Excerpts from my diaries, Forbidden Science
Parodie, France
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Chicago. Sunday 7 July 1968.
The diamond is part of an occult rite, as are 'the nine' individuals placed in the field. Each batter partakes in a hero's journey against otherworldly forces. The ivy backdrop signifies the green. Janine tells me that one hot dog is perhaps enough.
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Cambridge. Thursday 29 November 1998.
Over coffee John Mack told me of a new patient. Invisible beings offered her a beverage but when she requested milk they simply laughed, and gave her the strongest espresso she'd ever tasted. She hasn't slept for years, with no ill effects.
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Montréal. Tuesday 9 June 1992.
The Sisters of Saint Christopher told of seeing a craft shaped like a circus tent land next to the convent grounds. A massive red shoe stepped out of a porthole until a nun held up a crucifix, at which it recoiled. The craft then spun up and away.
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Chicago. Tuesday 28 January 1964.
Allen seems despondent today, holed up on his office where I hear faint echoes of a brass band. "Something in this field changes people," he confided in me earlier in the day. I couldn't help but agree.
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Culver City. Thursday 16 April 1996.
Apparently the Beanie Babies craze is driven by more than human irrationality. A colleague tells me the largest buyer of toys last quarter was the Hughs Aircraft Company, who seek to use the plastic bead filling for next-gen ball bearings.
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San Diego. Monday 27 March 2001.
Something strange happened during a meeting with a biomedical firm our Euro-America Fund has been courting. Two dentists barged in, a tall woman and a short man, both in black lab coats, demanding to see the CTO’s molars. Grimacing, he obliged.
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Taos. Sunday 19 June 2014.
Today I spoke to the owner of an abductee with lingering medical symptoms.
“She won’t eat or even fetch. All she does is stare at the sky through my telescope.”
Whining, the Great Dane stuck its snout in the wrong end of the telescope.
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San Bernardino. Wednesday 2 January 1995.
This declining city full of laid off Air Force employees left me with dread. In our motel room I found a hand-drawn tarot card in the bathtub: a flaming sword guarding the Garden of Eden above a “San Bernardino Welcomes You” road sign.
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Stanford. Tuesday 4 November 1982.
Over mint tea at the Thoth Club, Kit contended that crop circles are indeed man-made, and the result of a kind of mania induced by glyphosate.
“Eventually it leads to criminal insanity, even pathological wire fraud.”
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Ottawa. Monday 11 October 1997.
After only corresponding in writing for many years I finally met myself for lunch today near our offices at the National Research Council. Jacques Vallée, my Canadian doppelgänger, is an astrophysicist full of ideas for the future of SETI.
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Palo Alto. Monday 23 April 1983.
Doug Engelbart bought me lunch at the Sea Cow. Over low-fat crab cakes he predicted the whole service sector would soon be “computers talking to computers”.
“I’ll have to complain to a terminal to get real crab cakes?”
“It’ll already know.”
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San Jose. Saturday 17 October 2000.
The after-dinner entertainment at tonight’s IEEE meeting was meant to be the recent film Galaxy Quest, but despite the room being filled with 100 of the top electronics engineers in the world, nobody knew how to operate the digital projector.
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Sundholmen Island. Saturday 12 July 1988.
Mathilde’s friends generously took us on a fishing trip out here. One of them, a technology executive from Lund, is convinced that ancient Viking runes can be used to “bind” the resonance frequency of stone to transmit sound.
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Las Vegas. Tuesday 20 August 1993.
Having coffee with Linda Howe, I was informed that the grisly cattle mutilations are actually performed by a surprising entity: The IRS. Her source, a man with a voice changer she's only spoken to by telephone, does not elaborate.
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Marin. Monday 4 April 1987.
Most secret societies I’ve crossed paths underwhelm me. From AMORC to The Ancient and Noble Order of the Blue Lamoo, at best they make baffling moves to keep up appearances.
Until now. The Marin County Homeowners Association is run by true adepts.
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Amtrak from Reno to Lake Tahoe. Friday 12 June 1999.
On this warm summer evening the view of Rockies kept us staring out the window at the darkness for hours. Even the drunk day trader behind us, loudly gambling with shares in Kenny Rogers Chicken Roasters, got deathly quiet.
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Inverness. Wednesday 16 July 1979.
Every instrument we brought to the loch malfunctioned today, from the tempest prognosticator borrowed from the University of Edinburgh to the custom built micro-sonar array I brought in my carry on bag. Even the sturgeon are laughing at us.
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Wauconda, WA. Thursday 23 March 1995.
Residents of this former mining town have reported a flap of fairy sightings in recent months. One witness showed me a small burlap sack filled with exotic dried mushroom caps that a “four inch tall little bearded man” left in her garden.
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Belmont. Tuesday 12 September 1996.
Hours of waiting on hold with the cable company led to an unsettling realization: the symptoms of high strangeness — missing time, ghostly electronic voices, visions of doom, intense emotional outbursts — can all be induced by hold music.
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