Tag: gaslighting

Part III: – Enochian Curious

There’s nothing like a cold, hard night on the streets of England to restore your ghetto. And if we are talking ghetto, perhaps no one knows that better than Rob Rider Hill.

“We gotta go to the Duke’s Head tonight.” Ben said as he prepared our stash. “Rob, is expecting us.”

“That’s fine.” I said. “But every time we meet up with another male Snowfrican, you guys tend to gang up against me. You also become an unbearable, condescending, patronizing asshole. Ever more so than usual.”

“I’m sorry it seems that way to you,” he said as he wrapped Rob’s souvenir. A statue of a Japanese demon.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about…” I said. But Ben had already done the thing and moved on to a different topic.

“We have to go to the British Library today. We should be able to get our hands on some book’s by John Dee. Oh yeah. John Dee!” Ben’s voice cackled with excitement.

“Yeah! Let’s get our Enochian on!” I said.

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed as he gave me the side eye. As usual, he was all in.

“Jose, I’m a bastion of good, informed decisions. I don’t fuck with Enochian.” Ben said. “And neither should you. We are going to use the knowledge in Dee’s work in our quest to stop the apocalypse.”

“Fine. Whatever. You got the joints?” I said

Ben, laid out seven joints on the table. Each packed with enough green to tranquilize an elephant. Then he hid them away in the inside breast pocket of his winter jacket.

“Let’s go.” Ben said.

After a brief stop at a Turkish restaurant where Ben ate half my falafel without my consent (the Italian dish he ordered, surprisingly, didn’t turn out well) we headed to the British Library. To our delight, the exhibition “Harry Potter, A history of Magick.” Was there waiting for us. And if you knew me and Ben, you know we are all about some Harry Potter.

“God, I hate Harry Potter,” I said. “I don’t care how nice J.K Rowling is.”

“Stop projecting your professional jealousy and let’s go inside.” Ben said.

Once inside the library, you could feel years and years of knowledge come down on you like an invisible hand. Just a couple of more steps, and we would have been bathing in the sweet aura of occult information that we’ve traveled through the frozen tundra of Snowfrica for. This moment, promised to be the accumulated effort of what was a years worth of blood, sweat, and marijuana. Then something happened.

“Holy shit.” Ben said. “They’re patting people down at security.”

“So what?” I said.

“I have seven joints in my jacket.” Ben said. We turned and left out the same we came. The security guards. Two brothers that had already made eye contact with me, also exchanged the patented upward nods that brown people exchange with each other. And so ended our quest to get into the British library. Sure, we could have easily come back on another day without so much weed, but if you knew us, you knew that wasn’t going to happen. We would move on to easier targets.

“Let’s go find Rob,” Ben said.

The Duke’s Head was a bar that lived up to its name. It had a unique charm about it. With its light green walls, wooden stools and tables, pretty candles, strategically placed crotch level fire extinguisher, and less than reasonable prices, it looked like a traditional British Pub, shit out another less traditional British Pub, which shit out a third, even less traditional British Pub.

“Which pile is Duke’s Head?” I heard a voice say from behind us. This was Rob Rider Hill. I didn’t expect him to be psychic, I also didn’t expect him to be this skinny in person.

If you haven’t seen Rob Rider Hill, he’s a strikingly handsome fellow who could probably dive through the center of a honey nut cheerio without breaking it. He’s also intense as fuck.

“Well, you gonna answer my question or not?” Rob said. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“The third pile,” I said.

“Yeah.” Rob said. “That’s what we were going for.”

“Rob!” Ben said. “So nice to meet you!” To say Ben was enthusiastic about meeting Rob doesn’t exactly tell the entire story. Seeing Ben and Rob together was like seeing two long lost twin brothers finding each other after several years of separation. Did I feel like a 3rd wheel? Dude, for this bromance, I wasn’t even in the same vehicle. These two Snowfricans were made for each other.

It took all of three minutes for them to start talking about the occult. We already had a table full of drinks. Another thing about Rob is that he is pretty much good at everything. Cooking, music, tarot, rolling joints, esoteric shit, but his most endearing quality is the one thing I respect above all other qualities, telling the truth.

“You know Jose, you’re short, bald, and kind of funny looking, but you’ve got a lot of confidence.” Rob said.

“Enough about him,” Ben said. “I got you a little something.”

Ben handed Rob the demon. After a couple of more drinks we stepped outside for our hourly joint which had suddenly become our European tradition. In this state, we could start talking about some real shit.

“You boys ready for the show tomorrow?” Rob said.

“Hell yeah we are.” I said. Ben was not so sure.

“Well, you better be. The venue will be accessible around 7pm. So don’t be late.” Rob said. “We got magicians coming in from everywhere including Lori and Jo Sims. If I were you two, I’d start rehearsing now.”

“Rehearsal?” Ben said as we both looked at each other. “Yeah. We’d better get on that.”

Just one more day to the show, and we weren’t even close to the illuminati…. yet.

Next: the 33rd Parallel live show: Io Pan!

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Is someone (or something) tinkering with our memory?

 

Screen Shot 2017-04-03 at 5.20.12 PMRemember the pralines!

If you’re like most people, you don’t think about memory much at all. If you were to think of memory you might think of it working like a computer. You have an experience. The experience gets encoded and uploaded into your brain. Later you can retrieve it, or it can come back to you automatically, like Proust traveling back in time when he smelled that praline.

The fact is that science doesn’t know exactly how memory works. There is even debate about how malleable it is. Memory seems to play a key role in developing and maintaining social relationships, which are, in turn, essential to maintaining mental and physical health. Memory can be distributed between couples, within families, and throughout a larger culture.  In fact, as that last link shows, memories can be altered through social contagion, like when your mom tells you that that story you’ve been telling about that weird thing you did that one summer vacation actually belongs to your sibling, or when a whole group misremembers something. One thing we do know is that memory is falsifiable to an alarming degree.

OK, 33rd, I imagine hearing you say, that’s funny and everything, but where is the conspiracy in this? Well, you, I answer, I’m glad you asked.

Remember the Berenstain Bears syndrome, later named the Mandela effect? And how it has been debunked? One of our favorite topics here at 33 HQ is The Plot to Disrupt the Collective Consciousness (by agency or agencies unknown). I’m going to make the case that you, dear citizen, have been Operation Mindfucked.

Do you remember thinking how weird the “What color is the dress?” debate was? Like why is this even a thing? And then there was the popularization of the term “gaslighting“. But, you continue, dafuq do gaslighting, memory falsification, the Mandela effect and the color of that tacky ass dress have to do with each other?

Apophenia, Engage!

Gaslighting is a form of manipulation that seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or members of a group, hoping to make targets question their own memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying, it attempts to destabilize the target and delegitimize the target’s belief.”
-Wikipedia
April 3, 2017

Around the water cooler in the 33 P office suite, we had long speculated on what possible benefit undermining people’s confidence in their own judgment might have if we were a sinister organization concerned only with power for power’s sake. And then, while researching the occult roots of Scientology we turned up this paper by the Godfather of hypnosis (and primary progenitor of NLP), Milton H. Erickson, MD.

In case you can’t be bothered to click on the links, I’ll paste the most relevant bit below, but first I am going to berate you for taking our word for anything. You should definitely realize that we are recklessly irresponsible in our storytelling and probably just a tad bit paranoid as hell. Still, suit yourself. Here is what the good doctor said about his famous confusion technique:

“In essence, it is no more than a presentation of a whole series of individually differing, contradictory suggestions, apparently all at variance with each other, differently directed, and requiring a constant shift in orientation by the subject…one may systematically build up a state of confusion …, until a retreat from the confusion by a complete acceptance of the suggestions of the moment becomes a greatly desired goal.”

It’s worth noting that the word here is “suggestions”, not “commands”. When they just tell us what to do, it’s easy for us to say some variation of “No, fuck off,” depending on the power dynamic. I might have more success if I was less direct and you were less wary. For example, if I were to tell you “buy a Coke,” you might agree, but if you disagree I am stuck with a power struggle and most likely no sale. I’ll have a better chance of selling you something if I say “would you prefer a Coke or a Pepsi?” in which case the suggestion is that you would like something to drink and that you will prefer one of the options over the other. Oversimplification is radically oversimplified but illustrative.

The Conspiracy

So here’s the conclusion we’ve come up with, based on pure paranoid guess work:

There is at least one invisible power which launched a concerted memetic attack on the collective consciousness of the English-speaking world, in order to radically disrupt culture and replace it with a more (unconsciously) obedient one.

Towards what ends, we can only speculate…

More on false memories in the pod.