Tag: Code

Day 999: Buh-Bye, So Long and Hallelujah


It’s a completely valid question.

For the past 50 or so days I have been fielding one question more often than most: what am I going to do for Day 1000? Will the final kilograph reflect upon the 999 that came before, like some extended clip show of my greatest guffaws and most aww-rending moments? Will I spend my final entry in closing-credits mode, thanking those who have made this all possible and put up with my considerable dearth of free time over the last 2 years and almost 9 months?

In short… no. While my original intent was to meander down that self-serving footpath for my final article, I decided that I would only do so if I could cite the Wikipedia page that had been created about me – as it turns out, that doesn’t exist yet.

In order to figure out my final missive, I felt I should turn to the moulder of my wisdom, the sage oracle who has helped to shape my morality, my perception, and even my understanding of the world: television. I have experienced the highs and lows of series finales – certainly at least one of them could illuminate the road to a poignant, entertaining, and (most of all) worthy coda to this monstrous undertaking.


My first option is the beloved trope of bringing back a classic character for the finale. In my case I could introduce a surprise cameo by Yoko Ono, Craig David, Mary Nissenson, or if I really want to stretch to my roots, Phineas Gage. I could style the entire piece in a blend of haiku, musical theatre and secret code (did anyone ever figure that one out?). It sounds trite and cliché, but that’s always a place to start, isn’t it? Read more…

Day 941: Welcoming Our Alien Friends. Or Perhaps Overlords.


Presently, our only tangible research into the cultural and societal impacts of extra-terrestrial life arriving on Earth seems limited to the fanciful concoctions from the Hollywood daydream machine. Will aliens greet us with a peaceful hand-gesture like they did to that pig-owner guy in the Star Trek movie? Will they fire up the blasters and devastate our cities like that movie where the Fresh Prince teams up with that jazz singer?

Actually, people – and I’m talking about educated people who probably wear business attire to work – have put time and effort into calculating precisely how our society would react to a party of interstellar visitors. Given the unlikelihood of this ever occurring, one could make the argument that the dude who stacks salad plates at your local Sizzler is contributing more to the smooth functioning of society than these educated folks, but I’m not here to make that argument. I’m just the messenger.

When it comes to the purported existence of our little green friends, I find it unfathomably selfish to believe we’re the only slabs of meat who have put together a society in this vast universe. I also believe it likely that someone else has fashioned some sort of tin can (or whatever they have in place of tin) and blasted into space. But to believe they’ll stumble upon us, or even care to say hi if they do? That’s where my credulity glides off the track. Still, it’s fun to daydream.

And always smart to keep some just-in-case signage lying around.

And always smart to keep some just-in-case signage lying around.

For thirty years, the SETI Institute (that’s Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence for you acronym-lovers) has been using science, research and speculation to look into the likelihood and nature of possible ETs who might drop by unannounced. The first part of the discussion centers around how they contact us. Do they send us a coded message like the ones we’ve launched into deep space? Do they take over our computer systems and implant a digital hello on Google’s front page? Or will they do a pop-in, no prior call, completely oblivious to the fact that we already made plans to watch the game with some old friends from college? Read more…

Day 893: The Weird Cocoon-Like Prison Of The Gibbons Twins


Growing up as an only child, whose only companions were the top-notch offerings of prime-time network television, I always wanted a sibling. But beyond that, I was downright fascinated with twins. That unspoken connection – some even say psychic communication – poked at the crusty, ashen embers of my imagination with a tempting stick. I always wanted that intrinsic bond, and I just wasn’t finding it with Mr. Belvedere.

Researchers have found that as many as one in eight pregnancies starts off as a twin pregnancy. One in eight. Sometimes one of the little zygotes dies so early in the pregnancy it isn’t detected, other times they might fuse together and form a single embryo. That’s a creepy thought, that there’s a real possibility that I might be made up of two pre-people.

But I’m interested in actual twins, those who split the rent on their womb with a view. And there’s a particular set of twins that has piqued my interest today, a pair of Barbados-born, Welsh-raised girls named June and Jennifer Gibbons. Their story grabs hold of the symbiotic closeness of twin lore and twists into something remarkably strange.


Language development in twins has always been of interest to those who like to poke and prod at young’uns. There is a higher rate of delay among twins in grabbing hold of language, and not because of any hiccup in their cerebral wiring. Twins often exhibit something called idioglossia, which is a made-up language (okay, I suppose all languages are ‘made-up’ if you want to be picky about it) spoken by only a few people, sometimes only one. Read more…

Day 545: Turning Up The Numbers Racket


My neighbor – not the ethically-starved bag of rancid douche against whom I was once plotting; this is the guy beside him – has a gigantic antenna on his roof. The thing has been there since we moved in back in ought-six, and I have no idea what he does with it. He might use it for ham radio, maybe for shortwave radio, or perhaps he forces lemurs to race to the top late at night, long after I’m asleep.

I suppose – and this is a long-shot here – he could be a spy.

Imagine you woke up this morning and took a walk to your local Radio Shack, searching for a piece of antiquated technology which you could adopt as a hobby. Perhaps you picked up a shortwave radio. Then, because you’re interested in meeting new people around the world but a little put off by the excessive quantity (and quality!) of penises you met on Chatroulette, you begin to fiddle with the band until you come across a voice in the darkness. A new friend perhaps?

No, this person is simply reciting numbers, and she wants nothing to do with you.

Unless they are these numbers. In that case, GET OFF THE ISLAND!!!

Unless they are these numbers. In that case, GET OFF THE ISLAND!!!

You have just stumbled upon a numbers station, one of the great mysteries of the radio world. Sometimes the voice is uttering letters, other times you might hear snippets of music or perhaps Morse Code. But it’s the numbers – those disembodied faceless recordings, dispassionately dropping digits like discarded wads of bubblegum… those are the real curiosity. Read more…

Day 205: Deconstructing Astral Projection

The following is a free-verse poem I wrote about astral projection. More important than its message is the message you can only see once you’ve mastered your own cerebral air-travel. Yes, this means there is a coded communication hidden within the poem. Seek it out if you can. I’ll post the answer in tomorrow’s article.


Astral projection. Believe it or don’t believe it.

Some call it (though not I)

Travel. Or Truth.


Religious interpretations abide and confess:

Afterlife, heaven, the soul’s ascent into Funkytown (lucky, lucky soul).

Life after death? The great clouded hall?

Probably not, young caribou.

Really, more likely the natural flick of a brain gone numb;

Out-of-body experience,           but…      can we just turn it on and off?

Just think. Yes or no.

Experience, having been experienced.


Classical thought scribbled in bloodstone Crayola,

(Theosophist, so and so)

Intermediate world between heaven and earth; earth and hell;

Only a way-station between launch and stretch; cosmic agoraphobia;

Nowhere and everywhere at once, none and all,

In the realm of devil and angel.

Sprits.             Booya.


Could a link between the soul and the body exist then?

Occultists say the body travels through nested spheres – so

Maybe similar to concentric circles of koi…

Perhaps existence itself. Think on it.


Life beyond life; a cryptic

Esoteric existence formed between the

Thought and reality – a cosmic, trickling falaj –

Emanationism, yo.

  Read more…