter arouse some semblance of certainty. Otherwise, the human sort of flops about in a sinkhole of uncertainty. And groups of humans flopping about in this way are known to be detrimental with regard to any number of situations.

Indeed, information NEEDS to be managed in order to avoid extensive demonstrations of such flopping around. This natural and perpetual NEED automatically calls forth the profession of spin doctorism. IF human specimens were NOT information processing entities each, in their own right, then the age-old profession of spin doctoring would not be needed. As it is, though, human specimens ARE information processing entities. That this is so results in a variety of problems that sometimes stress the creative energies of spin doctors in no small way.

But regarding this there are sometimes two blessings that ease the job of proficient spin doctors. The first blessing is that a fair share of humans don’t really require copious amounts of information as they proceed from the womb of birth to the maw of death. The second blessing is that a fair share of humans will accept illusory information, since it does take rather copious amounts of information to distinguish illusory from other kinds of information.

Spin doctors since antiquity have apparently been keenly aware of these two blessings. It has long been understood that illusory information can serve quite excellent purposes, since in large part there is no profess desire among the human masses for other kinds of information. To this must be added one other significant factor that not only eases the job of spin doctors, but elevates it into a kind of power threshold. In that each human specimen is an information processing entity, each is also an information processing mechanism. The latter here is not mentioned in order to diminish in any way the former.

The point is that information is composed of very numerous data bytes, the whole of which needs to be organized into some kind of information whole. So one fact in itself tends to have little meaning unless it is compared to and combined with lots of other facts. In this sense, then, one fact (or even ten of them) only adds up to a very tiny information universe.

Beyond this, it is quite well understood that the human species, universally and generically, shares in mental equipment which processes information in what amounts to mechanistic ways.

Perhaps this can better be understood by picturing the generic mental equipment as the computer hardware, and then picturing the information (real, artificial or illusory) entered into it as mental software programs. This is to say (as those computer efficient realize) that information that conflicts is mechanically rejected, while information that agrees is mechanically accepted. All the complexities of human mental apparatus considered, this analogy may be a weak one, to be sure. But this situation is, of course, an additional blessing for information spinning experts, or at least for proficient ones.

All that really needs to be done in order to maintain spin control of mental software programs is:

(1) on the one hand, to enter and maintain certain data-information factoids considered desirable; AND
(2) on the other hand to delete and maintain as deleted certain other data-information factoids considered undesirable.

Lastly, all human entities seem to possess what might be referred to as an “information comfort zone.” Furthermore, most humans seem to LIKE this zone - and they don't particularly want information discomfort to be induced or intruded into it.

Thus, old and familiar information associated with information comfort is desirable over new, unfamiliar and alien information that induces discomfort. Thus, it is easy enough to see WHY information that might entirely wreck information comfort zones is viewed with ultimate distaste. After all of the foregoing considerations, it is easy to suggest that the appearance of possible ET factors are factors that can be the source of major wreckage within information comfort zones typical of Earth-side  information packages.

That Earth-side  realities ARE constructed is absolutely known because an attentive historical study in this regard clearly shows that different peoples, times and places have utilized different reality constructs. The consideration central to all of the above has to do with WHO constructs the realities. Earth-siders, of course, assume that Earth-siders themselves construct their realities. But if ENOUGH information based in identified and proven factoids is assembled and aligned, a somewhat unnerving answer becomes at least partially visible: WHO it is that constructs the realities is NOT at all clear.

The whole of this, of course, ends up as a mental and emotive quagmire that stresses a lot of brains and synapses.

But it can be noted that the stresses probably come about because most people on their own determination do not construct realities, but more or less adapt to those around them. Indeed, most people are culturally discouraged from making their own reality treks into reality constructing. This of course makes possible that great and time-honored profession referred to as reality management by the few on behalf of what the few view as the somewhat dumbed-down majority. Of all possible candidates that might require the services of reality managing, the Moon seems the least likely.

But if enough Moon facts and factoids are assembled and aligned, then it turns out that the Moon has been treated to exceedingly expansive doses of spin doctor machinations.

There has to be a very good reason as to WHY the Moon, of all things, needs extensive spin doctor treatment.

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