"Who do you think those people were? Those were not just some ordinary people. If I told you their names--I'm not going to tell you their names--but if I did, I don't think you'd sleep so well. "
It seems that, once again, the specter of The Illuminati has reared its ugly head, or should I say 'hood'? In the new Tom Hanks thriller, Angels & Demons, the nefarious Secret Society is conspiring to destroy The Vatican. And the only way to stop them is by following a set of clues they have left behind that will reveal their treacherous plot.
Or is it?
Perhaps it is all just a smokescreen, a cover-up, a clever bit of misdirection. After all, The Illuminati are notorious infiltrators who are constantly sending out mixed messages through the media to confuse and confound anyone who tries to penetrate their dark veil.
In fact, in the movie Angels & Demons, Tom Hanks's character Robert Langdon seems to spend most of his time defending The Illuminati. They are academics and truth seekers, like himself, who have been wrongfully maligned by the Church, just as he has. Certainly that doesn't excuse them from blowing up the Vatican, but as the plot thickens and the list of suspects grows, we are no longer certain who is behind this evil plot. Could someone be using the specter of The Illuminati as ruse to hide their own diabolical motives?
Or is the movie itself merely a ruse? Another brilliantly conceived Illuminati plot to divert our attention from their plan to take over the world?
Or have I been reading too many books and websites about Secret Societies and Conspiracy Theories?
It's possible.
In the course of doing some research on a new screenplay I'm writing, I have scoured the Internet and the local library for information on Secret Societies and Conspiracy Theories. And as far as Secret Societies and Conspiracy Theories go, there's no match for The Illuminati. They are the The Sine Qua Non of Secrecy, the All-Purpose Plot-hatchers, the Go-To-Guys of Gobbledygook.
One of my favorite Illuminati Conspiracy Theories involves the Mysterious Death of Stanley Kubrick. Apparently, shortly after delivering the final cut of his movie Eyes Wide Shut, Stanley died of a heart attack. Not so mysterious, you say, Stanley was seventy years old and had just completed a strenuous two-year-long production. He reportedly died peacefully in his bed at his home in England. These things happen.
But when you examine the many symbols and clues that Stanley included in Eyes Wide Shut, you find a veritable manifesto of Illuminati Secrets. Not to mention the infamous Masked Orgy sequence in the middle of the film that basically throws open the doors to a Secret Illuminati Ritual. Having thus violated the cloak of Illuminati Silence, Kubrick was murdered, both to prevent him from revealing more and as a warning to others.
Sure, plenty of movies have flirted with revealing Illuminati Secrets, but Eyes Wide Shut must have really struck a nerve.
The brilliance of Angels & Demons is that it talks directly about The Illuminati, but in a context that makes them seem like a relic of history, instead of the All-Pervasive Puppetmasters of the Modern World. But there they are on the big screen: Hidden In Plain Sight.
One of the methods used by The Illuminati to further their evil ends is Mind Control. Another Kubrick movie, A Clockwork Orange, uses Mind Control as one of its central plot devices. And after the movie was released in England, Kubrick received several death threats, forcing him to move behind the guarded walls of a secluded country estate. (Of course, guarded walls and secluded estates are no match for The Illuminati.) Kubrick also references Mind Control in Eyes Wide Shut, with several thinly veiled allusions to the CIA's MK-ULTRA project. As everyone knows, the CIA is riddled with Illuminati, via their exclusive Ivy-League conduit, the Skull and Bones. The same Skull and Bones, mind you, that brought us George W. Bush and his father George H.W. Bush, who in addition to being president was also director of the CIA.
MK-ULTRA pops up in another movie, aptly titled Conspiracy Theory, starring Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts. In it, Mel is a victim of an evil CIA psychiatrist (and obvious Illuminati member) played by Patrick Stewart. Julia is an attorney with the Justice Department who tries to help him. At one point, Mel explains to Julia the basic Conspiracy Theory premise: "A good conspiracy is unprovable. I mean, if you can prove it, it means they screwed up somewhere along the line."
In the movie Three Days of the Condor, CIA analyst Robert Redford discovers a conspiracy involving a 'CIA within the CIA'. Classic Illuminati tactics, by the way -- infiltrate a secret organization and subvert it from the inside out. Redford finds out that their plan is to invade a Middle Eastern Country to gain control of their oil production.
And that was way back in 1975!
Three Days of the Condor was directed by Sidney Pollack, who also played the part of Victor Ziegler, the Illuminati Overlord in Eyes Wide Shut.
Coincidence?
I think the best Conspiracy Theory movie of all time is the The Matrix, allegorical though it may be. The idea that we are all living in a fantasy world made up of a series of meaningless distractions while an Evil Controlling Entity is literally sucking the life out of us is just about the most perfect metaphor for Illuminati World Domination ever put on film.
But, in my research, I have found something that may be an even better Conspiracy Theory than The Illuminati. In her book 'Secret Societies', crackpot author Sylvia Browne suggests that there is a group so secret that NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD OF THEM! The group is composed of 22 members, who have infiltrated all of the other Secret Societies, INCLUDING THE ILLUMINATI!
I know!
And how does Sylvia know about them? She heard it from her spirit guide, "Francine".
Right?
And what is their purpose? World Domination, of course! To create a New World Order, i.e., a one-world government under American control. And they have formed numerous other Secret Societies as a smoke-screen to carry out their goals.
Now, I could tell you the name of this Super-Secret Society, but then, of course, I would have to kill you.
I may have said too much already. Maybe I'll write them into my screenplay. As long as I don't get too close to the truth. I don't want to end up like Stanley Kubrick.
Or do I?
A couple of years ago I was loitering in a photo gallery on Sunset Boulevard called Morrison Hotel. Theoretically, I was there to view the works of legendary rock photographer Henry Diltz. I had actually met Diltz at an opening there a few weeks earlier. We were standing in front of a picture he took of Jimi Hendrix onstage at Woodstock. And when I say 'onstage at Woodstock', I mean Diltz was literally standing on the stage about ten feet away from Hendrix. It suddenly occurred to me that the guy I was talking to was the guy who took the picture. Of Hendrix. Onstage. At Woodstock.
Turns out Diltz is a real nice guy. He told me some interesting stories about hanging out in Laurel Canyon with Joni Mitchell and Graham Nash, and touring with the Stones in '72. Unfortunately I didn't have any money, or I would have bought one of his photos.
At the Diltz opening I also met Claire, a lovely young woman who worked as the gallery's receptionist. We chatted about screenwriting. She had a semi-interesting idea that had something to do with being surrounded by all of those amazing photographs all day. Her idea reminded me of a Ray Bradbury story, which I mentioned, but she had no idea who Ray Bradbury was. She also told me about a book she'd read called The Secret, which had something to do with imagining your way to success and happiness. That reminded me of a book I'd once read called Creative Visualization. She'd never heard of that either.
I happened to find a copy of Creative Visualization in a used bookstore called The Bodhi Tree during one of my many walks around West Hollywood, and so I thought I'd stroll by the Morrison Hotel gallery one afternoon and drop it off for Claire. I thought it was a gallant gesture. She seemed unimpressed. We talked some more about The Secret, which was beginning to sound more and more like New Age Hooey. She tried to explain the core premise of The Secret, which is called the Law of Attraction. It states that your thoughts generate some kind of magic energy field that literally attracts what you desire.
Although it seemed a little silly to me at first, I thought I would give it a try. After all, I don't claim to have all the answers. Maybe Claire was really onto something. And, I knew exactly what to ask The Universe for: I wanted Claire. So, I thought about her. I even Googled her. And since she was not only a receptionist, but also an actress, I managed to find one of her headshots online. I put her picture on my computer and imagined how wonderful it would be if she and I were together. I felt confident and grateful that The Universe would manifest my desires.
A week or two later, I went to the gallery to give Claire a flyer for an upcoming Buzzards gig. She wasn't there. There seemed to be some uncertainty as to when she might be there again. I went back a week later to see if she had gotten the flyer. I had, of course, been imagining how great it would be when she came to the gig and saw me up onstage playing and singing with my band. So cool. I felt certain that she would soon be mine.
Oddly, though, Claire was not at the gallery when I went back. I don't know if she ever got my flyer. She didn't come to the gig. In fact, I never actually saw her again. Could it be that merely imagining that you will get something doesn't actually guarantee that you will get it?
I decided to forget about The Secret.
For the record, this was not the first time I had encountered such a philosophy. As a child, I remember seeing a copy of the book The Power of Positive Thinking in our house. And I recall my Dad telling me about the successful use of visualization in the training of Olympic athletes. During my research for my first screenplay "Merlin" I came across various texts which discussed the correspondence between conscious thought and manifest reality. That's when I first read the book Creative Visualization. I myself have practiced aspects of this method. For years I have been carrying around a copy of a $100,000 bill in my wallet to remind me that my prosperity is imminent. For years. I have also been a lifelong Hope addict and incurable optimist who has dedicated himself to the fulfillment of a nutty dream despite an avalanche of disappointment and rejection.
So, when I was browsing through the online catalog of the West Hollywood Library and saw the DVD version of The Secret, I decided to add it to my "on hold" list. Apparently, I was not the only person who had put The Secret on hold. In fact I believe I was around number one hundred and eighty three on the list. It took quite some time for me to finally get my notice from the library that The Secret was available for me to check out. The better part of a year at least. Maybe more.
I watched The Secret with a mixture of skepticism and hope. Part of me thought it might be good for a laugh, and part of me was thinking, 'Maybe...'
I was right about it being good for a laugh. There are all these goofball experts on there sharing half-baked anecdotes about how 'positive thoughts are 100 times more powerful than negative thoughts' even though negative thoughts have the same ability to attract things as positive ones. And how worrying about debt actually causes debt. Really? 'Cause I thought not paying your bills caused debt.
Mostly it was, as I had originally suspected, a lot of New Age Hooey. Although some of it was downright dangerous hooey, like the woman who claims to have cured her cancer by watching funny movies. Now, I'm all for holistic healing, but I don't think it's very responsible to recommend that people forgo their chemo in favor of Pauly Shore flicks. In fact, I think most people would find the chemo far less objectionable.
There was even a guy named Jack Canfield, co-author of Chicken Soup for the Soul, who said he made up a fake $100,000 dollar bill and put it in his wallet to remind him that his prosperity was imminent. He called it his "abundance check." And wouldn't you know, within a year he went from making $8,000 to nearly $100,000. In just one year! Asshole. I've been carrying around my goddamn fake $100,000 bill for nearly three and a half years. And I ain't got crap.
Sure, there's a certain amount of wisdom to focusing on the positive in life. But the fact is, only hot young women ever get their desires granted by The Universe, and when I say The Universe, I mean, of course, horny rich guys. The rest of us have to work for a living.
But my analysis of The Secret was not a total loss. As it happens, I watched The Secret the same week that the Republicans released their alternative budget. And I have to say that after years of failing to understand the conservative political ideology, I think I finally get it.
They believe in The Secret!
It's true. The key to understanding the Republican approach to governance can be found by applying the tenets of The Secret. Allow me to explain: The basic premise of The Secret is that what you desire will be attracted to you. However, and this is crucial, you will also attract what you don't want by harboring negative thoughts. That is why it is so important to focus on the positive.
Now, look at the Republican response to the failed economy. They want to freeze all further government spending. Why? Because by trying to "fix" the problem we are focusing our attention on what we don't want. But, by ignoring things like Unemployment and Debt we cease to call them into being and they simply go away. Regulation of banking and other industries is likewise a futile endeavor, for it is simply creating the expectation of failure. Instead we need to allow The Market (i.e., The Universe) to bestow its abundance upon us. Health Care? A no-brainer. The more money we spend trying to fight disease, the more disease there will be for us to fight.
It's frickin' brilliant.
Perhaps the most inspired of all Republicans is former President George W. Bush. He used The Secret to formulate an entire foreign policy. As it is explained in The Secret itself, rich powerful and successful people have known about The Secret for centuries. And who is more rich, powerful and successful than the Bush family? The Bush Doctrine relies on one of the fundamental principles of The Secret, that you must act as if what you seek is already manifest. So, if we believe that a country may someday pose a threat, we should invade that country as if the threat were real. If we believe that Saddam could have WMDs, we must bomb the crap out of Iraq as if those WMDs had actually been found.
In the end, The Universe will deliver unto us what we deserve. Peace, Security and Democracy For All.
Now that I understand the conservative mindset, it no longer confuses and frightens me. I realize that rich and powerful people are a lot like hot young women -- they really do believe that all their good fortune is a reward for being positive and righteous and has nothing to do with luck or circumstance. And so long as they keep getting what they want, they'll keep believing in The Secret.
As for me, I'm going to keep on thinking positively. But I'm not telling anybody what I'm wishing for. It's a secret.
It has been said that, "you can't go home again...but you can go back to PB." PB of course refers to the town of Pacific Beach, California. I know this because I was the one who said it. I lived in PB for about a year just after graduating from college. And I returned to PB just about four years ago, along with my friend Dave, to try and recapture a sense of my youth. What I found was that 'the sense of my youth' I was looking for was still lurking inside me. A few weeks ago, I went back to PB once again, to catch up with another old friend from long ago. His name is Ray Sharp.
By sheer coincidence, or perhaps fate, Ray had also lived in PB at one time. He had moved there while I was still in college, to track down a legendary athlete he'd read about in Sports Illustrated. See, when we were in high school back in Louisville, Ray and I were on the cross country team together. But one summer, after reading an article about racewalking "sports hippie" Ron Laird, Ray entered a local racewalk event and ended up winning it. That led to him competing in the AAU Junior National Championship in nearby Bloomington, Indiana. Which he also won. Next, Ray was off to the Ukraine to race against the Soviets. He brought me back a Russian-made Olympic gym-bag that, despite its godawful crappiness, I cherished as a prized possession for years to come -- until it literally fell apart.
In that one summer, Ray went from being just another high-school distance runner to an international sensation. He was now a walker. He had found his niche.
During our sophomore year of college, Ray and I packed up my old VW bus and drove from Louisville to San Francisco. We were on different quests, mine had to do with tracking down another friend who'd gone off the radar for a while. Ray, however, was there to begin his new life. We hooked up with another racewalker that Ray knew in Berkeley and he introduced Ray to the local scene. Berkeley had been Ron Laird's home base when the Sports Illustrated piece was written. But by the time we got there, Ron had moved. He now lived down south, in a place called Pacific Beach.
We hung around the East Bay for a while. Ray loved the temperate climate, which allowed him to train year-round. I found my 'lost' friend and determined that he wasn't in any mortal danger. Eventually, I went back to college. Ray moved down to Pacific Beach where he and Ron Laird became roommates.
I kind of lost track of Ray after that. His new life took him in a very different direction than mine. Both our parents had moved away from Louisville, so our paths weren't likely to cross very often. I did see him set a world record one night in the Millrose Games at Madison Square Gardens. He had recently changed sponsors from one shoe company to anther, but he didn't have the new sponsor's uniform yet. Rather than wear the old sponsor's singlet, Ray competed in a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt. Halfway through the race, another walker stepped on Ray's heel and nearly took off his shoe. Ray stopped, pulled the shoe back on, jumped back in and won the race. It was amazing.
I think that was the last time I saw him until, thanks to the miracle of the internet, we reconnected a couple of summers ago. I drove out to Tucson to see Ray at his parent's house. Ray's Dad wasn't doing too well at the time. It turned out to be their final visit together.
Since then, we have kept in touch via email and Facebook. I found out that Ray was entered in the National 50k Racewalk Championship in Santee, California, which is not too far from Pacific Beach. I drove down to meet Ray the day before the race and we decided to cruise over to PB and check out the old stomping grounds. We had actually lived fairly near each other, though about a year apart. We'd both worked in local fast food places. Ray's 'Der Weinerschnitzel' is still in operation but my 'Jack In The Box' has gone out of business. We walked along the boardwalk. Traded stories of our times in PB. Poked around some of the shops. As I had discovered earlier, PB hasn't really changed that much. I guess Ray and I haven't changed too much either. Not too much.
At one point we asked some young dude to take our picture. We told him we'd lived there back in mythical times. He asked if PB was better back then. Ray said, "Everything was better back then."
I noticed Ray was coughing a bit and I thought we should get back to the hotel so he could rest up for his race. But he didn't seem too concerned. For the record, the 50k is a 31 mile race that can easily last for well over four hours. It's not something you want to attempt with a head cold, much less the flu.
When we got back to the hotel, Ray stretched out on his bed and I went looking for some dinner. Ray had said he wasn't hungry, which didn't seem like a good sign the night before a 31 mile race. But what do I know? I found a barbecue place nearby and had some barbecued ham and split-pea soup. I sat beneath the head of a giant bull moose that was mounted on the wall. What kind of sicko would want to kill a bull moose, the largest and most majestic creature in North America, and stick its head up on the wall?
Someone like Sarah Palin, probably.
When I got back to the room, Ray was reading a book about Nixon. He had gone to the 7-11 for some V-8 juice. Didn't seem like much to go on, calorie-wise. He was blowing his nose and coughing more than before and his throat sounded bad. But he fully intended to walk in the race the next morning.
Ray got up at about dawn and started getting ready for the race. It was freezing. I had snagged a space heater and some extra blankets from the hotel office the day before, but these old stucco buildings do not have much in the way of insulation. Ray took off for the race around six. I tried to get my blood flowing by taking a long hot shower. I was pretty glad I was not entered in any race that morning.
When I got to Santee, the race had been going on for about an hour. They run the 10k, 20k and 50k at the same time so the field was still fairly well populated. But pretty soon after I go there, all the 10k competitors started leaving the race, which cut out about two-thirds of the walkers.
I watched the race for about an hour. Ray was doing well, keeping in the lead of the 50k group alongside another walker who happens to be a three-time Olympian and ten years younger. I heard the meet announcer reading some of Ray's history over the P.A. system. There was the AAU Junior National win, the trips to the Soviet Union and East Germany, four World Cup appearances, records and national titles in every distance, including the grueling 100k, competing in the World Championship in Rome, setting the World Record in New York, qualifying for the first Goodwill Games in Moscow...
I'd had no inkling of all of Ray's accomplishments. Just to read them over the P.A. system took ten or fifteen minutes. But it wasn't so much the number of titles he held or records he'd set, it was the span. He'd been doing this since he was 18. And he's still going strong. He did have one setback, though. After the 1988 Olympic trials, where the 100 degree heat and 100 per cent humidity nearly killed him, Ray began suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome. He continued to compete for another few years, but eventually had to stop altogether. By now Ray was married and starting a family. It was time to settle down.
But Ray could not keep still. After almost ten years out of competition, he started feeling well enough to begin biking to work every day. That led to an interest in triathlons. As he felt his strength returning, he decided to get back into racewalking. Since then, he has competed in four National 50k Championships, two Pan Am Cup races and two World Cups. In Santee, Ray was hoping to qualify for another Pan Am Cup race.
Ray seemed to be holding steady, so I decided to run across the street and get a bagel. When I got back to the race course about ten minutes later, I saw that Ray had fallen behind. He wasn't looking too well either. And he still had about 15 miles to go.
But the thing about Ray is, he doesn't give up easily. For the next hour, I watched him fall farther and farther behind. His strides grew more and more unsteady. A couple of times he started wobbling around like he was about to fall flat on his face. But he wouldn't drop out. I wasn't sure what to do. He looked like he was killing himself. He was obviously sick as a dog, but he refused to stop walking. He'd gone nearly 20 miles and still had over ten to go.
I noticed the race officials conferring with the medic. They were wondering if they should pull him out. But then one of the judges gave him a "red card" for a violation of form. In racewalking you have to keep one foot on the ground at all times and keep your knee straight until it passes under your hip. Three violations and you're out. Actually, it was amazing that he had gotten this far. It was amazing that he was still conscious. Within the next few laps, Ray got two more red cards and they pulled him out of the race. If they hadn't, I don't know if he would have ever stopped.
After the race, Ray and I had some food and talked for a while. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. And considering how sick he was, and the fact that he'd just walked twenty miles, he was in amazingly good spirits. Of course the next day he was sick in bed with a fever. And a few days later, so was I.
It was great seeing Ray again. I wish he'd done better in the race. But the fact that he didn't finish kind of says more about him than if he had done well. Racewalking isn't a glory sport. Ray never got a lot of attention or money or support for being a racewalker. It's a tough, lonely, thankless road that's only traveled by those who can keep going when there's no end in sight.
There will be other races. In fact, I got an email from Ray about a week after seeing him. He was competing in a 54k cross-country ski race in Michigan. And he was just barely getting over the flu. He's looking forward to the summer so he can start swimming, biking and running.
And next year there will be another 50k Championship. And Ray will be there.
