The new 1998 Flatland Books catalog is now in the mails, heading toward our customers and new recruits. Flatland Magazine #15 has been on the newsstands since March, and I got a lot of positive responses from readers of my interview with Dr. Lloyd DeMause, editor of The Journal of Psychohistory. Check out the Flatland Web Page for details about the book catalog, the new magazine, and be sure to check out Dr. DeMause's take on the Clinton-Lewinsky affair, his press release "The Phallic Presidency."
Lots of people have an opinion about Mel Gibson's latest movie, Conspiracy Theory, but Flatland Books is one of the few places in the world where you can buy copies of (Mel's dad) Hutton Gibson's maniacal screeds against the Vatican, which he calls "the vacancy." Mel's dad, obviously, was the original "Mad Max." A Catholic traditionalist, Hutton Gibson's books scream for blood; he calls the burning of heretics "an act of charity." Hutton's books, Is the Pope Catholic? and The Enemy is Here! (Rome, that is) are only for the Bravehearts.
Both the new Flatland Magazine, as well as Len Bracken's new translation of the classic hoax, The Last Chance to Save Capitalism in Italy, by Gianfranco Sanguinetti (a member of the radical Situationist International) have gotten some positive early reviews. In the popular EYE Magazine ( 301 S. Elm St., Suite 405, Greensboro, NC, 27401), editor Sam Gaines embarrased me with an effusive review of Flatland #15, - calling Flatland "one of the few titans of conspiracy publications" and that "Editor/publisher Jim Martin is one of the most compelling conduits of hidden and suppressed information in the United States." Wow! "And in his newest issue," Sam wrote, "he underscores his stature with the expected eloquence." Fetch me down my ten gallon hat!
Michael Theroux, who took over Tom Brown's duties as editor of The Journal of Borderland Research, echoed my editorial comments about the raw deal many small press periodicals got after the Fine Print Distributors went bankrupt. The fiasco has had long-term repercussions in the scene, let me tell you.
It's good to see Anarchy Magazine back on the stands, as they, too, have had some financial difficulties lately. John Zerzan provided a review of The Last Chance to Save Capitalism in Italy in Anarchy #45, available from C.A.L. Press, POB 1446, Columbia, MO 65205. (Zerzan has had a bit of press recently, due to his advocacy of the Unabomber's theses against technology, and has called for the release of Ted Kaczinsky.) Anarchy editor Jason McQuinn is taking a lot of heat for publishing Bob Black's rants in book form, and the polemic tenor of the letters section makes for the most interesting reading, a lot of verbal swordplay.
This winter, while trying to keep dry, I've been working hard on my forthcoming book, called Wilhelm Reich and the Cold War. It's an investigation into the history of the late forties and fifties, tracing the travails of the late Dr. Wilhelm Reich through the treacherous by-ways of his exile to the USA, his highly placed antagonists on both sides of the Iron Curtain, his avant-guard discoveries into biophysics, weather, and UFOs, and ultimately his persecution, trial and death in prison. It's an incredible ride, and thanks to Kenn Thomas and all the others who helped me research for the book.
During the latter months of 1997, I was able to make a trip back East, to continue the research, and was delighted to meet so many helpful folks along the way: Len Bracken put me up in Washington, where I visited the FBI FOIA Reading Room, and he gave me the psychogeographical tour of the nation's capital; in Boston, I met Myron Sharaf's delightful widow, Giselle, who fixed me a delicious salmon dinner, and showed me Myron's office and papers, which have been left basically untouched since Myron, a student of Reich's, and the author of the standard biography, Fury on Earth, died in May 1997; in Maine I reconnoitered with my friend Eva Reich, M.D., who told me where to get a live lobster, and who ushered its soul out an open window as I dropped it into boiling water in her kitchen; In New York City, I met up with Peter Robbins, author of the fine UFO book, Left at East Gate, who brought me out to his home near Ithaca, where I studied the archived papers of Michael Straight at Cornell University. I am still basking in the warmth all these folks showed me, and many more that I haven't mentioned. It was a rare trip for me, and well worth it.
Readers of Caroll Quigley's Tragedy and Hope might recall the name Michael Straight. Quigley offered Michael Straight, then publisher of the New Republic, as Exhibit A for the argument that the Morgan Bank manipulated both left and right wing groups in order to keep tabs on, and control, national elections and legislation. The New Republic, in 1947, published an article about Wilhem Reich that led to his prosecution and imprisonment. Reich, much to the consternation of his young followers, insisted that he had been set up for a "show trial" by Communist conspirators. In my book, I intend to reveal a lot of background, for the first time, that lends credence to Reich's so-called "conspiracy theory." In the 1980s, Michael Straight went public with the information that he had been recuited into the "Cambridge Five" spy ring, which included infamous personalities sich as Guy Burgess, Anthony Blunt, Kim Philby, and Donald MacLean.
I've been interviewing Michael Straight - he's still alive - and he gave me permission to access his files at Cornell.
This angle is but one chapter of my book, Wilhelm Reich and the Cold War, which will also cover the background of Reich's last published work, Contact With Space, probably the most studiously ignored classic of all time.
Wilhelm Reich, a some of you are aware, invented a method of rainmaking. In this, he drew the attention of the government, which had already been funding people like Kurt Vonnegut's brother, Bernard, who invented silver-iodide cloudseeding. I leave you with an interesting address given to the graduating 1997 class at MIT by Kurt Vonnegut:
"Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you. Sing. Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good.
Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander.
You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
-Kurt Vonnegut, Boston, Ma. 1997"
Jim Martin
Flatland Books (http://www.flatlandbooks.com)
POB 2420
Fort Bragg, CA 95437
707-964-8326
Steamshovel receieved the following correspondence after posting the above.
Hi! I just thought I'd offer you (and via you, Jim Martin) a correction to part of the latest Latest Word.
The last bit, while attributed to Kurt Vonnegut, was not written by him. I've attached an article by Paul Krassner on this below.
Andrew
---------------------------------------------------
The Realist #137 (Autumn, 1997).
Case History of a Cyberhoax
Not by Kurt Vonnegut
I confess. Although I didn't handle the technological end of the Kurt Vonnegut hoax--I've never driven a car, I don't know how to program a VCR, and I use my computer only for word-processing--the idea was mine. A friend I'll call Hacker took care of the cyberspace aspects.
I've always loved pranks. In my high school yearbook, under Hobbies, I put "Eating new recipes and playing practical jokes"--not realizing that I had unintentionally described the best way for somebody to play a nasty trick on me.
When I started publishing The Realist in 1958, I printed a rumor that IBM, whose employees sometimes seemed as standardized as the machines they sold, required all personnel to have their teeth capped by a company dentist. IBM's Medical Director wrote in response: "We do not maintain dental services nor do we provide remedial dental care." Of all the hoaxes since then, my most infamous one was "The Parts Left Out of the Kennedy Book" in 1967.
Of course, I have had pranks pulled on me in return, from an announcement of my demise in the short-lived Cheetah magazine--they rationalized that I had published a fake obituary of Lenny Bruce two years before his death (in order to call attention to his plight while he was still alive)--to an interview that I had supposedly done with Bob Dylan, which was actually made up by Marvin Garson and published in the San Francisco Express-Times. It was circulated throughout the underground press and critiqued in Rolling Stone.
When I stopped publishing in 1974, many readers thought that was a hoax. Others didn't realize publication had been suspended until it was resumed in 1985. The Los Angeles Times published a series on plagiarism by their media critic, David Shaw, and I reprinted an excerpt from it, using Pete Hamill's byline. The Realist was back in business.
Then along came the World Wide Web. A prank could now be communicated with greater speed and reach more people than ever before. For example, the following "Virus Alert" has been spread with altruistic intent and Malthusian multiplicity:
"Warning--If anyone received mail entitled Pen Pal Greetings, please delete it without reading it. This is a warning for all Internet users. There is a dangerous virus propagating across the Internet through an e-mail message entitled Pen Pal Greetings. Do not download any message entitled Pen Pal Greetings.
"This message appears to be a friendly letter asking if you are interested in a pen pal, but by the time you read this letter, it is too late. The Trojan horse virus will have already infected the boot sector of your hard drive, destroying all of the data present. It is a self-replicating virus, and once the message is read, it will automatically forward itself to anyone whose e-mail address is present in your mailbox.
"This virus will destroy your hard drive, and holds the potential to destroy the hard drive of anyone whose mail is in your In box, and whose mail is in their In box and so on. If this virus keeps getting passed, it has the potential to do a great deal of damage to computer networks worldwide...."
However, the Virus Alert was itself a hoax. As Hacker explains, "E-mail can't contain a virus. E-mail is pure data. A virus has to be an executable code. No e-mail can contain a virus except for e-mail with executable attachments. This includes Microsoft Word, which has a macro language that can execute immediately when you open a document. So it's possible to do great harm by opening an attachment to your e-mail, but not by reading it."
* * *
In June, a subscriber sent me several clippings, including this column by Mary Schmich in the Chicago Tribune:
Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who'd rather be rollerblading. Most of us, alas, will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, but there's no reason we can't entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates. I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for indulging my attempt.
Ladies and gentlemen of the Class of '97:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You're not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in hte future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support ou. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
* * *
At a recent memorial for Allen Ginsberg in Los Angeles, Bob Weide read a statement from Kurt Vonnegut which began, "Please, stop dying." Somehow, "Wear sunscreen" reminded me of that. When I chatted with Vonnegut in New York a few years ago, I got the impression that he was saddened that young people might not be familiar with his work. The perverse motivation of my prank was to help remedy that situation.
Replacing Mary Schmich's byline and opening paragraph with "This speech was given by Kurt Vonnegut at MIT's commencement this year," Hacker proceeded to transmit the text of her column over the Internet in such a way that it could not be traced to him.
The non-commencement speech traveled fast and furiously. It was even posted to the Vonnegut Newsgroup. Many of his fans thought it was valid, including Vonnegut's wife, photographer Jill Krementz, who e-mailed it to several friends (her husband was out of town at the time). Mademoiselle magazine asked Vonnegut for permission to reprint his speech. Peter Lasally, who used to be a producer for Johnny Carson, tried to book Vonnegut on the Tom Snyder show.
Actually, the commencement speaker at MIT--five days after Mary Schmich's column had been published--was Kofi Annan, secretary general of the UN, who didn't mention sunscreen or flossing. Schmich, who had written the piece "while high on coffee and M&Ms," called Vonnegut to let him know that she wasn't behind the hoax. He said that it revealed the gullibility of people on the Internet.
Schmich traced one e-mail backward from its last recipient, a professor at Malcolm X College in Chicago. He had received it from a relative in New York, who received it from a film producer in New York, who received it from a TV producer in Denver, who received it from his sister, who received it from.... At this point, Schmich gave up her quest for the culprit.
I apologize to Vonnegut and Schmich, but I'm happy to say that the revelation that the commencement speech was a hoax reached more people than the hoax did, not only on the Internet, but also in print and electronic media. The truth had triumphed in a truly free marketplace of ideas.
****************
So who actually wrote it? Krassner, Samitch, or "Andrew"??? No wonder the internet is confused, people don't know how to use it. I still think it's a hilarious piece, who cares if Vonnegut wrote it? What difference does it make? I'm more interested in Bernard Vonnegut, anyway, which ties into the "wear Sunscreen" angle of weather modification. I just tagged it on, because I was too lame to write my own snaps, just like everybody else on the internet.
-- Jim Martin, Flatland Books (http://www.flatlandbooks.com)
*****************
Don't let anyone tell you that "Class of '97" is a hoax. It is, in fact, my finest work.
--Kurt Vonnegut (e-mail address witheld. It was not "vonnegut@aol.com")