[Note to the reader… Sorry for the long hiatus. Family matters took me away on a long trip, and then I had to prepare for my presentation at the upcoming Electric Universe Conference. I’ll excuse it as research, because the long road trip allowed me to see things that not only confirmed some hypothesis, they also brought new things to light. Preparing for the conference helped focus ideas. The benefit will come out in later chapters.]
Chapter Eight – When I was Young
My Father liked cars that had a sense of style. The chicken ranch he built, and dairy route he owned, never produced income for lots of shiny, new things, so he bought salvageable luxury models.
The first I remember was a mid-fifties Cadillac Coupe DeVille. White, with blue vinyl interior, small fins and titty-bumpers. It carried an air of panache and comfort that newer models didn’t have, and a chrome superman on the hood that I couldn’t keep my grimy young hands from touching. A classic car hoarder would pay dearly for it at auction today.
The air conditioning blasted from variable azimuth, round louvered vents, precisely fitted to the little shelf behind the rear seats. I used to climb onto that shelf and lay, letting the louvered vent blow up my shorts. It felt good after skittering out of the intense heat of a summer day.
Only for a minute though, because the fucker blew ice. It was the coldest air conditioning ever made. The nylon seats wouldn’t hold heat for anything, so long trips became a battle against exposure in my Mother’s lap, snuggled into her sweater. Dad kept the air cranked full – always. Mom wore a sweater in the car on 110 degree days.
Later, he bought a baby blue ’61 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors. The seats were beautifully woven, silky fabric, bordered in blue leather. I longed to touch that delicate fabric, but never got the chance. It was covered with clear, diamond patterned, plastic sheeting, which remained until it was towed away, peeling and curling after decades of intense UV bombardment.
Sunday drives were the ultimate relaxation for Mom and Dad. After Mom took us to church, Dad would be waiting – he had no use for church except funerals and weddings. A long Sunday drive was a time for them to get away from the constant toil of caring for kids and chickens; washing, grading and crating eggs, cooking meals and pulling weeds. Invariably, because of where we lived, those drives brought us to the mountains.
I’ve always been fascinated by mountain shapes. There is a harmony in them that pushes through the jaggedness. Something that draws my attention and never let’s go. Those post-church, Sunday drives bent my mind to their cactus studded slopes and sharp cliffs. Something ghostly seemed to resonate there, the peaks and hoodoos conveyed a presence, like tombstones in a cemetery of bare, windy slopes. I’d lay my head against the window and fly in my mind across the landscape, the car’s vibration embedding the scene in my brain.
We were never poor by any means. We had those classy, slightly used cars and the biggest home on the block, but what we had was a result of my parent’s backbreaking work more than profitable business. I didn’t notice, except for the rare cuss words at the end of the month when Dad paid bills, cranking the handle on the old Burroughs adding machine. It seemed we lived a perfectly fine life. It wasn’t until I made friends from other neighborhoods at school that I realized how low we stood on the economic scale.
I can still remember Sunday dinners that began with Mom and Grandma cutting the heads off chickens and hanging them by their feet on the clothes line to bleed. The smell of scalded chicken feathers is forever en-trained in my brain.
Looking back, I know I was extremely privileged. I wish children today could experience such adventure and fun growing up. There is no way an anodized video game world compares. Besides, in today’s world, social workers would intervene.
We spent our days riding go-carts powered with lawn mower engines, or playing hide and seek among manure, rusty nails and frayed wiring in the chicken house. There were miles of deserts to explore just down our unpaved street, where we caught lizards in loops of string, shot pellet guns and raced minibikes.
Swords and blow guns came from pieces of cut bamboo, shields from the lids of old chicken feed bins. Forts were constructed from milk crates and discarded plywood, and battles were waged with dirt clods and dried chicken manure.
It was a treat to go to the library. There, my brother learned how to make gunpowder. Back then, one could buy sulfur and salt-peter at the drug store, and mixed with pulverized charcoal bricks, we made enough incendiary material to fry every anthill on the property.
It’s not that Mom and Dad didn’t care about our safety and well being. Dad kept our ears and nose clean with his handkerchief, Mom kept us fed and dressed in T-shirts and jeans that hung, fashionably, an inch above the ankle. Every time we’d play in the old junk pile of two-by-fours and rusty tin behind the chicken house, Mom warned us to watch for Black Widow spiders and snakes.
There were a few minor injuries, like the rusted ten-penny nail that stabbed through my foot and kept me out of school for two weeks, or the slingshot I nearly put my brothers eye out with, but all-in-all, we came through a wild youth mostly unscathed. What was special was, we had to exercise our imaginations. Except for the water rockets, balsa wood airplanes, and squirt guns we bought with weed-pulling money at the five-and-dime, most of our fun required some ingenuity.
When it was too hot to go outside, there were books. The American Standard Encyclopaedia answered any question, with type charts for mammals, fish and reptiles and pages of transparent overlays that showed the assembly of the human body. The Book of Knowledge had classic black and white photos of sphinxes, Buddhas, pyramids and people in far away places who wore giant ornaments that deformed their dark, naked skin. The one and only constant subscription we ever had was to National Geographic. Fascinating stuff to explore under the cool blast of the coolers when the Sun was so hot it blistered our skin.
Dad fueled a deep curiosity in me when he pondered questions like: what happened to the Maya, the Olmec and the Anasazi. He was fascinated by these enigmatic societies who vanished from their vast empires leaving pyramid cities and creepy cliff dwellings. He knew there was more mystery to our past than we were being led to believe.
Sunday school taught me of impossible events my burgeoning rationality couldn’t quite accept. Societies of good and evil, cataclysmic floods, pillars of fire and prophecies ascribed to dreams and voices from heaven. I couldn’t understand why the Bible told stories of things that can’t actually happen, but they captured my imagination.
Life in a raw environment forced a kind of situational awareness that I don’t see in kids today. Forced to look up from their smart phones, they exhibit a dull wasteland behind the eyes. They imagine they know what space-time is, but how could they? Science has yet to figure it out.
The virtual reality of video, the witless humor and vapid, phony portrayals on TV, the idiotic pursuit of celebrity endorsed tennis shoes; the self important culture we live in is so far removed from a life actually lived, I have trouble relating.
So I’ve returned to the property where I grew-up. I live in the tiny house my Grandmother lived, in the trailer park Dad built where the chicken house once stood. It’s the place I sat with her on the cool cement steps while she traced lines on my palm to foretell what a long life I’d live. It’s the house where she’d give me a piece of dough from the biscuit batter to play with. Where she’d sit with my Mom and pick ticks from the dog and crush them in napkins on top of the old gas heater, talking the afternoon away.
Now I live on little income and no bills. Instead I have time to think, read, write and explore. I keep my old Range Rover loaded with gear, ready at a whim to go camping any day I can afford gas. I prefer this to the Marin County, high salaried slavery I lived a few years ago. I couldn’t go back if I tried. I miss eating sushi three times a week, and roaring my Ducati through wine country on weekends, but that’s about all I really miss.
After shelter, food and sex, there isn’t anything I need except joy. Joy from made stuff simply isn’t sustainable. Buying a new thing brings fleeting satisfaction that requires constant feeding. I find it’s better not to trigger the appetite, and find true joy in more lasting pursuits. Fortunately, my childhood taught me how to find it.
It may sound like pure laziness, but instead of spending time chasing dollars to pay someone for something I don’t need, I prefer to spend time paying attention. It isn’t that I seek return to a simpler, less technological time when people scrubbed clothes clean on rocks, or bled chickens on the clothes-line for a Sunday meal, but I do think we have lost an appreciation for reality. We are no longer grounded to Earth. We have become a culture of dependents, depending on the scientists and politicians to figure things out, and people of no better means to dig our ditches and farm, cook and package our food. It’s a big mistake.
Technology is fabulous and has raised lives out of the mud, but without any mud between our toes, we forget we are animals of the Earth. We live the fallacy we are somehow above it, immunized against it, and on the brink of controlling it. We have no need for God, because there is an illusion we are Gods.
Attempts to recapture Nature buying overpriced organic produce at a farmer’s market fails to bring us in contact with the dirt it grew in. Actually doing something worthwhile has been replaced by virtue signalling concern, satisfied with a small percent of tax deductible, disposable income. Real adventure has been replaced by Disneyland, or, at best, a guard-railed weekend in a National Park. Watching nature at a safe distance is not truly experiencing it. It just displays how disconnected we are from it, and dependent on the those economically enslaved to bend their backs.
I believe it is a form of illness. We are removed from Nature so far we can no longer recognize what it is. Reality has drifted away and we are losing the thing that makes humanity special – the ability to comprehend. The scientific minds we depend on for our technological culture are the least comprehending of all.
Science has all but given-up on experiment, depending instead on mathematical models. The problem is that numbers can be made to do anything, whether true, or imagined. Powerful computers allow inhuman calculations that purportedly simulate Nature, yet scientists don’t have a clue why mathematics works to model Nature in the first place.
That is, consensus science doesn’t have a clue. There are a handful of people rediscovering the principles of the Universe. I say rediscovering, because it’s quite apparent mankind once did comprehend. They left markers for us to read, but science without any philosophical wisdom has led us to believe these are the relics of ignorant superstitious societies with too much time on their hands and nothing better to do. Yet we couldn’t recreate their feats if we tried.
Pyramids and megaliths encode lost knowledge and great universal principles our science is too ignorant to interpret. Seriously stupid scientists are the greatest criminals we face, because they mislead us at every turn with their critical, but not creative thinking, and profoundly naive hubris.
Rediscovered principles go by the name of Vortex Mathematics. Vortex Math describes vibration. The universal energy of the atom, of sound, of light, and life itself, is encoded in a math the ancient “stone age” people understood. It’s the math of electricity and harmonics – the unifying force of the entire cosmos. It’s the encoded ether of information that governs fractal form and function; the algorithm for the Grand Simulation.
The first modern person to perceive this was Nicola Tesla. In his words: “If you only knew the magnificence of the 3, 6 and 9, then you would have the key to the universe.”
Within his mind alone, with no calculator, or particle accelerator, he discovered alternating current and transformed all of society. Through his insight, our lives were electrified. He turned darkness to light, which we have used unerringly to plunge our souls back into darkness. How ironic is that?
Of modern science, Tesla said this: “Today’s scientists have substituted mathematics for experiments, and they wander off through equation after equation, and eventually build a structure which has no relation to reality. ”
Contemporary with Tesla, was Kristian Birkeland. He translated the findings of pioneers in real science; Faraday, Maxwell, Franklin and Tesla, to name a few, into an understanding of the Solar System itself. He discovered the electrical link between the Sun and the Earth. Though few believed him, his work was verified when mankind fired satellites into space and found his theories of magnetic fields and aurora were real after-all.
Immanuel Velikovsky came next. Though his approach and reason for discovery were motivated differently, his insight was more profound. As a psychologist who studied under Freud, he ignored the arrogant scientists to seek understanding of Social pathology through an examination of our past. Unlike most of science, he didn’t relegate ancient mythology to superstitious ignorance, he assumed credence in myth and legend.
Earth has been through many cataclysmic episodes. Anyone bright enough and brave enough not to live in the paradigm knows this. Velikovsky was perhaps the first person to take the Red Pill, and break with the paradigm enforced by the less inventive minions who followed his good friend Einstein.
He compared mythologies from all corners of the world and across millennia to observe they all said the same thing. Once this observation was made, he concluded what any dummy would: terrible things occurred that nearly wiped mankind from the face of the Earth.
Beyond that he had a brilliant grasp of Nature to the extent his predictions have far exceeded those of modern astrophysicists – who are still seeking validation for whatever the fuck Einstein was talking about.
Space-time? I guess it’s a cool idea, but it doesn’t really fly. Space is just space we can measure with a stick. There is only one time and that is now. Past and future are concepts to describe what was and will be. These aren’t things that can be modified and never have been in any experiment. Velikovsky predicted, among many things, the heat on Venus and the radio emissions of Jupiter. Tangible things we have since verified with true measurements, not abstract, engineered simulations.
Many now recognize this, It’s become an industry to itself. From scientific realists like those in the Electric Universe community, to bumbling wannabe theorists like the “Ancient Alien” crowd, millions of people have come to realize we have been misled. I hate to say we are lied to because I prefer to think of modern theoretical science as simply well meaning but unwise, rather than evil. Science counts things and catalogs them, like an accountant of Nature who can sort things into columns but hasn’t a clue what they mean.
The stories of the Bible, I’ve come to realize, actually contain more truth and wisdom than any University textbook. I don’t take this upon faith, though. I am not religious, nor do I believe in God – at least not some bearded man in the clouds. The impossible stories I learned in Sunday School have a basis in physics. The ghostly remnants of that understanding are still jealously guarded by secret societies, architects and religions. Whether they know what they mean is a puzzle to me, yet they show-up in architecture and symbols everywhere.
We’ll continue this discussion, but first let’s return to the fractal exhibits of Nature. We can finish with weather by examining the most horrific expression we can witness in today’s world of calm ignorance – the Whirwind.
Chapter Nine – Cold Dusty Plasma
Previously, in Nature’s Electrode, we looked at an Electric Earth model for lightning genesis driven by a plasma corona formed from condensing and freezing water vapor in the central updraft of thunderstorms. We also looked at the thunderstorm itself, and an electrical model for the circuit that drives it, called a thermopile. Now let’s consider the most dramatic weather event of all, the tornado, and how these massively destructive whirlwinds are also formed by a plasma corona.
Discharge from a corona is predominately dark current, invisible to the eye. Cloud-to-ground lightning arcs come from high current density regions of the corona, primarily surrounding the central updraft where current from the updraft intensifies the electrical tension. Higher voltage focuses discharging electrons the way a lens focuses light, into a continuous plasma channel. When the channel connects with ground and discharges a hot current, it’s wrapped tightly in it’s own magnetic field, in what is called a “Z” pinch.
Moving away from the high electric field region of the corona, free electrons still spit at the ground, but lack the energy and focus to avalanche all the way, leaving instead ionized gas that is said to drift, yet the electric field still shapes the drifting ions into a dark current channel.
Above, the center of the coronal discharge is focused and imparts more energy to cascading electrons, creating the potential for arcs (see the current density distribution at the bottom of the diagram). Closer to the edge of the corona, or ionization region, weaker reactions manifest in transfer of momentum and heat with ions and neutrals. Downdraft and down-burst winds are the common result.
Momentum transfer manifests as downdraft winds by the process of electrokinesis, which is when neutral species follow the moving charged particles, creating an ‘electric wind’ that moves the bulk fluid along the electric field gradient.
If the ionization rate exceeds the rate of recombination, the plasma will build a streamer, a tendril of plasma from cloud to earth, pushing the ionization region ahead of it, and drawing behind it a cloud of cold plasma. When this plasma hits ground, a cathode spot is produced, and the electric field redistributes along the plasma channel.
The cathode spot on the ground draws positive charge to it, dragging neutrals, again, by electrokinesis, and creating a ground vortex. This is the moment of tornado touchdown, as charged air and dust flow in and spiral upwards around the invisible plasma tendril.
The action is analogous to the lightning bolt leader and positive ground streamer that meet to create a channel for arc discharge – two separated events, organized into one coherent structure by the electric field.
The plasma current thus created is a complete circuit to ground, only it’s partially ionized, diffused with predominately neutral species. Its energy and charge densities are too low to make an arc, so it forms a complex plasma channel called Marklund Convection.
Rotation is a natural consequence for two reasons. Neutral air is diffused away from the Marklund current creating low pressure. But positive ions near the ground drag air, dust and debris to the ground contact and create in-flowing winds and a sudden change in direction up, and around the tendril. The meeting of these opposing winds is, by definition, a vortex.
But current in plasma will itself rotate, taking a helical path as it interacts with the magnetic field around it. The appearance of a tornado is precisely what one would expect from such a current. Increasing current flow “spins up” the tornado. It forms an inner spiraling negative current to ground and an outer spiral of positive ionic wind flowing up to the source of coronal discharge.
Because the tornado is a cold, partial plasma carrying a significant mass of neutral air and dust, the corona driving it can be pushed by winds to create a slanted, or even kinked path, and travel away from it’s point of origin.
If tornadoes are caused by coronal discharge generating a Marklund convection current from cloud-to-ground, what are some tell-tale signs?
One evidence is the wall cloud. Wall clouds form before a tornado in typical super-cell evolution. It will develop rotation and sometimes its clouds can be seen to rise and fall in an agitated manner. Puffs of low level clouds are drawn to it below the main cloud base. It creates a vertical wall of cloud inconsistent to the general slant of the storm and winds in-flowing to it.
This is evidence of the vertical orientation of the electric field created by the coronal discharge. The electric field doesn’t pay attention to the wind.
The funnel cloud doesn’t always emerge from the center of the wall cloud. The funnel often appears along the edges of the wall cloud, or from the surrounding clouds.
This is because the tendrils of current are mobile on the negative electrode and can wander. They can also multiply, creating multiple tornadoes.
Characteristic of parallel currents, multiple tornadoes stand off from each other as if repulsed like two parallel wires flowing current in the same direction. Rare occasions when tornadoes seem to merge, one simply dies as the other steals it’s current.
The sudden disappearance and reappearance of tornadoes, and the skipping, or lifting they portray, is inconsistent with simple fluid momentum, but is consistent with a pulsating current from an unstable coronal discharge. Recombination steals the current, and then revives when the rate of ionization reestablishes to complete the circuit to ground.
Tornadoes and lightning…
When a tornado forms, it’s been noted that cloud-to-ground lightning frequency diminishes until the tornado dies, and then picks-up again to the baseline level. This is evidence the electric field has re-aligned along the Marklund convection in the non-ionizing plasma region, sapping energy from the ionizing plasma that manifests lightning and migrating it to the drift region of the corona.
It’s also been noted by observers that positive lightning originating from the anvil cloud is more common in tornadic thunderstorms. This implies a strong positive corona in the anvil plays a role in causing tornadoes, amplifying the electric field.
Sights, smells and sounds…
Tornadoes are formed by cold, dark current, so light emissions aren’t evident, at least below the clouds. Storms that produce tornadoes are often said to have a greenish tint in the clouds, however. The green tint is excused by many scientists as a reflection of city lights, and their search for green city lights continues. The glow of ionization internal to the cloud formation explains the green tint.
Luminosity in the clouds and the funnel are also reported. Consensus science blames this on misidentified sources of light from lightning, city lights, or flashes from downed power lines. Some of it no doubt is, but more likely it is the effect of coronal discharge. Lightning flashes don’t make a continuous glow.
Ionized oxygen can recombine to produce ozone, which has a distinctive chlorine-like smell. This is commonly noted by witnesses.
They also report hissing sounds from tendrils at the base of funnels. Funnel clouds and tornadoes are known to produce harmonic sounds of whistling, whining, humming, or buzzing bees. As ozone is liberated it produces such a hissing sound.
Energized transmission lines subject to over-voltage conditions produce all of these effects: faint luminescent glow, ozone production and it’s accompanying hiss and smell. It’s cause is coronal discharge.
Tornadoes also produce identifiable infra-sound. It’s inaudible to the human ear, but it can be felt. It can produce nausea, agitation and body heat… not that a tornado really needs infra-sound to do that.
Tornadoes have an inner and outer column. The inner column is seen if the outer dusty sheath has little dust to obscure it. This is consistent with the double wall formed in Marklund convection.
There goes Aunt Em…
A good friend who had the misfortune of being in a tornado, said he was momentarily lifted from the bathtub he was hiding in because he was weightless. He swears no wind was lifting him – he was simply weightless. Stories from other survivors also report the sensation of momentary weightlessness, floating as if no wind was pushing. This is likely because of electrokinesis.
At ground level, the accumulation of positive charge beneath the influence of the electric field from the storm may be charging items, including people and lending them an attraction to the electrode overhead.
Perhaps this explains other odd events reported. For instance a house demolished, yet a table sits with a glass of water in the middle of the carnage untouched. Maybe if you don’t want to get picked up and carried away, give yourself a negative charge. Of course, too much of that will kill you, too.
Tornadoes emit on the electromagnetic spectrum as measured by researchers. Electric fields are detected and tornadoes emit sferics, the same type of broadband radio noise a lightning discharge produces.
So what if there is no super-cell? How do all the other vortex phenomena form – landspouts, waterspouts, gustnadoes and dust devils, and how are they related.
By the same mechanism proposed here for the super-cell tornado, only in lower energy form.
Funnel clouds, which never result in touchdown are a tendril of Marklund convection current that begins to recombine faster than it generates ions, and it dies.
Landspouts, gustnadoes and waterspouts all begin with a surface disturbance – a vortex without a cloud, or at least not one showing a wall cloud, or rotation. These are instances of stronger ionic accumulation at ground level, creating a strong ground vortex first, whereas the corona above is diffuse and invisible.
This is consistent with the observations of twisters of all kinds, including dust devils and spouts which are seen to begin on the ground. Or water – in the case of a waterspout – where documented evolution begins with a mysterious “dark spot” on the water.
The tornado is a fractal form generated by an intense electric field and current looping between cloud and ground. The ground charge is as much a part of the circuit as the cloud. There is feedback in the system, oscillations of electric field and charge density that originates with the Earth’s magnetic field, which does not stop at Earth’s surface. The Earth’s internal structure harbors electric currents induced from the Solar Wind. Kristian Birkeland and Nicola Tesla tried to tell us this, but arrogant men intrigued with science fiction didn’t listen.
5 thoughts on “Trailer Park Cosmology – 6”
The molecules of water are bipolar, they have a positive side that of hydrogen and a negative side that of oxygen, the negative side of one attracts the positive side of the other to constitute an indeterminate assembly, they form clouds, fog, mist, humidity.
However how can we speak of positively charged clouds and negatively charged clouds while all clouds are formed of the same matter (bipolar water molecules in themselves + and -)
George, that was eloquent. Wisdom comes from first hand experiences that connect us with Nature. Manufactured experiences produce a false sense of wisdom received from the manufacturer’s point of view.
I’ll never develop Velikovsky’s discipline for referencing research. I’m just one of many who are gaining insight by shutting out conventional wisdoms and taking a fresh look, like Velikovsky did.
Andy, ” We are no longer grounded to Earth. We have become a culture of dependents, depending on the scientists and politicians to figure things out, and people of no better means to dig our ditches and farm, cook and package our food. It’s a big mistake.” Well done. very nixcw job. jim >
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Hey Jim, thanks. You missed a good conference pal. Hope you make it next time.
Well said! Very well said. My childhood guardians would go to prison today for letting me run in the wilderness like we did routinely in the Feather River country in the 40’s. I worked hard but only a couple hours a day and the rest of the summer I was exploring creeks and miner’s shacks etc. alone or with a couple pals and dogs. I pity people who have those dull eyes you mention, who have never been scared by a mountain lion or seen a big shadow in the woods or lay for hours watching a bit of creek, full of happiness or sorrow that came from life itself.
I too left the big time and live on a small farm on the rightly named Sweetland Road with loving people growing as much of our own food as we can etc. The shit storm of course reaches here, but only slightly compared to when I was “successful”. I make useful things of clay as beautifully as I can, study the genuine researchers like yourself, play a lot of music and do good stuff for people. And the herd can take their “success”, which cost me family, fortune, mental health and a lot of time and they can just stay the fuck away from my mountains.
Your writing is compelling because, in my opinion, what a Buddhist would call your “view” is candid and free of the painful attitudes that often accompany the introduction of something new.
That and the compelling evidence you so clearly present in your work puts you in a league with Velikovsky. Fact. To me, it is fascinating to observe what I perceive as clarifying lines of thought moving into our understanding of the very ground we stand and have our being on.