Random Thoughts

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aeon
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Random Thoughts

Post by aeon » Fri Jun 17, 2016 8:37 pm

http://web.archive.org/web/200904091245 ... lides.html

http://www.reciprocalsystem.com/cana/index.htm

http://www.svpvril.com/Hier.html

http://www.moviemonstermuseum.com/molemen.html


http://www.pulpfest.com/2016/02/the-ama ... am-worlds/

Mike Ashley says he corresponded with Shaver in 1975.

The Shaver Mystery

When I corresponded with Shaver in 1975 he gave me his side of
the story, which is worth repeating here and contrasting with
Palmer's. Richard Shaver was born in Berwick, Pennsylvania in
October 1907. His father was a pressman; he pressed the first
parts for the first steel passenger coach made in America. His
mother was an exschoolmistress who wasted no time in giving her
five children plenty of pre-school teaching. She was also a poet,
selling verse to such leading publications as Ladies Home Journal
and Good Housekeeping. When Shaver was 11, the family moved to
Bloomsburg where, for a while, his father owned a restaurant.
Once his formal education was over, Shaver took a variety of jobs
ranging from being a foreman in a landscaping company to being an
art instructor.

The Mystery began one evening when he was reading Byron's poem
Manfred, and came to the line, By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone. Was he really not alone? Shaver
thought. At that point he began to receive visions until the
reception was suddenly cut off as if deliberately intercepted.

This incident continued to prey on Shaver's mind. A while later,
after spending some time working in Illinois, he was picked up
for vagrancy while thumbing a lift back to Pennsylvania, and was
placed in gaol. He tried to make contact as before with the plea,
Get me out of here. Shaver takes up the story.

What happened is a girl comes leading the turnkey who acts like
he is walking in his sleep. He turns the key and lets me go. She
leads us both down the hall to the outer door, which he again
opens and we both walked out. I followed her with somewhat mixed
and numb sensations for about a mile in the night outside of the
town. Then we walked into a hilla section of the hill closed
down behind us very like Sesame, close!, and we were in. A lot
of stairways and slopes and dim light, and all the time I knew
she was just a sort of transparent projection, but you had to
get close to see the difference from real.

And so I was in. I spent a day or so talking with them, and they
filled me in on the whole complex situation inherited from our
misguided forebears who kept the secret so well that today
nobody knows anything about their past. Between us we decided
something should be done about the situation of ignorance. I was
there for only twenty-four hours or so, when I walked out and
went on my way. Later I began to write fiction about it.

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