Month: July 2015

Requiem for the Big Bang

You live in a new Age of Enlightenment…you just don’t know it yet.

Let me tell you why, and what it means to you.

For over a century, scientists have dumped billions of your tax dollars and tied-up countless intellectual resources researching the structure and origin of the cosmos. The result has not shed light on anything.

To the contrary, they have shrouded the truth in dark matter, dark energy, black holes, and big bangs. They invent theories of parallel universes, multiverses, many worlds, quantum foams, and rolled-up dimensions that no one can detect – and tsk-tsk that only they are damn smart enough to comprehend it.

Do their theories sound like reality? Do they resemble anything we actually see, or experience?

They say miracles don’t happen. They say the universe exploded from nothing without any reason. They say the more matter you have, the smaller it gets, until it disappears in a ‘black hole.’ These sound like miracles to me.

It’s also depressing. They tell us everything we see is only 4% of what is there, because the rest is made of stuff we can’t touch, see, measure or even imagine. They say only they have the intellectual authority to comprehend, so just shut-up and give them more money to study it.

Doesn’t this picture of the universe leave you cold, bleak and disconnected – understanding less – not more about it?

If their theories were used cars, we’d have solved the energy problem because we’d be driving mathematical constructs – things without wheels or engines.

Today there are scientists with a new theory – and this one works – it has wheels!

They describe a universe full of light, life and promise. A universe that is comprehensible, based on theories we can test, see, and that time and again, produce astonishingly accurate predictions. It is known as the Electric Universe.

In 2004, the Thunderbolts Project launched to explore the Electric Universe. The Thunderbolts Project is a group of scientists and scholars who are making sense of our universe and the role humans play in it. They are also making sense of our ancient history. That means your place in history and the cosmos, too.

They have taken science out of the dogmatic paradigms of invisible mathematical concepts to look at the universe as it really is – and discovered its beauty – coursing with real energy and real purpose.

Led by plasma physicists and a growing number of scholars, Thunderbolts has taken a fresh look at space and realized – hey, it’s full of electricity. Everywhere astronomers look, they see evidence of electro-magnetic forces at work.

The standard model of physics ignores the forces of electro-magnetism, relying instead on the idea that gravity is the only architect of the cosmos. But electro-magnetism is trillions of times stronger than gravity and we can see it at work. Why does mainstream science ignore it?

Mainstream science doesn’t understand plasma.

Plasma is everywhere we look in space – stellar nebula, stars, solar winds and galaxies. Plasma rains down in the beautiful displays of polar auroras and lightning, right here on earth.

It is a fundamental state of matter – along with solids, fluids and gasses, there is plasma. It is a charged soup of electrons, protons and ions. And plasma conducts electricity.

Why don’t mainstream physicists account for this in the universe? Because if they started finding real answers we’d stop paying them to make-up imaginary stuff.

The Electric Universe does not throw the applied science we know and depend upon under the bus. Gravity still keeps us stuck to the earth. We still have E= mc2.

It simply discards the unworkable and unreasonable theories of magic in cosmology and seeks to understand what is really out there. And boy is it working.

Their predictions so far are astounding.

  • They explain the surface features of Pluto, Mars, Mercury, Venus, our Moon and the rocky moons of Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus and Pluto, as well as features found here on earth which still baffle and cannot be adequately explained by mainstream science.
  • They explain the nature and behavior of comets, and made predictions that have been verified.
  • They explain how stars and galaxies form in a Universe coursing with electricity.

The theory is solidly supported by the evidence we observe without needing to imagine invisible dark matter, dark energy, dark elves, or any other phony flavor of the day.

Not only do their theories predict the behavior of our universe, they explain the greatest mystery of mankind – our ancient history.

Dating from the end of the last ice age, cataclysmic events in the sky and on earth were recorded by our ancestors around the world in petroglyphs, hieroglyphs, megaliths, pyramids, obelisks, legends and archaic texts we have struggled to understand ever since. Science says they are just stories, made up by our ancestors to scare the kids into bed.

Mainstream science says the alignment of megalithic structures, like Stonehenge and the Great Pyramid were just so the builders would know when to plant crops. Why would they need huge boulders to do that?

They didn’t. They were recording events that rocked their world – literally. And these were electro-magnetic plasma discharges and a rain of planetary debris.

That is why mythology is full of fire and brimstone raining from the sky. And global flooding, fiery dragons and the heroes that battled them, which live on as ancient legends around the world. It was a cataclysm that nearly wiped out mankind, and we’ve been suffering the trauma ever since.

The Electric Universe brings into focus what is really happening in our universe with elegance, clarity and simplicity.

It is no more mysterious that the computer screen in front of you. Okay, so that’s a mystery to me, too. But any electrical engineer can understand it, and so can we. Its stuff anyone can comprehend.

You don’t need to be an Einstein, or Hawking, with an IQ big enough to dream-up things that don’t exist. And you don’t need to keep sending those guys our tax dollars. Go to to find the real story for yourself. You will be amazed.

A.D. Hall

An Open Letter to Visitors from Biker Entourage

Pardon my French, but Sacre Crapeaux! It means holy shit…I think. Bells ring in my head, addled as it is. Eureka! I have found my spiritual home.

Is it possible? Biker Entourage is motorcycles, psychedelics and the people who ride them? I feel more interconnected than a DMT flash. I feel more resonance than a 998 Desmocedici at 8500 rpm. I feel both!

Psi-rider…mount your café racer for a ride in my brain!

Take the on-ramp to my Cerebrum. Ignore the Temporal Lobe…it is closed for repair.

Beware off-camber twisties in the folds of the Frontal Lobe. There are potholes there.

Add power…add speed for the sweeper ahead,

Drag your knee in Basal Ganglia and up-shift with throttle-wide in the Corpus Collosum,

Do a wheelie in Medulla Oblongata, if you like, and burn rubber in the Occipital Lobe,

But, red-line the Hypocampus and downshift drift the Amygdala, echoing a thrum upon the Pons.

Then park in level C of the Cerebellum. I’ll meet you there.

I feel how I imagine a ride to the shooting range with Hunter S. Thompson – or pubbing with Peter Egan and Terence McKenna. Those things aren’t possible for Terence and Hunter, bless their souls – they will never know the experience of reading me, or having a beer with me.

But we can! Yes, you and me – reader and writer – as I still live and write. This can change at anytime, as you well know how it is with writers and motorcycles. But once written, it lives forever…and thereby my heart feeds you, as I feed on you like a parasite, too.

I digress. You are probably wondering who in hell I am. I am A. D. Hall, a writer and a traveler. May favorite rides are a Ducati S4RS and Mescaline – so visceral and erotic.

Psilocybin and scooters are a close second. The elves like scooters. I’d love to own an Indian and take Ayahausca some day – it seems a marriage of the gods, no?

I live in Arizona, which is psychedelic in itself, especially this time of year. I think the temp is 111, as I write, which means I can go outside for fifteen minutes and experience hallucinations. I do this on the scooter – the Duc would fry my legs. It produces total, irrevocable madness within twenty minutes, so I am careful.

As the swamp cooler blows a moist chill on my sweaty neck, and the cheap Canadian whiskey I bought last night yields it’s last precious ounce into my cup, I almost weep with joy. The emotion is real, if exaggerated – that’s what whiskey does to me – but let this be known; I wish to join this community.

I wish to pledge my considerable writing talent as a voice – to you, to us, and to those out there who have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s my humble opinion they need to understand. The whole world needs to understand.

Who can engage one’s mind with spiritual botanicals, or race two-wheeled on a smooth, curved mountain road, and still be bothered to commit jihad, or send thousands of troops to their deaths in foreign lands? It’s inconceivable. So like Jesus, we have a message. It is as important as his – the “do unto others…” one.

No ma’am, no sir! I’m not comparing myself to Him. I am but a disciple, no matter how arrogant my tone. That is a consequence of the cheap Canadian stuff…like I said. But the mission – the mission – let’s not lose our thread.

It is to Trip Others – a term I now coin – unawares, into a forced psychedelic experience for the betterment of mankind. My idea is to create and weaponize a psychedelic toenail fungus that pumps psycho-actives into the bloodstream, like a tic delivers Lyme disease, but with altruistic intent. Then disperse it in Moscow, Tehran, Beijing, Washington and other strategic places.

I am thinking of a Dr. Scholl’s type delivery system of our own patent, or perhaps Korean nail salons. There are many details to fix, and talks with the Koreans are not going well. Are there podiatrists among you?

San Francisco, Paris and London won’t need it. Those places are already enlightened – unless they want to volunteer. I figure, once we know how to make it we can grow enough for everybody.

That includes your city, Gotham – New York, New York! Grimy Atlantis of the Millennium. I have spent good times there. High times. If only I lived closer, my first instinct is to join you on a ride, side by side, somewhere Upstate to look for Bigfoot. We’re teaching him to ride out here. But let’s speak of that another day. Today, our topic is the Purple Armageddon.

Bikes are the instruments of distribution, of course. We can go any place on earth with the right, dual-sport bikes, and escape, too. You know traffic in these big cities. A rush hour attack and we own the split-lane! Get it? Is the picture coming to focus? Rebels with a cause – that’s us!

I implore you. I don’t have the mycological knowledge to do it myself. Nor could I be a lone superhero like Ewan McGregor, riding the globe dispersing the stuff and still get the coordinated mind-meld that’s most effective.

It will require a common temporal battleground, a Megiddo of the conscience. If we can get all of the world leaders into the same “room with the elves” – problem solved – that’s the plan.

That’s why a community like this needs me, for this kind of brilliant idea. So, now that we’re together – tell me how I can help you, so you can help me – let’s work together. Who is the Shaman of this new family of mine? Call me.

Before I close and let this sink in to your minds – I’ll assume it is momentarily stressed at the audacious criminality of our venture – let me say, fear not. The utter logic of it will eventually take hold and you will gleefully go forward, a battalion of ghost riders; Knights Templar of the Psychedelic Apocalypse – keepers of the Grail of Enlightenment – Onward Psychedelic Soldiers…Marching as to war!

Even if your ultimate fate is crucifixion in a stuck-up, unenlightened world, rest assured, I will carry the torch. I am shielded from crucifixion by fixion. A linguistic inoculation that protects me as a writer.

So relax, and let me offer a diversion while your mind assimilates. I published a book of complete and utter nonsense about a character that is struck by lightning in a thunderstorm while on an Amanita Muscaria trip, and the consequences that flow from this profoundly dark and damaging experience.

Why don’t you take it to the beach this summer, as the Psychedelic Apocalypse gathers headwind. Enjoy its hallucinogenic, raunchy humor where the characters happen to – have you guessed, yet – Ride Fucking Motorcycles! Yes, that’s right. I wrote a novel specifically for you! Ain’t that the fuckin’ tits?

It is my modest gift, for the listed price at your e-book retailer. Just follow my links below and see my website, other writings of mine, and the book: “Lapse of Reason.” It’s my debut novel.

Such synchronicity – meeting on the very brink of my book’s release – the world in crisis and needing us – social media to bind us – are the result of long-term psychedelic brain modification, on my part, yours, and the elves, without a doubt.

Trip safely my friends, and feel free to share your favorite psychedelic with me (in a plain brown envelop with no return address). Adios for now. Our plot shall thicken!

Thank you.

A.D. Hall 6.25.15

Ten Things to Think About Blogging That You Haven’t Thought Before

I blog. I never set out to do this. It’s a requirement though, a machine sub-set routine I must initiate to flow attention to the novel I wrote. That is my job, writing novels, I thought.

It turns out that writing novels is only half the writing. The rest is all about traffic to your book in the age of Social Media and that’s business.

Fine. I can write creative posts. Apply my craft and try new voices in short form with direct feedback from the reader. It sounds like a good idea for a writer hungry to learn.

So I’ve been researching. It seems the way to do this is guest blog, which this is, and I thank the host for this opportunity. The host is me. I’m posting to myself. I just wanted to show how polite I am.

I’ve been reading blogs of other writers, looking for places to join or contribute, thinking that is where I can meet others of my ilk.

I have had trouble, and that is what I want to talk about. I see some great writing, but it’s dry, business-like. Everyone speaks as themselves.

Why shouldn’t writers of fiction, write fiction? Even when they’re not!

Isn’t it the task of the fiction writer to weave a reality? No one said that reality can’t be real. Go ahead. Fill the reader with facts and lists of Ten Best Things. Tell them what they need to know.

But do it with style. Use your voice. Create a drama, points of view. Don’t just lay your bloody thoughts out like the thing you left in the commode this morning. Write the thing!

I just thought I’d see more of that among the literary crowd. Where do thoughts fly like angels, with emotion and prose? Damn it! Will somebody please point me in the right direction?

Thank you.

A.D Hall, 6.30.15

Green Chile Werewolves

Friends, it is my passion to cook. I am not a particularly subtle cook. I like to spice it up.

I also don’t go in for fancy dishware and the like. I like to cook. So I’m posting something informative with a recipe of mine. You must try my Green Chile Werewolves. I will get to the recipe in a moment.

I warn you, this dish is clean, simple, but hot. Mighty hot. I think of it as a manly dish. That’s what brings to mind my topic: Manly cooking.

I know, cooking channels everywhere have male cooks, chefs and eaters. Probably more than female, I don’t know. The cooks are all mixed, the eaters are all male. There is no shortage of gluttonous women, but they don’t do it. It’s a manly thing.

Females never eat pickled bat guano in Thailand, or shove one hundred fried habanero-stuffed turkey balls in their pie-hole in under thirty-minutes. I never see “No Flicking the Jalapeno” plaques or trophies in the bitch-cave commemorating nacho-eating contests.

In fact, I’ll just get to the point. Eating is the only manly thing I see men doing. Their cooking sucks. Its too feminine.

I have no issue with the babes. They do feminine cooking and they should. A dish should be proud of its gender, and so the cook should be proud of the gender they give it. But it should be their-own gender.

I am not getting into the matter of that Jenner fellow…gal I mean. He’s another issue entirely – one that confuses me. No, I wish to speak about good-old, manly cooking.

Now here’s the thing. You’ll say, don’t men barbeque? Of course, and grill too. These we may set aside as particular male obsessions, in fact. But it is a narrow specialty.

I ask, who among men is out in the world doing the hard work of true, honest peasant cuisine in the very heart of darkness?

Out there, where there is no foam food. Out there, with a big knife and spoon, a bowl and iron pot, and the flames of Dante’s furnace the only tools.

There was a man of great talent once, who forged meals in such a way. Let me tell you of him.

He was a gentleman, his talent as a cook well known. But that is not the key here. This man had something else; an indefatigable curiosity and manly joy for life. Yes life!

For he recognized that food is the very essence of that joy. It is communion, and delicacy, and drinking, and pleasure, and drinking, and fun and glorious! And it’s even better with a drink.

That man is Keith Floyd. Did you know him?

Keith Floyd was the original manly cook. No one before or since has honored food in such a way. Articulate-smart-funny-tasteful. But he didn’t suffer fools. He made one of himself with regularity, and never tried to hide it. Such honesty in a man transcends mere cooking!

The BBC program, ‘Floyd on Fish’ was his first. I believe it to be his best and the only place to start, if you are so inclined. It was he I watched in my youth, and from him I learned the essentials.

If you’re a man and can’t cook anything except meats, learn from Floyd. Find him on You-Tube.

Now grab a beer, let’s cook Green Chile Werewolves.

Green Chile: One pound of pig meat.

One 32-ounce can of whole Green Chilies.

One 14-ounce can of chopped tomatoes.

One, big as you dare, can of chopped jalapenos.

A big onion.

A handful of garlic.

Stock – you should already have stock from scratch. I don’t have time to get into that now, go buy chicken stock.

Werewolves: Cheese – you call it, pick your mold. I like a blend of Mexican stuff, fresh made. You may not have it where you live. Longhorn Colby mixed with Jack always works.

Big flour tortillas. Be a man and spring for the kind sold raw. Cook them yourself. If you’re a pussy, go ahead and get them made and packaged.

Have some good olive oil on hand. Now let’s cook.

Chop that pig meat into chunks. Use a cleaver, or machete – make fast work of it.

Turn your blade on the onion and garlic. Chop it rough. Throw the pig in a cast iron oven with some oil. Fire it up. Season it. Brown it. Throw in the onion.

Wait – no garlic yet. Let the onion get soft. Now garlic, throw it in and turn the fire down so it doesn’t burn.

Give it salt and pepper. If you like chile, add your favorite.

Let it simmer while you open all those goddamned cans. Dump them in the pot when you’re done. Chop those chiles first and sop up the mess. Add enough stock to make it swim.

Now stir the thing and put a lid on it. Let it cook for a good long while on a low burn, just watch the thing doesn’t char. Grab another beer.

Your going to cook again when the wolves are ready, but let that damn pot cook while you have a smoke, or something. Smoke the right thing and the timing will work out perfect.

Shred your cheese. Cook the tortillas under-crisp in oil. You want them bendable. Roll that cheese up in tortillas and put the damn things in a greasy pan. Those are the werewolves.

Now pour that stew on the wolves when it’s ready. Throw the pan in a hot oven for a while, until it gets bubbly. If you put some extra cheese on top – see it gets browned.

That’s it. Take them out and let them cool. Then feed your people.

I did this recipe for you men. Now, go get my book. Women won’t read it.

Thank you.

A.D. Hall 6.29.15