SO LISTEN UP!!
I’ll be mostly examining esoteric literature and poetry, ancient civilizations, and mythology, but in doing so I’d like YOUR HELP on topics that YOU want to learn about. I will also take emails with dreams or other experiences that you would like me to help you interpret or comprehend better. Emails can be sent to: thedelphireport@gmail.com

Thank you in advance for any feedback you might take time out to give. Reading suggestions, music suggestions, and topic suggestions are all up for grabs, guys, so take advantage of this! Let’s start a revolution of the mind, body, and soul!

We are not your vaccination test monkeys,
your sympathetic petri dishes,
your lay-down-now-this-won’t-hurt
push pin dolls who drink the milk
that does nobody any good,
(especially those bloated Monsanto cows
with utters reaching to China)
We are not your anti-bacterial
insanitation device,
We are not your hospitals where
our poorest go to die–

And we are not your swine flu.

Is that shit even real?

Do you know ANYONE who has it?

When was the last time you looked in the mirror
and didn’t try and pronounce yourself diseased?
When was the last time you didn’t take ANYTHING
to feel good, to feel normal, to feel healthy?
When did you get off without the blue pill?
When will they cure female impotence, by the way?
Maybe it’ll be the day when they stop raping
our bodies for good nutrients,
our earth for resources,
our children for their creativity,
our animals for their lack of tear ducts
and inability to scream,
our mothers for their desire to
but who silently sit and watch their children take the bullet.

You MOTHER-fucking, MOTHER-killing, diseased minds of
impotent old men who wish their cocks were bigger than the heart of the sky,
wish their minds were stronger than the inevitable march of entropy,
wish their goals were as infallible
as the supernova of a hundred billion latent Sun Gods;
You bitches, and I do not mean to insult the pregnant mothers of puppies,
for dogs are better and more genuine than any pretense of humanity
you suppose;
You whores, and I do not mean to insult prostitutes, for fucking for crack and money
is more noble than allowing a Satanic cock up your ass for power, as you have done;
You, you who say your power resides
in policies of disease, manipulations of science, and the perversion of the word “Medicine”;
You do not get my body.
You do not get my mind.
and you, shall never inherit
any earth I walk upon, so long
as the soul in my cunt screams louder
than any bomb, any shot, any death
brought by the silent pill
the syringe
or the gun.

Don’t tell me not to have an opinion
on genocide.
Don’t tell me not to have an opinion
when leaders rob children of their human rights.
Remember, Gaza?
Remember, Guantanamo?
Do you really want to put your faith in Hope?
Or how about in that elusive bullet,
Truth, the mist of a strange gun,
the smoking mirror, the grassy knoll hit man,
the Mossad death squads, the Iran Contras,
the MK Ultra sex slave apprentices,
the Montauk time captives,
the 17 of the 19, the Building Sevens,
and the coincidences
that I don’t believe are coincidences?
Feed my mind the whole grain, not the processed;
Give me info-shamanic organic non-material, non-matter
because it does
not
matter.

Your country does not matter
Your anthem does not matter
Your judgment does not matter.

I feel more connection to a Muslim in the Middle East
than to the ravings of a Sunday School priest class.

Fake nails that don’t scratch the surface
Music sung out your ass.

Shut up.

You have destroyed the Revelation before it’s begun.

But there’s a handful of others who have opinions for guns
and they wield them delicately, carving the air
bulletproof; gunslingers of the last days
Children of the Wasteland, falling away
and against the ebb and flow of the peace train
that’s just a swan song when you chip off the paint.

Truth is a bullet thought, slicing the air;
Challenging the brainpan
to remain intact.

-Jimi Hendrix (San Diego Free Press, June 1969)

The connection between Music and the mysteries of the Universe has always been an intrinsic one. This video lead me to hunt down some articles on artists who have had UFO encounters. Probably the weirdest would be the Jimi Hendrix story related below.

From Alien Rock by Sean Casteel:

Knight told Beckley a remarkable story about Hendrix, an event that happened a few years before Hendrix became the legendary and much beloved guitar hero.

“It was during the wintertime,” Beckley said, “and they were playing a small gig in upstate New York, near Woodstock. This was before the Woodstock Festival, so it has nothing to do with that, except as a point of location. It was not very far from Pinebush, where there’s been a lot of UFO activity in the last few decades.

“Anyway, as I understand it from Curtis,” Beckley continued, “there was a very snowy blizzard and the boys in the band were trying to get back to Manhattan. They got snowed in. It was so cold outside that they couldn’t even open a window. The windows had frozen. They had the engine still running, and the carbon monoxide filled the car. A couple of the other guys passed out in the backseat, but Jimi was still able to breathe apparently, and he claimed that a cone-shaped object landed on the road not far from their vehicle. A door opened on the side of the craft and a being came out. He described it as kind of like a cross between a feathered creature, maybe like Mothman, and an angel.

“This thing drew its wings out and walked around the vehicle, and where it walked, the snow melted. So they were able to get out of the blizzard and get back to New York. Jimi always told Curtis that if it wasn’t for this being coming from the ship, he was sure that they would have all died in that car that night.”

1983 (A Merman I Should Turn To Be)

Hooray, I awake from yesterday
Alive, but the war is here to stay
So my love, Catherina and me,
decide to take our last walk
through the noise to the sea
Not to die but to reborn,
away from lands so battered and torn
Forever, forever

Oh say, can you see
it’s really such a mess
Every inch of Earth is a fighting nest
Giant pencil and lipstick
tube shaped things,
Continue to rain
and cause screaming pain
And the arctic stains from silver blue
to bloody red
as our feet find the sand, and the sea
is straight ahead, straight up ahead

Well it’s too bad THAT our friends,
can’t be with us today
Well it’s too bad

The machine, THAT we built, would never save us, that’s what they say
(That’s why they ain’t coming with us today)
And they also said “it’s impossible for a man to live and breathe under water, forever,”
was their main complaint. And they also threw this in my face, they said:
“Anyway, you know good and well it would be beyond the will of God, and the grace of the King”
(grace of the King … Yeah, yeah)

So my darling and I make love in the sand, to salute the last moment ever on dry land
Our machine, it has done its work, played its part well.
Without a scratch on our bodies and we bid it farewell
Starfish and giant foams greet us with a smile
Before our heads go under we take a last look at the killing noise
Of the out of style, the out of style, out of style (oooh)…

“Right this way,” smiles a mermaid — I can hear Atlantis full of cheer.

I first read about Rosslyn Chapel in 1999, when I was sixteen, in The Highlander, a magazine for people with Scottish ancestry. The article didn’t do much more than point out the pre-Columbus corn and cactus symbolism alongside Greenmen and the enigmatic Apprentice’s Pillar. It was a relatively shallow article. At that time, my mind had already decided that Christianity was pretty much a stolen pagan sun worshiping cult, but I just felt there was something weird at Rosslyn, and knew I had to go there. When I went to Scotland in 2004, I snuck away to Rosslyn and descended into the “secret” ritual chamber below…you know, the one where they keep Jesus’s blood or something (thank you Dan Brown. Right, cause the Holy Grail is treasure, a cup, or even an heir. Yes, Jesus had heirs, but the question you should be asking is whose heir was Jesus?)

This was my experience:

As I walked down the 13 steps into the chamber, I felt myself become extremely lightheaded, as tho I’d just knocked about five shots of good Scotch back. I leaned up against the wall to steady myself. The pit felt like death, the crypt where the body is kept, resting next to the Knight Templar carved out of stone. On the wall there were several carvings that made my head spin further; they were not the modern works of graffiti artists, but carved into the wet concrete when the St. Claires built the chapel to begin with. Not surprisingly, we see another Orion/Sirius connection:

Another Sirius/Orion reference…Wonder why? Take a look at the theories on the Scottish pyramids for example:

On a wall of Rosslyn Chapel’s underground crypt, the oldest and holiest structure in the building, is what’s been called a “working Masonic drawing.” It is shaped more like an obelisk than a pyramid, and yet it sang a siren song to me. The central line of the drawing passes through three pyramids—as viewed from above.

From my experience, it all comes down to energy. Being a musician, I tend to make metaphors to music because it is the easiest association for me. Music is energy, and in a sense, placing sacred sites along a path of energy is like creating a fretboard for a song you want to hear over and over and over again. Awesome if the song is bringing joy and enlightenment to all who hear it, but not so much if the song says “You are under control by us, submit and do not question.”

Mozart created Masonic music that stirred the unseen in his listeners.

What if the Masonic “G” is a key in which these songs are played? What if we tune our ears to B flat, the hum of the supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy, instead? What does that do to our heads? What does this do to our minds, our bodies? I know from experience that stone structures strategically located can make you feel completely…out of your skull. To what ends?

In conclusion, my love of traveling has to do with tracking this vibrational energy that has been tapped so loudly by so many occult societies throughout time. The more I see, the more I feel that the truths I’ve unearthed over the years are stranger than I ever thought. Also, thank you to The Atlantean Conspiracy for this insightful article on the ley line connection.

Fall down and breathe
Fall down and see what you are meant to see
Fall down the ground is a ceiling you have never touched before
Fall down and breathe

It takes a lot of nerve to stop lying to yourself
while the lies people the world and the truth stays locked on a shelf
In some dusty hall underground, I’d rather rot in hell
than miss another piece of knowledge or
forget those distant bells

And every time I am away I find a peace inside, I know it’s just a ride
This tiny life I call mine
I know my part is just a cog in the Great Wheel of Time
I know that somewhere there is someone
who gets these lines

Fall down and breathe
Fall down and see what you are meant to see
Fall down, the ground is a ceiling you never touched before
Fall down and breathe

So I climbed into bed, alone again with the moment
No god but God around me, the mystery of nothing
And the notes just out of reach played a cosmic sonnet
I’ve heard this song since I was born, but I have never sung it

Fall down and breathe
Fall down and see what you are meant to see
fall down, the ground is a ceiling you never touched before
Fall down and breathe

Fall down and breathe

Yeah, Shangri La’s in a backyard garden
a desert woman taught that to me
And Mecca isn’t in the sand
it is under the waves hidden by the Red Sea
I will always have a loving heart
for the sojourner who tears the world a part
I will always have a space inside
for the seeker who searches and who
never finds

For the love of Truth she moves,
she hides behind enemy lines
waiting for her turn to spread the light
She gathers in the darkest nights and the saddest hearts
and makes them beautiful for all the world to find
I have met so much Tribe in my one lifetime
that I can’t shut my eyes
when I see those familiar signs

Yeah, Shangri La’s in a backyard garden
a desert woman taught that to me
And Mecca isn’t in the sand
it is under the waves hidden by the Red Sea
I will always have a loving heart
for the sojourner who tears the world a part
I will always have a space inside
for the seeker who searches and who
never finds

I’ve seen the coastline fade into sky
as we got high on top of Arthur’s Seat
And I’ve seen a lot of this world but I still forget
the way the Veil swirls when
a brother, sister, lover, I meet
It works in a backwards way, and I don’t really care
it’s not in the face, but in the blood that pumps
through our veins.

Yeah, Shangri La’s in a backyard garden
a desert woman taught that to me
And Mecca isn’t in the sand
it is under the waves hidden by the Red Sea
I will always have a loving heart
for the sojourner who tears the world a part
I will always have a space inside
for the seeker who searches and who
never finds