How Not To Tell Your Mom You’ve Solved Aliens And Are God

Not so long ago, I was rummaging through old email drafts looking for something for my new book when I came across this gem. It’s an unfinished email that I had intended to send to my mother, apparently to tell her how close I was to proving the reality of alien abductions. I don’t remember if I meant all abductions or just the question of whether or not they happened to me. Either way, we will never know what that solution was because I never finished the damned email and nothing I’ve written or said about them since then has contained anything akin to proof of their reality. Perhaps I realized I was full of shit as I was writing it and just sorta trailed off into oblivion, I dunno. But it’s pretty funny.

It will make far more sense if you’ve read Urgency. or I Know Why The Aliens Don’t land! or heard me talk about my UFO and/or spiritual shenanigans before. However, you don’t have to know anything about me to imagine what it must be like to be my poor mother on the receiving end of “No, really!–I’m sane!” Unabomber communications like this from her only son. 


Oh, and I’ve changed nothing. Spelling errors, missing punctuation, and the such are intact. 



SUBJECT: It’s me, your son, Jeremy!

Hi, Mommy!

I am temping for Travis even as I write. I’m pretty excited so I just wanna get this off my chest before I head home: I am sooo very close to proving aline abductions are real, I can almost taste it. Think how fucking silly my life is: I’m broke. I’m temping. I’m trying to do what no human has been able to do in recorded history. I might as well be Spider-Man 

What’s one thing I’m not, though, in all of this? Insane. Hallucinating. Okay, two things. And…Spider-man. I’m not Spider-man. So three things, then.

But seriously, It’s taken me 20 years but I can FINALLY rule out that my abduction experiences are ralated to some undiscovered mental disorder, some undiagnosed mental disorder, some lie I told myself as a kid and then pathologically started to believe, or Friendly’s “fishamajig” sandwich. I blame most of my problems on those.

Here’s the deal: as we’ve already discussed, the “Vermont UFO” that started this whole thing off has been validated by two total strangers–one a call-in to a radio program and the other a friend of a DJ in Vermont.

So I can no longer entertain the notion that I imagined it or it was a friggen weather balloon that my 13-year-old brain turned into a spaceship or any of that. That’s out the window.

Seeing a UFO that was exactly what I said it was? VALIDATED.

But there’s still this issue of abductions, right?  Hmmm…maybe not for long.

I had an experience a few months ago that I was wide awake for. I think I told you about it but you may have forgotten. It was when I “became” god.  If you don’t remember this or I didn’t tell you, this may sound shockingly grandiose and insane. It’s a long story that’s hard to describe other than to say that that’s exactly what happened. Someone or something opened me up through my back and I quite literally became god. I experienced the overwhelming fast stretch of pure consciousness, pure nothingness, and then an explosion of planets that I watched and at the same time was. It’s the same bullshit Buddha talks about, I’m sure, except it isn’t bullshit and it isn’t metaphorical–it was a real experience. I was awake. This happened.

Shortly into this I was scared shitless. I thought if I didn’t cling to my body I’d die. I thought I was dying! I wasn’t–I was living. My bad, as the kids say. In any event, around the moment the fear kicked in,  the name “Lisette Larkins” kept running through my head, over and over: “Lisette Larkins: Talking To Extraterrestrials…Lisette Larkins, Talking To Extraterrestrials.

As I was watching/being this enormous, orange planet and having the above running through my head, a female voice said to me: “Do we humans not understand that other planets cannot help us if we continue to kill ourselves and block them out?”

Okay, so I finally scared myself out of this state and jumped out of bed. It was six in the morning. I immediately thought of all those horrible, bland contactee messages from the 1950’s. Peaceful, generic messages from benevolent space brothers. Is that what I received? I found it hard to believe unless it was a cosmic joke. So I analyzed what happened to me this way: Either someone, some thing, or some aspect of myself, opened up a piece of undiscovered biology in my back–like a window or a gill through which we breathe the universe if we allow–and I experienced the God experience usually reserved for the likes of a Jesus or a Buddha. This is exciting news because if I can do this, any undisciplined slob can. Maybe our brains are at that point now where there need not be a specific discipline or diet or ritual to experience this. Or maybe I got lucky. I dunno.

I figured the alien stuff was a product of my mind. To me it is clear the being god part happened. It was more real than real. I thought at the time my own fear induced this grasping at something to make sense of the experience: hence the alien voice and Lisette Larkins.

Lisette Larkins is an alien abductee and an author. I’ve never read anything by her. I heard her on a radio show once. I did pick up her book “Calling On Extraterrestrials” in the bookstore once, read a few paragraphs, and put it back. I thought it was shit. “Calling on…” is different than “Talking To…” which is what was running through my head. At the time, this was further proof that that portion of the experience was purely a product of my groping brain.

Cut to a few weeks ago. The Learning Annex calls. They want to know if I can teach a seminar on how to have an alien abduction experience. Of course not, that’s stupid. But instead of telling them that, I say “Yup!” And thankfully, as it turns out…I can.


EDIT: Me looverly wife, Carol, tells me I must at least give the punchline to the Learning Annex story, lest I actually look crazy. The punchline is, the seminar they wanted me to teach was previously taught by none other than Lisette Larkins. You can find the full story tucked away at the end of my book, Urgency..

All of My eBooks Just $2.99 Each!

I Know Why Book CoverUrgency Book CoverInto The End (front cover)

In a bid to make enough money to fly back home for my cousin’s wedding this August, I have lowered all of my ebook prices to the incredible impulse-buy rate of $2.99 each! Kindle… Nook… whatever your ereader of choice is, you can own all of my work for next to nothing. So, please do! (Sort of. I just realized that I Know Why The Aliens Don’t Land! isn’t available on the Nook yet.)

Consider it a donation to a fundraiser for a plane ticket with the added benefit that you get to own a really great, critically-acclaimed collection of words that came from my head and spilled out of my fingertips for your entertainment and, perhaps, education.

Here are the links to the U.S. pages:



More about these special books….


I Know Why The Aliens Don’t Land!

The book that started it all. This is an autobiography written in the style of Robert Anton Wilson’s Cosmic Trigger series. You will learn why these visitors we call “aliens” don’t just land and say hello, but not before being taken on a whirlwind ride through the life and times and mind of the man-child making these wild claims.


If I give your brain every answer to every big question it’s been plagued with since the dawn of time, will that stop thought? If so, what happens in that moment? And if that doesn’t happen, are you at least left with a feast of spirit food to chew over? Yes, definitely that. This is the book of mind and spirit for those who have had it with religion and New Age. This is the real. And it’s written in plain language so that you will understand it.

Into The End

A coming-of-age sci fi/horror epic that starts off like a small and simple tale, but ends with your jaw hitting the floor. No less than that. Take everything we’ve learned from my previous two books, plus the best of Paratopia, put it in a word blender set on “Stand By Me Dialogue,” and feast. By the end you may wonder if you just read a work of fiction… or a twisted truth.


What better way to spend your tax refund? Ssssshhhhh-sh-sh-sssshhhh… I said, what better way.  Now please get to shopping. It’s for the children.

The One Question I Am Most Sick Of Answering

The stronger the threat to feeling good about yourself, it seems, the greater the tendency to view reality through a distorting lens.  —  Leonard Mlodinow

The one question I’m most sick of answering that came up again recently is this in all its permutations: Why are you anti-New Age when your experiences sound so New Age?

I imagine this question is being asked by the same 4 or 5 people who stalk me around the internet looking for ways to irk me. Maybe that’s unfair but I dunno. It’s not as though when I’m a guest on talk shows I lead with “I’m anti-New Age… and now here’s my completely New-Age-sounding spiel.” So you’d have to be familiar with me to ask it, right? And if you were familiar with me you’d already know the answer. But even that is a slippery slope because, as a rule, we hear what we want to hear first. I do this, too. I sometimes find myself upset about something someone said or wrote that, upon further inspection, didn’t connote what I originally thought it did. I had an expectation or read into it a tone that didn’t seem to be there the second time around. It is possible that readers and listeners are mistranslating in similar manner or that I’m really bad at communicating the answer clearly. Let me take another stab at it now.

If you experienced something so profound that it gave you the ability to see through other untruthful people who claim to have the same experience, wouldn’t you call them on it? Wouldn’t their lies and delusions be a mockery of the real? Wouldn’t it bother you that when you open your mouth about the real, the person you’re confiding in will likely conjure images of the BS version they had sold to them and lump you in with that crap?

Of course you as a consumer of this stuff have the luxury of lumping us all together and taking from that what you like or what you say works for you. You have the luxury of, for instance, not believing me as you buy book after dogmatic wish-fulfillment book in search of the magical formula that helps you create your own reality. You ever notice how these books tell you that you can do this without ever addressing the bigger question: Should you?

Is it okay to manipulate hard-won mystical knowledge that requires the letting go of self into a scheme to fortify the self and selfish desires?

Is it okay for Westernized people who have shamanic experiences to claim to be shamans when real shamans don’t live in mansions with swimming pools, own cars, or commune with nature in their spare time?

Is it okay for a man to reinvent himself every few years to sell you galactic ambassadorship should your shining lights at the sky with him call aliens down, then sell military whistle blowers, then himself as a man working with governments toward disclosure, then himself as a survivor of the American government’s plot to kill him, then himself as a man writing protocols with aliens, then himself as the man with answers to free energy, then himself as the gatekeeper of an alien corpse?

Was Heaven’s Gate okay? Jonestown? Is this guy?

At some point you have to get real with yourself about what it is you’re doing behind that Everything is love! smile, Princess Unikitty. New Agers tend to think they are above religious zealots because they have seen through the fallacies of orthodox religions. Unfortunately, they went one step too far by replacing the orthodox with the unorthodox. How is giving yourself and those around you daily pep talks about manifesting what you want through focused intent any different than the zealot who babbles on about giving his life to Jesus? That gets boring and tedious for the rest of us–but as with the zealot, don’t dare tell the New Ager that. You will be judged as judgmental, the ultimate sin, and feel the heat of a fiery serpent writhing behind that smile.

Orthodox religions and the unorthodox have flecks of dead Truth sprinkled throughout. (Cannibalism: that’s how they getcha.) But so do our lives without them. Atheists have epiphanies and insights. Inventors bring to the conscious material world metaphors for  unconscious formless truths. You can’t escape what you are but you sure as hell can call it anything else. You can put off direct experience of the transcendent indefinitely. And the best way to do that is to say you’ve read all about it or–better still–already achieved it.

New Age nonsense shares the same language as real mystical discoveries and bends those discoveries to the end of selling desire. I don’t think it makes me a hypocrite to call that out any more than it makes an archeologist a hypocrite for calling out creationists who believe the world was created in six days a few thousand years ago by a god. The difference is that I don’t have a degree you can examine. I don’t have years of education in the works of other people. There is no formal education for this, no peer review of “internal” experience. I could be lying; there is no way for you to verify except through direct experience.

I’m not asking you to take my word that I’m not being hypocritical here. I’m asking that you don’t. Don’t believe me, don’t believe religion, don’t believe New Age, don’t believe atheism, don’t believe agnosticism. Put us all away–yes, me included–because we’re not real for you. Not because you want to know what is real but simply because we are not real. If there is anything that’s real, perhaps it will come uninvited when the wall of belief and expectation is shattered. Perhaps not. But if there is an undefinable timeless greatness that carries in its tide the epiphanies of deep reality that have been killed and stuffed for consumers to decorate their interior domains, how is that living immensity to wash through one clogged with definitions that form the boundaries of psychological time in the not-so-great tiny self?

You can hoard dead treasures to live by or the hoarder can die and in his/her place stands the living, breathing treasure of treasures. That choice and that choice alone is free will. The Christian may murder this Truth and stuff it into a toothy clawed beast called “Born Again.” The New Ager may reel this Truth in and hang it on the mantle as “Enlightenment.”

But when Truth is alive it is you. When Truth is dead it’s a concept. Don’t take my word for it. Don’t take anyone’s.

We are social creatures who form fellowships, discuss things with each other, and form consensus realities through common experiences. It is not a wonder to me why Truth eludes us. It does not live there. It can only be conceptualized and built upon in untruthful ways from there. Truth is antithetical to the lie and the lie is what we live. That’s not a judgment; that’s how it is. It’s a forgone conclusion that we will start this way. But we don’t have to stay this way. We just have to be alone and inwardly silent.

New Age is a noisy communion like any other with the bonus arrogance of believing it’s above that. It’s transcendent.

Mmmm… no. It’s just more you running into the arms of concepts. You are thought. Concepts are thought. It’s not love, it’s narcissism.