Words for the Day: My Obsession

Lately, quite out of character, I have been super-obsessed about a reality TV show that ran this Summer, seemingly without advertisement or promotion of any sort, but on a well-known network.

Obsession as Mystery

Even so, sounded promising, yes? Reality TV, this era’s genre-of-choice can be a star-maker.

I followed, as best I could, the pr for this show, which consisted mainly of the cast members tweeting and face-booking a few months before the air date. The network managed to send out a lukewarm press release, like the kind of City of Los Angeles used to post when they had a street-name-change hearing. No billboards. Very little cross-promotion on any of the network’s other shows. This under-the-radar pr caused my feet to grow cold. From experience writing and promoting, I knew this nearly non-existent marketing was a Sign the network hated the show. Compare and contrast the above absent promotion with Fox’s total adoration- promotion of an upcoming comedy starring Zooey Deschanel. They must run an ad for “The New Girl” every other paid commercial. It is clear Fox Believes in the promise of that program.

Not so with the reality show that flopped like a just-caught carp on the river bank. There was no Love for the reality-show-that-was and the old reporter/pr/psychic in me was wondering Why. This was aMr. Moto Mystery.  The show’s premise was good; 80% of the cast was first-rate; the audience was waiting for something to take their mind off their problems (i.e. 1930s Depression; 2011 Recession). But as the program tanked, as sure as Hamlet, I knew some thing was rotten in Denmark, (or shall we say, closer to home). The reason for the show’s failure eluded me, at first, but then my investigative reporter/psychic subconscious went into action. I intuited the producers and their editing team had reduced the show to e coli. for their own benefit. They cut out many of the good story-lines, fabricated some really bad story-lines, and shoved one cast member almost completely out of the picture (literally and figuratively). I know very little about TV production (nothing), but I do know about writing and story-lines and bad editing tricks. I could intuit what the producers did was criminal; it hurt people and doomed the program to failure. As it aired, it was like watching a murder show; death by selective editing.

But why was I so obsessed? It was just a bad TV show.

The roots of my over-focus stemmed from meeting one of the cast members several years ago (and that is all I’m allowing myself to say). A charming personality who deserved to be recognized widely. That in itself, I know,was not enough for trigger an obsession. There had to be something else behind it. As I followed the program, I saw more and more that something was glaringly wrong (at least in my view). The injustice was palpable. And that injustice fueled my obsession.

If we examine our unusual obsessions (so long as they are not focused on bad romance, which is another story), we are likely to see psi at work. My obsession about this program was fueled by the purposeful humiliation I could feel – and later, see. Earlier, I posted an observation that greed (because I think that greed and envy were involved) always turns back on itself and bites the butt of the greedy and the envious. I felt Psi-wise, down the line, the evil-doers would certainly get paid back in bad karma. I didn’t know how or when, I just knew their pay-back would come.

And  so it already did. It came quickly, to my surprise, this week, quite publicly, and it is just beginning.

Obsession over.

Are You Living the Sci-Fi Life? Welcome to the Land of Na Nas

Na Na - a big fat zero

My mind ignited today while I was on Twitter. I started tweeting, in successive tweets,  a short-short Science Fiction story about Na Na Land,  drawn and animated by six-year-olds. This story tells how the six-year-olds have robbed the Na Nas of their brains and turned them into suit-wearing Zeros. Na Nas can do nothing but add zeros to an already long line of Zeros. Na Nas have no other numbers, because they can not think. They are fat heads and the 6-year-olds rule them. The Na Nas do have an Anthem which they march to. It goes something like this, “Hey, hey, goodbye. Na na na na, Na na na na, Na na na, Goodbye.” You might have heard this Anthem in your various travels, here and there, and not known its True importance, until now.

One reason this Na Na story is so short is that 6-year-olds have not yet developed longer attention spans. So they draw a big fat head, wearing a suit (with tie) and then they disappear to ride their bikes or play with their IPhones or whatever 6-year-olds do these days. The story grows no longer. The drawings are the thing.

Since this Na Na tale is so short, I have invited any of my followers to Graffiti a Na Na person on any available wall and leave it as a message and a Sign to others to be wary of what happens when you do not think about the consequences of letting juveniles run your world. Let this be a lesson. If  you neglect to use your brain, you too could become a fat head. In other words, a Na Na.

Note to Paranormal Curtain readers: I am currently writing a volume of science fiction short stories. This is not one of them. But it was inspired by our current events.

Peace

How Long Does a Psychic Intuition Last? If You Know, Please Tell Me

It was on the last day of June this year, when I began to receive troubling indications about the health and well-being of one of my daughter’s best friends. He had gone on a trip to Hawaii with a close friend whose father is prominent on the Big island. J couldn’t decide if he should take the all-expense paid trip (everything but the airplane), but, in the end, he went. On July 1, I got this nagging feeling that he was having a really bad day; that he was in emotional, if not physical, trouble. I kept swatting away the feeling like a nosy gnat, but it kept coming back. I wrote down the date “July 1″ and tried to send protection to J. Well, the feeling passed the next day, and when J returned in a week, he reported to my daughter he’d had a wonderful time. No problems, just a vague discomfort about snorkeling, which he didn’t like. There always is the possibility J wasn’t telling my daughter the entire story; that he had a spat with his friend that made him uncomfortable. J is so private, I would expect he wouldn’t say anything about that, especially if the fight was resolved. As this pertains to me, however, I rarely, if ever, get such intuitions about people outside my family. I thought it was worth remembering this one, because it was so persistent and I am not related to J.

Fast forward to last Friday, July 22, when J was biking to work. He had decided (probably in Hawaii) that he wanted to bike more often, living the life of a hip biker (in L.A.). At some point in his trip, he fell off his bike and broke his foot. It’s a nasty break, requiring surgery today, and putting him on the couch, with foot elevated for 2 weeks, and then 4-6 weeks on crutches. He needs to work, but obviously can’t for a while. My daughter reports he’s quite depressed about his circumstance: the costs in money and time let alone the pain. I’ve sent healing energies his way, but, as I do, I am drawn back to that feeling of danger I had about him exactly 3 weeks before his accident. If my intuition was a warning of danger, it certainly had a large (to me) window of time: 3 weeks to the day.

And so I ask you, and the Universe, if we receive a psychic warning, exactly how long is its window of time? Three weeks seems too broad for me to count as precognitive, but maybe not, since I subscribe to the theory that all time (past, present and future) is now. Maybe for a psychic it’s difficult, it not impossible, to pin down exact time and place. I’d like to ponder this while J heals.

Back in the Saddle – Holding onto the Horn, and Getting What We Deserve from Washington D.C.

After a long absence, while I packed up and moved out of the house with one or more ghosts, I am back in the saddle. I’m a rusty rider these days; I must hold onto the horn as my phantom horse heads for the hills. The horse knows the way, but my psychic indicators are still fogged up, so I can’t be sure where we will end up. My guess is Anywhere but Here, metaphysically speaking, of course.

The two sides of my brain are at war: the old political reporter sparring with the seer. I’m a big believer in the surreal, but I never thought it would become reality. I missed the psychic boat on this one, that’s for sure. While I was busy figuring out which American’s Got Talent, I thought the chicken-playing government leaders would get on with their jobs. After all, that’s what even Taco Bell expects from its employees – something like “spend your work day productively”, even if than means wrapping burritos and beef and bean tacos in paper sleeves, endlessly. Apparently Taco Bell is a better employer than we are.

This Washington D.C. crisis  is/was a good metaphysical lesson for me.  it reminds me how fallible my skills are; it’s impossible to hit the old psychic nail on the head 100% of the time. Some of the people I know, who claim to be psychics, think so. But they are fooling themselves, the way we fool ourselves when we think a female singer who looks like Justin Bieber has talent and we should support her. Well, allrighty then. If that’s your priority; if you would rather vote for a reality TV show contestant than your Congressperson, than you are getting what you deserve.And, so am I, because although I’m not consumed with voting for people and things that don’t matter, I haven’t been attending the Town Hall meetings or writing letters or signing petitions when I’ve had the chance. If I only have a wooden nickel to spend these days, well, then that’s what I deserve for taking my third eye off what really matters.    

The Greatest TV Send-Up Never Told: American Idols Take Back the Music April 13,2011

I’ve been thinking about this all day — in other words, the American Idol contestants’ Movie Music performances last night. And I’d like to report, in fact, I will report, there was WAY more than met the eye last night (and I am not just talking about JLo preening to the max). Three of the contestants, including James Durbin, Casey Abrams and everybody’s sweetie Scotty McCreery literally took control of the AI Stage when they chose to sing their music, their way, ignoring the advice of the show’s Big-Time “mentors”. Booyah, the boys were polite, but quietly insistent that if they went down, like Pia, last week, they were going to go down singing their songs – no matter how out-of-the-box or old-cowboy-hat unfamiliar.

And so I salute the 3 musicians, flying under the radar, and, if my psi serves me right, there was some kind of secret decision among them to boycott the Idol machine and shoot straight for their Music. Think about it: Casey Abrams strumming the bass and singing Nat King Cole’s “Nature Boy” from a 1948 cult film, “The Boy with Green Hair.” Listen, kids, that was no accident, and neither were his facial expressions meant to wordlessly convey the send-up. James Durbin singing “Heavy Metal” (or rather screaming it) was also not a surprise, given the famed Metal guitarist, Zakk Wylde, who rocked with him. But James, with his Tourette’s, will never be one of the Idol Boys in the Band – he marches to a completely different drummer. Randy, JLo or Tyler can not sway him. My Stetson’s off to Scotty, who I think is generally pretty one-note, but his one note is mature and melodic,  beyond his years. As one of the three who wouldn’t be compromised last night, he stood tall (in the saddle, anyhow).Great Country career stretches in front of him.

So this is how this psychic sees it. Sometime cosmic happened on the AI stage last night, and there’s no turning back in the next Season, if there is one. Because three musicians refused to compromise. They stood up and said, without saying,  “I am not going to be your music cash machine. No matter what comes down.” And that was a beautiful thing.

I’d bet 1000 AI tour tickets nobody else but me thinks this about that. But last night was a pivotal moment in reality TV, American Idol-style.I guarantee it.

Did the Host Notice?

Messages from Those Who Passed: Paul McCartney,the White Squirrel and Livin’ La Vida Loca

The Messenger

I am still reading through Hans Holzer’s book, Born Again, which is about reincarnation, deja vu and how the two sometimes get confused in our minds. This book inspired me to think about my own “memories” of living in the far past and also the messages I some times receive from beloved family members who have died. In somewhat of a coincidence (although Holzer says there aren’t any coincidences), I just came across a clipping from a decade ago about Paul McCartney and the messages he received from this wife, Linda, after her death. In the article (also available online), Sir Paul talks about the albino squirrel he saw in the forest while riding his horse, and how he knew the squirrel was a Spirit message from Linda.

In my experience, also with albino animal-messengers, when we dream or see one, we instinctively know they have been sent by someone we loved. Of course, messages from beyond, do not have to take the form of an albino animal – they can appear, always out of context, in any number of “recognizable” forms, and some times, even audibly. Sir Paul speaks of how he and his sound editor heard Linda say “I am in Heaven” during an editing session. Something similar happened to a family member participating in the Revlon Walk to raise money to cure women’s cancers. Our beloved Melissa, who died from ovarian cancer, was being honored after that year’s Revlon Walk,which featured a short video about her young life. In the middle of the video, in just a flash, my daughter saw an inserted clip of Ricky Martin singing “Livin’ La Vida Loca” and then it was gone – as if it had never appeared; most people didn’t even notice it. But how like Melissa to want us to celebrate life instead of mourn. No fan of Ricky Martin, but a devotee of La Vida Loca; Melissa’s message was Live this crazy life with all you’ve got.

Melissa, apparently like Linda McCartney did, passed along many unforgettable messages to some of us who cared so deeply – some messages in dreams, some in demonstrations of PK, (at least several times in different locations), and in out-of-context appearances by hummingbirds, feathers and butterfly wings (for instance, on the freeway near our car).

Although I haven’t read any descriptions by Hans Holzer about Spirit messages from people who died (perhaps that discussion is in another of his books), I am reminded by reading his book and retrieving the Paul McCartney clipping that this life is many-layered, both transparent and opaque, dense and ephemeral, but Love, well, Love lasts forever, through all life times.

 

Credit goes to Golden Emporium on Flickr for the White Squirrel

Psychic Hans Holzer Made a Call — To My Father

Hans Holzer, famed parapsychologist

I have started reading another psychic book. This one, Born Again, (1970) by Hans Holzer is already much better than the previous book I read by a radio psychic, who shall go nameless. The former book was pretty much full of  egotistical, made-up stories (in my opinion). Holzer, on the other hand, mostly regarded highly in psychic circles, is a much more credible author and his study of reincarnation is interesting.

The Austrian parapsychologist, Hans Holzer, wrote many (140+) books during his long lifetime (he died at age, 89,  in April, 2009). He popularized discussions in the paranormal subjects of reincarnation and ghosts. Perhaps he was best known for his work at Amityville and as a ghost hunter. But he is known to me in a slightly different context. In the 1960s (the exact date is unclear), my father, an attorney in Denver, got a long-distance call from Holzer’s secretary seeking his representation for a family member killed in a terrible automobile accident (the family member’s wife survived), which happened in Colorado.  It was said Holzer psychically selected my father from among the names of all the Denver attorneys in the yellow pages (there were both yellow pages and a phone book back then). My father was flattered; he had heard of Holzer, and although he didn’t specialize in wrongful death cases, he had tried some, to good success. So, he took the case.

Our last name started with an “R” – so there’s little chance Holzer was choosing a lawyer based on the order of the alphabet. My father never mentioned any belief in the paranormal,so I don’t think there was that connection. But my father was accustomed to requests for legal help from random clients. Once, members of a visiting, popular rock n roll group got arrested, after their concert,  for some infractions at a local motel. My father got them out of jail; (with no publicity; imagine that, TMZ). My father also told me a mobster approached him about representing his “interests.” Although it would mean a lot of money for him, (and my father liked money), he declined. Perhaps his intuition warned him that would be too risky. My father was flattered by all the requests for his legal help, but he didn’t view his clients that differently. A psychic, a rock star were the same to him. So long as they paid him and he was successful, it worked out.

Hans Holzer’s call to my Dad wasn’t that extraordinary to me, at the time, either. I was in college and I knew nothing about psychics and didn’t much care, one way or another. Now, many years later, given my compelling interests, I wish I had paid more attention.  While reading Hans Holzer’s book, I am a bit awestruck the great psychic chose my father to represent his family’s interests. But in retrospect, I’m not that surprised. During his lifetime, my father was a powerful energy-magnet (for the good, and for the bad).

Pia Toscano’s Premonition: Bottoming Out on American Idol

It comes as little surprise, at least to me, anyway, that the lovely ex-American idol contestant, Pia Toscano, had a premonition she would land in the Bottom 3 this past week, as widely reported on the internet. There is so much energized-drama going on at A.I. this year (including the poltergeist experience at the former mansion), a Sixth Sense is almost a requirement to continue on from week to week. Pia might have been reading the patterns (one way to psi- predict) since the contestants voted out already, sans save, were all female. Even so, the frenzy around this Season has the most to do with the decline of the music industry and the increasingly fierce competition to land a concert gig or a commercial or sell-out on Itunes. This is heavy-duty pressure for the unemployed, the lower-paid workers and the singing-scrappers who make up some of this Season’s field of contestants. Still, a gifted singer is already exquisitely sensitive, so Pia’s Psi is not surprising. Stress brings on psi, often, in sensitives.

Already we’ve had Casey Abrams (he of the Idol Save) land in the hospital, likely from stress, early on, and Pia, when she was eliminated, escorted outside by a medic. The closest I can come to predicting what’s next is that the Judges will continue to have very little say about who stays and who goes. The winner will be determined, as I noted earlier, by the votes cast on-line and the organized social networking fan-clubs, springing up like crab grass around Paul, Stefano, Scotty. Pity, in a way, because some of the votes are more about “It” factor than talent, regrettably (as I also predicted earlier).

The 3 judges must be noticing they have little say, as they become less and less relevant. I think a lot of what they say or how they act is scripted before-hand (doesn’t Tyler have a way with words?; doesn’t JLo tear up at the drop of a note), but it really doesn’t matter what they say, because the voters on-line don’t care – they are busy flexing their internet muscles for their favs. And they, as Charlie Sheen would say, are “winning.”

Oh, what a feeling

American Idol Season 10′s Rock N Roll – A Rock Spirits Review

The Spirits Speak

To quote Dickens, “It was the Best of Times. It was the Worst of Times” but at no time, last night,  did any of the 9 contestants sing anything resembling  rock n roll. Many of us can blame this debacle (for want of a better word) on these “worst”  times, (which they are), because some of the contestants are talented vocally and/or musically. But last night’s rock theme got the best of them: some were caterwauling, pure and simple, reminiscent more of one of Dickens’ tabbies than the soaring Rock magic of a Janis Joplin, Michael Jackson or even a Johnny Cash. Some contestants shook their hips, gyrated, pre-tended to rock, and it made me sad to watch. When I feel a crime has been committed (in this case the vandalism of great music), I get emotional. And when I get emotional, the Spirits come forth, as in a Paranormal experience.   And here’s what the Rock Singers-in-Spirit had to say about the show:

Michael Jackson Spirit: Was that my song? I didn’t hear it,  because I didn’t recognize it. Really, did someone sing my song?

Janis Joplin Spirit: It was just o.k. I’ve heard better; I’ve heard worse. But I don’t think she’s ever walked on gravel in her bare feet, and it showed.

George Harrison Spirit: Surprised me, that boy. Felt oddly moved. I do believe he could make his instrument cry if he wanted to.

Elvis Spirit: Glad this Kid loves his Momma, but he needs to get over lovin’ himself.  All that camera mugging makes me kinda sick. Woulda preferred Blue Suede Shoes so he could show what he’s got. Maybe he’ll grow into somethin. He’s just a twig. A tall twig.

Johnny Cash Spirit: I hear the whistle ‘ and it don’t sound anything like the blond kid with the jerky robot dance moves. He should stick to Rod Stewart. I can’t see him ever singing to the inmates at Folsom. Y’all know what I mean.

The Spirit judges were vocal about their dislike of Gwen Stefani’s girl-singer clothes. They also, to a departed singer,  believe the three  living judges are reading from a script  for commercial and advertisement-branding reasons.

“They can’t really mean what they’re saying,” they said. ” If we could, we’d bring back Simon Cowell.”  It was unanimous.

The Medium in Bravo’s Million-Dollar Listing: Not So Rare or Well-Done But Good to Chew On?

...Anything for a sale --

O.K. I’m a social dud. What the heck was I doing on a Saturday night watching the telly? I should have been out dancing on the table-tops (or at least tipping them, the table-tops, that is). Well, I wasn’t. I was at home, nimbly skipping past all the TV shows about murder and mayhem and ending up at a recent episode (on demand) of Bravo’s Million-Dollar Listing. I’m not a fan of watching baby-faced realtors churn out on huge commissions for selling high-end real estate in L.A., but what the heck, it’s a reality show (meaning in some way, unreal). Was it coincidence that the episode I was watching featured a psychic trying to communicate with a dead guy in a smallish Malibu beach-front home just  listed for sale?

Well, if it Was coincidence, it was coincidence of the Third Kind, because I don’t watch Million-Dollar Listing (#1) and I’ve already told the story of Beverly Hills Housewives‘ psychics (#2), which I found both alarming & charming in a reality-show (untrue) way. With this psychic-Medium introduced in this real estate show, I’ve intuited psychics are hot, hot, hot! in reality TV and on  Bravo and, at least, in tony Southern California. So, I sat back and watched as Sloan, the psychic (what a tony name, by the way!) contacted Max, the dead guy, who appeared to be hanging out in the Malibu house  either he owned or was owned by his brother, which was freaking out the potential buyer. As I watched Sloan “intuit” that Max did not die of natural causes, but (my words)from  an unhealthy life-style, it seemed to go down hill for me. Sloan had the Milllion-Dollar realtor and his potential buyer and the seller’s realtor hold hands and call in the spirit of Max and (my words) energetically encourage him to leave.  Leave, he did, according to Madison, our Million-dollar Lister,who saw/felt him fly outta there. “Not so fast,” Sloan seemed to say (although she didn’t). She did add,  “He’s still going to be around for a while – or at least until (the house clears escrow and/or) the new owners move in.”

For some reason (unclear on camera) Sloan’s contact with Max made the potential buyer feel a lot better. But here’s the rub. Sloan never once suggested sprinkling sage around the home to clear the energies. She also did not tell Max, in a nice memorial ceremony, that it would be better for him to leave, because he was bound for a better place (or, at least, if he left, his brother would be able to sell his house). Also, Sloan, who seemed to pick up Max’s energies easily, did not suggest (at least on camera) the house had expensive structural problems – i.e. the wooden pilings the house stood on were damaged and would require reinforcing at considerable expense (so the structural engineer reported, later). What the hey, a psychic is a psychic is a psychic, and even I, sitting out there in TV-Audience-Land could “intuit” the house needed a lot of work – INSIDE and OUTSIDE.

In sum, I would call this Psychic episode of Million-Dollar-Listing not Rare (Psychics are popping up everywhere on TV, these days, especially on Bravo, as I said) or Well-Done (she missed the friggin’ point of representing the needs of her client, beyond shooing Max away. If Bravo edited out Sloan’s predictions about the work needed on the house, shame on them (I rather think they didn’t, because it would have made for some fine reality Drama). What I saw of Sloan, the Medium’s work, was, well, just Medium. Perhaps on reality tv that’s good enough

Seance by the Sea

to chew on.