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The Last Statue

Chapter 2

Tina Delgado

Out along the coast, follow the directions to Cal Habrud’s place at Zuma…Drop by to see Carlo “Felonious” Felonas, former Learner driver of long standing, now residing in the guest house on Habrud’s property. Carlo’s pottery & sculpture have been enjoying a recent mega-surge in popularity & prestige. Felonas was part of the early Ferus gallery scene, and the seminal Semina art movement in Topanga with his former neighbors, George Herms and Wallace Berman. Now, down at the beach, he has a specially issued permit to mine clay at certain favored sights in the hills above Malibu, much like the Rindge family, who ran the historic Malibu Potteries back in the ’20s.

Using Keeler’s glazes, the Little Valley, and the Cuedra Seca dry-line techniques, to resolve pre-Columbian Meso-American themes into geometric labyrinths…religious icons…hieroglyphs…sigils…power animals & primary colors…all grist for the potter’s wheel (see seal #21).

“That, and I’m finally finishing this series of statues. I’m on the 29th now, got one more to go…”

“These are surrealist Tarot,” says Rosa, Felonas’ esposa,

“These were brought as gift by Remedio Varo, when she &

Peret come to visit in San Miguel. The first card ees the Lock; for knowledge, then the Wheel & Blood-for revolution, then the Flame is love, and the Dark Star for dream…” A brief survey of Rosa’s stunning oil & acrylic canvases, then: cervesa & mota on the ocean-facing deck…small to middle-sized talk, then a shift of topic to Tina Delgado…

“Oh yeah,” says Felonas, “I knew her mother Marjorie, back down in San Miguel Allende, when there was a little scene happening there. It was a full-on Bohemian art colony trip for awhile…It was intense, and having Marjorie on the scene made it even more so…taking peyote & staying up for three nights in a row, wandering the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Casa del Inquisidor…her paintings-so fiery & delirious, the canvas could barely contain the energy…”

“Then, she had that affair with this bullfighter…ah, Armando was his name… You’d figure that’s plenty of gothic-romance melodrama right there, but then he goes and dies suddenly, causing mucho innuendo to the effect that Marjorie had somehow jinxed him, which was heavily reinforced, given the fact that she obviously had more than a passing acquaintance with things Dark & Mysterious…If you were hunting for a witch to project some fear onto, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better candidate than Marjorie.”

“She left town, not too long after, and I sorta lost track…couple letters, each a bit more remote and rambling than the last-more like she was havin’ an internal discussion with herself, y’know?”

“So next I hear, is from a mutual friend who’d visited Marjorie out in Beaumont, California. According to this friend who’d visited her; Marjorie was in really bad shape. In fact, they claimed that she was now totally fucking bat-shit crazy, ranting about how she was pregnant with the “Wormwood Star” by immaculate conception, stuff like that…”

“Around then, I had some business out near Palm Springs, this was back in ‘53, right about the summer solstice…I hadn’t heard from Marjorie in a while, so I thought I’d stop off in Beaumont and look her up…She lived way the fuck out in this virtually inaccessible canyon-a real axle-buster of a dirt road full of big rocks & scorpions … finally…this tiny shack-no water, electricity, or phone…Just Marjorie, livin’ by herself…”

“She had lucid moments, but she was pretty much out to lunch at this point. She seemed very gaunt & emaciated, yet somehow exhibiting physical symptoms of advanced pregnancy-not a good combination…I tried to reason the possibilities: was this a “hysterical” pregnancy or something? Perhaps some not-well-understood anomaly that we could just deal with y’know?”

“I was running out of ideas, and I couldn’t get her to leave the shack, so finally I made it back to town and called a doctor. He had to come from Banning; the next town over. Must have taken him two hours to get from Banning to Beaumont, but finally we get back to the shack, whereupon the doc proclaims with all due authority: yes indeedy, she most certainly is pregnant-can’t be no doubt about it-just as Marjorie, right on cue, starts with some fairly pronounced labor contractions…”

“So, Tina was born right there…couldn’t possibly imagine a more un-hygienic environment. It was filthy, dusty, fly-ridden…every inch of wall space covered with her latest canvases which had now evolved or devolved to a frightening demonic intensity that even her previous works had only hinted at. A long painful labor…real touch & go for a while. Between the location, and Marjorie’s condition it struck me as highly unlikely that both mother & child would survive-possibly neither…”

“Marjorie was too weak and disoriented to object to hospitalization afterwards, but walked right out in the middle of the night, without seeing her daughter, or acknowledging any of what had happened. Eventually she made it back to her parent’s house in Pasadena. When I next saw her, years later, she was living in Santa Fe…still spaced out, but more or less functional I guess…She just went by the name “Cameron” then, she had her other daughter Krystal with her, but still no recollection of Tina at all.”

“Ma & Pa Ion had run a small gem & mineral shop in Beaumont for decades out there, and when “Pa” died, “Ma” eventually married Hector Delgado, and they would, after a lot of bureaucratic paper shuffling, wind up with custody of Tina.”

“It was obvious from an early age, that Tina possessed certain abilities…It’s difficult to talk about without using terms that carry a lot of disreputable baggage-categories that are inadequate or misleading at best, but something like remote viewing, healings, and various other inexplicable phenomenon…People would drive out to Beaumont from all over, especially LA…Poor people from East LA, Watts, Boyle Heights…also celebrities-movie people, sports figures, TV & radio personalities…

“In response to an insight acquired by her own remote viewing, Tina eventually went off to school in New York, studying art at Columbia on a scholarship, and attending these private classes by Norman Raeben. Somewhere along the line, she’d made a ripple out in California, and whoever it is that keeps track of such things, finally showed up to recruit her for participation in a series of projects: Stargate at Fort Meade…experiments at SRI…Lab Nine…certain star-crossed research at Lawrence Livermore labs, 1974-75…”

Camillo

Later that night, wrong turn in the quick-moving fog, down past the airport…we can barely see the Windsock Theater over at the corner of Heinz & Tower…impressive triple bill: ‘United 93′…’Lockerbie 103′…and ‘The Disappearance of Flight 322′…

Regain bearings…chart a course going north, up the coast between Santa Monica and Venice…cheesy little hole-in-the-wall bars, down past the diver’s places: The Leaky Pontoon, The Rusty Regulator, Walter’s Snorkel Hut…past The Fabius, The Thermal, The Two Worlds…looking for some random place of in-between…the name, at first, seems faint, and difficult to recall…

Ah yes, deep in the heart of mist-shrouded Venice, crossing the square…then squaring the circle (see seal #19), down at the corner of Pico & Ficino; it’s an old, soon-to-be-demolished movie palace-The Camillo, featuring a marquee that still reads: ‘DETECTING SCHENKEL’-the last show to be presented in this gilded temple of flickering light.

We pan through the interior of the old theater, every nook & cranny a repository rich with treasured memories…these same corridors…deserted rooms…colonnades… glass objects…chandeliers…pearls…mirrors…gold-leaf foliage…a stucco hand holding grapes…Slow zoom toward a modified stage beneath the screen, where Porter and his swinging avant-noise combo; String Therion, are weaving an intricate geometric sonic edifice, a crescendo, a pause…as quivering sub-sonic bass-notes hover in mid-air like shifting liquid drops, threatening to take on solid form…then dissolving into mist…Porter steps up to the mike to ponder the dualist dialectic of light & dark:

Shadow on the window
Shadow on the wall
I wake up screaming
The sun sets at dawn
Shadow of a woman
So dark the night
Specter of the rose
A tragedy at midnight

Footsteps in the night
Nowhere to go
Edge of the city
Man in the shadow
Woman on the run
I, Jane Doe
Make haste to live
Kill me tomorrow

Drive a crooked road
The devil thumbs a ride
Shortcut to hell
in the Night Tide
Odds against tomorrow
And then there were none
Criss-Cross…Detour
on Highway 301

While the city sleeps
They drive by night
Where the sidewalk ends
for The woman in white
In a lonely place
Where the damned don’t cry
Too late for tears
Kiss tomorrow goodbye

We’re just solid light
on our way back home
take the Angel’s Flight
between the break of dawn
and the Twilight Zone

The woman on the beach
Out of the Fog
The company she keeps
Outside the law
The man with my face
Out of the past
Talk about a stranger
No questions asked

Cry of the hunted
No way out
To the ends of the earth
Shadow of a doubt
Two of a kind
Under the gun
Walk a crooked mile
to The shack out on 101

We’re just solid light
on our way back home
take the Angel’s Flight
between the break of dawn
and the Twilight Zone…
(20008

Exponential spiraling fractals emanate from Porter’s guitar, shifting the song into a long shimmering modal coda…spinning a sonic web over textured layers of keyboards, just bristling with Zoroastrian subtext…

Medium zoom toward the projection-booth where we can see Bill “Fire in the Hole” Habrud busy mixing the sound, while running footage from early Porter westerns, abstract, hallucinogenic Johnny Piato excerpts, and an old Curtis Harrington flick from 1963, called Night Tide…

We notice Tina Delgado next to the curtain, looking outward from the rear of the stage. From her vantage-point, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to see the films being projected behind the band. If she could see the film-noir being projected through the slow-motion underwater ambiance, she might recognize a face from the unthinkable past…

Mysterious hooded female figure…oblivious to boardwalk & merry-go-round…past the ferris-wheel pier where mermaids & sailors dream of True Love and Tomorrow, she scans the skies above the arching foam of the luminescent night tide, searching among unnamed celestial bodies for the expected Wormwood Star, unaware of the reversal of those expectations already incarnate, a goddess she’ll never know, forever occluded from the vessel Marjorie, like a black hole in her field of memory…

As the music twinkles to a conclusion, the reels shift to an excerpt from ‘The Kenoma Kid’, an early BBS (Bert, Bob, and Steve) epic, with Harry Dean Stanton in the eponymous starring role, with Ben Johnson and Burgess Shale, as B.J. & Drayton…also featuring Millie Perkins, Janet Margolin, Dean Stockwell, and Russ Tamblyn…based (sort of) on an Adrian Lynne screenplay…

EXT. DESERT NEAR DURANGO (SUNSET)

Patented Vilmos Zsigmond oil-paint textured pan across jagged landscape, under impossibly blue, wide-angle Mexican sky, filled with lush, fast-moving cloud formations, distorting, and breaking massive shafts of raw sunlight into color-swirled prismatic spectra.

Kid Kenoma peers into the distance, while discoursing with two trail-weary riders who’ve come a long way to seek directions…

The two riders are seasoned & tempered by many miles of road-grit and the hard-knocks of life, but next to Kid Kenoma, they might as well be Tom Thumb & The Boy with Green Hair…

Kenoma (addressing riders)

So BJ & Drayton are heading this way…sure, why not?
Might as well be here, as Stratford, Deptford or 81 Powis
Square…I hear they turned Greene with pickled herring
and Rhenish wine…Now, BJ killed two men before he
wrote his first word…Shit, when he was 33 years old, his
own mother was arrested for trying to poison him…Trust BJ?
Nah, let that be the first of a thousand lines blotted…
And we all know about Drayton…so, if they want to come
& share their poison wine, they can try some of mine…got
some Ben Zoma soma, got some of that Ripley’s Ruddy
Toad wine, fit for a feast, or a sharp reckoning in a small
room….

The flat dry voice echoes out across the parched loam and sun-blasted chaparral, tapering off in the distance, to sharp, jutting, quartz-veined mountains…

From deep-focus landscape…cut to: slow pan across ancient cobble-stoned village…the crumbling town square…the dilapidated church…ruined adobe arches bearing more than a passing resemblance to the fabled Paramount Gates…

Kenoma

…Coming out of the south end of Blackstone, take the
forking path toward Sulpher Springs…follow Quicksilver
Ridge Creek on out to the salt flats, way down in Furnace
Canyon…take the peacock trail out past the Cinnabar Ranch
up on Red Crown Hill…should bring you right into White
Rock, where you need to look up Leo Greene at the Red Lion-
he’ll take you to Ruth the Gleaner & Sally Manders, who in turn will introduce you to Joachim & Boaz-pillars of the community

…Might be of some help to fellers like yourselves…

“That was my first tour of duty with Rex,” explains line-producer Cal Habrud, “He thought Bert Schneider was playing dirty by being charming & agreeable to whatever Rex needed, on the one hand, then sending his brother Harold, “the attack dog” to hassle him on the other…Rex’s strategy, now that I think about it, in retrospect, had to be equally devious, knowing that Bert was, what would be to some people, the epitome of a Bel-Air revolutionary, making a very visible, some would say, flamboyant point of supporting what were considered to be “radical” causes, most specifically: bro-ing it up with Huey Newton in high-profile, radical-chic, photo-op, celebrity soirŽes…So, the Rex Learner response to all that, is to promote me to line-producer, to run interference with Bert & Harold, which is a pretty big step up from book-keeper in anybody’s economy, the subtext being, that as an American of African heritage, I was symbolically immune to Harold’s wrath, because Harold, ultimately answered to Bert…and after all, what would Huey think?”

“On ‘The Kenoma Kid’, the final hassle with Bert, Bob, and Steve, was the editing-they didn’t want to release it unless it was re-cut, which didn’t sit well with Rex, ’cause he’d cut a lot of it himself, in collaboration with some doping buddies, there being, let’s say, a notable lapse in continuity, among other things, so…they come up with Lou Lombardo, and this guy can really cut film. In a couple of days, Lombardo has this thing sliced up and ready to go, except for a couple of scenes that had looked pretty weak in the dailies-big battle scenes with lots of extras…seemed like a good idea on storyboard, but looking kind of underwhelming on the screen.”

“Learner, at this point, has moved on, in a coke-fueled huff to boot, and was holed-up at the Castle; not taking calls, writing a new screenplay, based on the idea of Arthur Lee from the band ‘Love’, as a singing cowboy-gunslinger-sheriff, the only hitch in any of this, being the total non-communication from Arthur. I remember one of the meetings that Rex set up with him at Ben Frank’s. Obviously, we would have liked to have done business with just Arthur present, but he wanted to lord this in front of the whole band apparently, right after a gig at Bido Lito…the air thick with tension & frosty hostility, sullen bad-vibe saturation…Arthur to Bryan Mclean: ‘You’re boring man, I knew we should have gone with Beausoleil…’ Mclean, as I recall, wrote the big hit-single for their third and last album as the original group.”

“Lombardo & I go up to the Castle, fuck this incommunicado bullshit, we need some answers. After a lot of knocking, and bad static at the door, we bully our way in, and yeah…it’s quite a party alright; Bobby Neuwirth, Mason Hoffenburg, Janet Margolin, Terry Southern, Tom Baker, Monte Hellman, Henry Jaglom, Karen Black, Howard Alk, Helena Kallioniotes, Dean Stockwell, Victor Maymudes, and a cast of dozens…Trying to flag down Learner’s attention was definitely a lost cause, with all the chatter, fueled by a large dune of white powder on display atop the main dining-room table, with subsidiary mounds distributed in various locations, discreet & otherwise…”

“We kept getting the old ‘Yeah, yeah…I’ll be with you in a minute’ jazz. We were determined to get some answers, so we dug in for the siege…We waited in a little side-room/den kind of thing. Not bad, pretty comfortable actually, got the game on the tube, there’s a plate of cookies and a punch-bowl, so we’re hanging out for a while-still no answers-when we start to notice that this isn’t the kind of punch ‘n cookies we had at church-camp as a kid…Things are getting a little swirly, like we’re moving in slow-motion, deep underwater…Somehow, we made it down the hill, and back across town to Culvert City, where we were supposed to be cutting this thing. It wasn’t trippy to the point where everything turns into kaleidoscopes, but a real heightened sense of form & color…I remember listening to some Dolphy, Bobby Hutcherson, Monk, and then Lombardo calls me in; rolls a reel with what had looked like a real bland shootout in the dailies, now looks like a high-budget apocalypse, an overwhelming whirlpool of carnage, featuring, regular-speed action, inter-cut with two variations of slo-mo, with hypnotic, rhythmic effect, detailing a ballet of slow-motion squib explosions. Pretty shocking stuff. Rex immediately realized, when he saw it, that the effect of rhythmic multi-speed montage, gave all of this a depth & almost Biblical sense of finality, reinforcing the other elements of the production…”

“The deal-breaker with Bludhorn”, continues Habrud, “was this dog of a screenplay called ‘Havana Divorce’, which, as written, was a throwback screwball comedy, just the kind of fluff that Charlie loved. Coppola, Bogdonovich, and especially Freidkin, had all told him to fuck-off in no uncertain terms with this crap, so Bludhorn starts working on Rex, and probably would have gotten the same reaction, only more so, except Charlie, in pre-emptive desperation, throws in this extra: the possibility of actually shooting on location in Havana, which Bludhorn thought he had cause to be optimistic about, suffering from the delusion, as he did in those years, that he could cut a deal with Castro to set up a massive Gulf-Western managed sugar cartel. He even kept a yacht customized & maintained, on call 24-7, just in case the call from Fidel comes, christened ‘The Caribbean Hannibal’ (which should be a tip-off to The Beard, right there,) known exclusively outside of Bludhorn’s presence as ‘The Caribbean Cannibal’, which was stocked with a projector, a screen, and copies of two movies that Castro actually appeared as an actor in; ‘Bathing Beauty’ (1944), and ‘Holiday in Mexico’ (1946). All, I presume, so Charlie & Fidel could have an Ernest Hemingway, male-bonding fishing adventure…”

“Never happened, of course. As Bludhorn made overtures to Fidel, Learner was surreptitiously mangling the script, twisting it into something darker, faster, disturbing, in other words-into a Rex Learner story. As the slow realization of failure dawns on Charlie Bludhorn, here’s Learner ready with a re-vamped screenplay, with a budget, in pre-production. Charlie, who really seemed to be strangely sentimental about this script, finally lowers the boom: Sorry, Havana’s out, how about…the Dominican Republic? Gulf Western, for all practical purposes, virtually owned the country right about then. Bludhorn had set Freidkin up to shoot his re-make of ‘Sorcerer’ there, which was a disaster by just about any criteria you can measure such a thing; which should have been an indication to Charlie, right there, as to what kind of results to expect.”

“Learner, needless to say, was far from amused, access to Cuba, being the only reason to sign on for such a deal in the first place. Learner’s revenge, was a scheme to cross into Haiti, and shoot his, by now, very sordid little tale of Bill & Barbara Kleen, now replete with Voodoo shadings, and evil corporate intrigue, largely financed by some irresponsibly creative book-keeping, involving cooked double-books, and puffed-up expenses from a lot of financial shell-gaming.”

“So, within hours of landing in Santo Domingo, we’ve got an organized caravan on the way to Oveido, out near the Haitian border, where we meet up with Bizango reps; heavily armed, focused, right out to the cusp of fanatic, evidently some sort of cult, or lodge, that even the Ton-Tons Macoutes weren’t about to fuck with. Negotiating with the Bizango involved making pay-offs right out of an attachŽ case stuffed with bills of various denominations. It occurred to me at more than a couple of points along the way, that out in the forested area, not much was stopping these characters from helping themselves to the cash-drawer, and eliminating the middleman…We were prepared, at the very least, for the old sliding-scale price escalation, a standard practice in many parts of the world, especially, not too-surprisingly, in very dangerous, impoverished parts of the world, but they accepted their pay-offs at the agreed upon price, just going about their business, which was to scare the shit out of anybody in a radius of miles, just by their presence, including border guards on either side, who would much rather step out for a coffee break, than deal with Bizango in any way.”

“Naturally, Learner had diverted, subverted, derailed, and neutralized all of Budhorn’s little helpers, creating the required amount of confusion about the where-abouts of Learner & crew…lost in the swirl of chaos we call Port au Prince, shooting exteriors & local detail, still advancing the story of the disintegrating marriage of Babs and Willie, some pretty intense performances…we managed to put a few reels in the can before Bludhorn pulls the plug…The shit hit the inevitable fan, somehow, in the confusion of logistics out of Port au Prince. Budhorn’s minions got hold of the footage we’d shot…Needless to say, plenty of ill-will to go around; injunctions, torts, restraining orders, lawsuits & counter-suits. Last I heard, Kent Schlockman has possession of the footage, which is too bad, because there really is some good stuff in there, sort of an Eisenstein in Mexico sort of deal…lotta local atmosphere, but blending it in with the narrative, just a few more interior set-ups, which we could have done anywhere, very inexpensively…and we could have wrapped the whole thing. But no, Bludhorn wouldn’t go for it-just sat on the footage till he gave it to Schlockman to cut & paste as he sees fit…Schlockman’s only claim to fame, as far as I can tell, is the ‘lost’ Elvis movie-”

“There’s a lost Elvis movie?” we gasp incredulous.

“Movie, would be wildly overstating it; these things do take on a life of their own, but what’s there, is about two and a half reels of actual footage, puffed up with screen tests, songs, and out-takes, and whatever else they had in the can before the whole thing collapsed…

“Now, this was maybe very late ‘67-early ‘68. The big E was very disgruntled about the state of his career, particularly the quality of the movies the Colonel was schlepping him into. Depressed, and bored stupid, making embarrassing cheesy flicks, starting to bloat up, got to slim down in order to keep making more tacky, lame movies, only one way to do that: MORE PILLS!! Mucho uppers por favor, in addition to his already massive intake…a vicious cycle…even Parker could see the Big Guy needed perking up. I think it’s pretty well established by now, that the Big E was totally obsessed with James Dean; perhaps the ultimate fan, possible undertones of guilt and unworthiness at falling short of Dean’s acting legacy, yet getting fat paychecks for grinding out what was with very few exceptions, pure drivel, beneath Elvis’ dignity, or for that matter, beneath anybody’s dignity…”

“This was all before my tenure, so I’m not quite sure where or when exactly, that Schlockman hooked up with Colonel Parker, but there he was, with a scam to dangle Nicholas Ray in front of Elvis, who was desperate for credibility; and no better way to achieve that, than working with the director of ‘Rebel Without a Cause’. Dreams of getting the old gang together: Nick Adams, Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo, Russ Tamblyn; the only problem being that Nicholas Ray was absolutely persona non grata at this point; drug & booze issues, a collapse on the set a few years back, uninsurable, unbankable, most likely to not succeed, all calls left unreturned, but Schlockman, somehow…thought he could start with private financing, then…hopefully gathering Elvis momentum, hook a big studio on the line without their being aware of Ray’s involvement in this thing. The impossible dream to be sure.”

“Schlockman had somehow latched onto a screenplay by this quasi-existentialist German playwright, Kolon KlaŸgher, called ‘Mine Shaft’, really heavy-weight stuff that had been optioned by James Dean before his last crash, supposedly going to give the big E his best role at least since ‘Kid Creole’. The cast wound up with Presley as Zeke Blammer, Nick Adams, whose options were otherwise quite limited at this point, as Soapy Barnes, a very tentative Natalie Wood, as Melissa Raines, Tuesday Weld, who was ah…available, as April March, Bob Conrad, whose schedule was pretty tight with ‘The Wild Wild West’, but real close on the Universal lot, therefore feasibly available, as Mr. ‘B’, Mineo & Tamblyn had major schedule conflicts, and so Scholckman tries to fob Bob Denver off as Hanson; the wacky beatnik desert-rat. Ray was pissed when he saw Denver on the set; “This is NOT a goddam Elvis movie!” sounded paradoxical, but everybody knew what he meant: no Maynard G. Krebs beatniks. As a screen-test stand-in, Conrad found this guy Chuck Summers wandering around the lot, who, after the ejection of Bob Denver, was final choice for the wacky beatnik role. Conrad also found roles for Red West, Michael Spilotro, and Johnny Fresno, the latter two having something to do with the financing of this production, which was starting to take on an Ed Woods-vibe in terms of the slapdash, desperately improvised approach to cast & set, and unpredictable budget fluctuations, culminating in the collapse and/or fall from the wagon, of Nicholas Ray, second day of February, and the unlikely death of Nick Adams 4 or 5 days later.”

So, the dream was over for the rebel without a clause. Elvis would grind out a couple more fluff movies, then stage a comeback T.V. special, and eventually hit the road, hurtling down the fast-track to extinction. The alleged “Rebel Curse” would proceed onward, collecting more victims, sparing Conrad and Red West. Last laughs, if any, to be had by the relatively long-lived Bob Denver…

“Where, if you don’t mind my asking, did Major Arcana first link into all of this?” I wonder, still stoned on the “lost” Elvis movie.

“Back in ‘98, we were shooting some outdoor establishing shots on location in Box Canyon, when this guy just comes stumbling out of the brush along the San Narciso dry-wash, tattered, dusted, scratched & scraped. At first I thought it was a joke; like he was doing a bit-the Kevin McCarthy scene at the end of ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’, but no, this dude was real disoriented, obviously on the run from someone or something, didn’t want any cops, or any medical attention beyond the production nurse, but he had us contact this Major Arcana, from the Udjet Foundation, who seemed to be in the loop with this dude, name of Luther Blisset, which resulted in this report:”

9/12/98

Professor Blisset was originally commissioned to penetrate the latent structural edifice that represents the actual chain of command at the Supervacuo facility in Box Canyon, at the behest of The Board; a shadowy anti-totalitarian society, in existence since the 1930s, founding members said to include Richard Rollins & Sam Untermeyer.

Supervacuo, which is owned by aerospace giant Microcynicon, was set up to specialize in deconstructing, reconstructing, and improving (with the jolly assistance of imported Third Reich experts) experimental Nazi war technologies, with particular attention to V-2 & post V-2 design.

Numerous sightings of unidentified flying phenomena have been seen in the area, commencing on 11/11/57, followed within a year, by a series of “reactor meltdowns”, which on close inspection, were deemed inadequate to the production of radiation leaks comparable in magnitude to those measured in the area.

The Yesod Foundation, located in Box Canyon, at the eastern edge of the facility,
is a front for

Professor Blisset had been employed at Supervacuo aerospace facility in Box Canyon