by Corey Taylor
So my idea is this: what if all the energy in the known universe and beyond, way beyond and even further, was connected? If we can write information on energy, it stands to reason that there may be a way for energy to commingle and cross itself without dissecting itself. We know we can store energy and we know we can harness energy. We are on the verge of using pure energy as a communication tool. So what if all that energy is not different—it is just parts of the same “being”? Moreover, if that incredibly humongous amount of energy is the same . . . what if that being were “God”? Yeah, I told you it was going to get weird—I even surprised myself on that one. I am not proving the existence of Old Man White Beard or rewriting the modern Bible; I am just making a suggestion. What if all that energy was not bits of different energy but instead a singular intergalactic supreme energy that runs not only this world but also all the other worlds and beyond? Would that energy not trigger the semiprimitive intuitions in the Neanderthal compartments of our brains that cause us to want to pray and believe in “a higher power”? It may be this unconscious perception that fuels our belief systems when it comes to religious fervor and the like. We have always been surrounded by fields of energy—we have been since we monkeys started talking, even before we “discovered” electricity and all that jazz. Our genes are enriched with diabolical wonder for answers and hyperinstinct, whether it is a preternatural sense of danger from predators or a curiosity about the invisible connections that draw us in, leave us baffled, and ultimately promote us to explain it all or see it all for what it truly is. Maybe since before the age of reason we have known that there is one immense power in the universe, and our limited understanding translated that into a God variable. It begs the quandary: if we can literally control and program energy, what if someone else already has? What if we are receiving subliminal ideas from the energy around us that originated somewhere else entirely, and we are only now starting to comprehend the capacities? What if our discoveries are not our own? What if our knowledge came to us on preprogrammed light?
This is usually the time in the TV show when the voiceover would announce dramatically that “ancient astronaut theorists believe” blah fucking blah and all that. I know—I just stepped deep into the realms of fringe science and “holy hell, what the pure fuck is he babbling about?” I embrace the fact that many of you might not follow these strings of patchwork postulation. I might just be typing fancy-looking words onto paper in an attempt to look a little less stupid than I did when I broke my toe running up a flight of concrete stairs. I am not saying it all makes sense, and I am not saying I have any answers past what I just put together here for you. What I am saying is, “I do not know, but it could be this . . .” Maybe that is the sign of terrific intellectual hunger. Maybe it is the sign of a lazy sod who does not bother reading what has already been established in academics. But you do not find unknown locations by taking the same bus with the same passengers to the same old stops. You grab a big stick, whack at the tall grass, and make your way in the direction of the place you believe is out there. It might not make sense to everyone around you, but at least when you get there you can describe it to the people you left behind.
I have been fairly obsessed with trying to understand ghosts and haunts from a very different point of view since I could string sentences together. It is the same reason I dismissed religion when I was younger: I was not satisfied with the answers that the status quo had to offer. That applies here because I am not completely sated by what the various ghost-hunting outfits could provide. Most of them I really just dismiss out of hand anyway. They are one weird decision away from being at a Renaissance Fair, and that to me is not what this is supposed to be about. This is not about Live Action Role Playing, and I am not saying there is anything wrong with that at all. But when you are truly looking for answers, you are not going to find any within a group who may or may not believe in what they are doing and most are secretly only doing so in order to belong to a group. There is a time to play and a time to work (man, I wish more people honestly understood that). Subsequently, there is a time to guess and there is indeed a time to ask. Those two concepts are not the same. You have a better chance of reaching your destination by seeking directions than you do by bullshitting yourself into knowing where the fuck you are on the map.
In summation, class (sorry, I could not resist), this is a dissertation on knowing, believing, theory, hypothesis, and examination. I may not have changed any of your minds in doing so. I may have made some enemies in the long run (I knew I should have left out the L.A.R.P. comment . . .), but this to me has been so therapeutic for my hungry mind that I feel I have really figured some things out and put some things in their respective place. Trust me—I am not an idiot, but I am not an asshole either. These are not sweeping statements meant to allege that I may know more than I am letting on about. I am just like you, but with worse hair. I want to know certain answers if only to be able to figure out the right questions in the process. If I knew where to start, I would not be writing this book. Sometimes I feel like a guy who runs into a theater in the middle of the movie and, while the rest of the film is playing, starts screaming loudly about what he thought the first half was about. But unlike most dismissive blokes I have had the displeasure of chatting with, I have embraced the idea that I may have no fucking idea what I am going on about in the first place. That to me is the healthiest place to start, because at least then you know you are going to accept correction with a smile and not balk at being wrong with an unhealthy grimace. We cannot all be right; somebody has to be a stupid fucker sometimes. The great thing about the democracy of the human race is that everyone eventually gets to take his or her turn at being wrong.
I had an interesting conversation with a good friend of mine I will refer to as Grover. I was explaining to him the concept of this book and trying to relay what I wanted to accomplish with it. Grover listened intently, throwing in quips here and there on how he had spent some time in places that were purportedly haunted as well. But his ideas about it were even more interesting. He wondered if it had to do with time. What if time somehow was able to fold back on itself, and the spirits we ran into were flashes from lives already led in time, like a loop from a film or a tape recorder? It was an inspiring idea—I mean, space is curved and light can curve, why not time? I wanted to include it here because I would be disingenuous if I said it did not intrigue me. I love hearing other people’s concepts because it spurs me on toward real insight. Whether Grover or I are actually right is neither here nor there. What is relevant is that people are thinking about it outside the norm, and that is what this book is inevitably meant to be: a conduit that prods the reader into thinking for him or herself. I dislike references that lay down the law and render the person a slave to what is being posited. I think the best tools are the ones that leave you wondering when you are finished. The best art has always been the art that is left open to interpretation. That is what I hope you have in your hands right now.
As the light wanes and the pictures are taken from the walls, as the evidence and composites are boxed up for posterity, the rooms go gray and gold again while the dust settles all around. There is silence now where there was loud contemplation and gestures of feigning madness. The coals from burning determination go cold and lose their glow. This is the aftermath of a campaign; this is where aspiration finds time to sleep off the dregs of the party. As I look over this work in progress, I understand a few things a little more clearly, but mostly I have more questions than I started with prior to the typing of the first sentence. I guess that was the point—after all, I am not so much trying to change the world as much as a few minds, including my own. It is a startling thing, change. It shoots through your arms and into your mind like a rocket of pure adrenaline. It is a jarring, violent sequence of conclusions and acceptance, hardwired understanding, lightning in a throttle. The problem with our species is that we all do not take kindly to strangers like change. It usually takes a few bouts with
a shotgun and a lot of shouting “GET OFF OF MY LAWN!” before we stop to even consider the idea of taking it seriously. It takes conversations and compromises all over the known world before it eventually becomes a video on the Internet that is passed from e-mail to e-mail like a group of survivors splitting a Hershey Bar—a joyless sparring of self-preservation and self-sacrifice.
Hey, it could be worse. We could be talking about using flamethrowers to clean up our lawns or, worse yet, a set of nail clippers to cut down Sequoia trees in Northern California. These are not so much impossible as they are improbable. Maybe the idea that the paranormal has more of a basis in science than in superstition is indeed improbable. But I refuse to think that it is impossible. I think I did a pretty decent job at establishing reasonable doubt, your honor. Now let my people go. Ideas are so simply intricate that they can never be destroyed. They can be ridiculed and disassembled. They can be disrespected and reduced to trash sometimes. But they cannot be destroyed as long as the person who tosses it on the wind understands the obstacles and derision that may lie ahead. Thoughts like these have kept humanity driving forward for thousands of years, even if the road around us is lined with fingernail scratches because we went there unwillingly. Still, I am not an innovator, just a facilitator. In my hands are the spores and seeds of a foreign organism. All it will take to unleash it into your minds is one strong exhale. So I will fill my lungs with air and smoke, and I will blow your minds, whether you like it or not.
I hope you enjoyed my tales of wonder. I promise I did not make these up. It has been a dark privilege to carry these over the years, collecting more as life has flown by, and I provided them here with relish for your entertainment. I also hope you appreciate the crazy attempts at conjecture; it is not every day a kid from the south side of Des Moines, Iowa, gets to emulate a theorist of sorts. It was hard and ate up a lot of time, but it was also fun and fascinating and I shall definitely do it again. In addition, I pray (no pun intended) I did not offend you with my rather withered and bitter sentiments about organized religion. I have no qualms about faith, just the people who try to control it. They have no right to control things like that because it is every person’s right to believe what they want. Too many cooks spoil the soup, and too many kooks spoil the soul. Faith, when all is said and done, should be an independent journey for the person with the questions. It should not be a racetrack where the guy who owns it gets to tell you where you are going to go. No one should control the way of faith except the one who is doing the praying. Everyone outside that particular circle should disavow themselves, and the pun is definitely intended there.
I have my answers. I have my questions. I have a bit of borrowed time on my hands. I have my lucky corduroys on as well as my Doctor Who jacket and a fresh charge in my Ion eCigarette (yeah, I quit smoking while I was writing this book). I guess it is time to put the hood down on the supercharged cruiser and head back onto the highway for now. I promise it will not be for long—I know I will come up with another insane concept for another book soon enough. It might be a bit, but I know me—I have an infuriating lack of control over how my brain works, and when a tirade or rant comes on, there is no fucking stopping it. Half the time I am left hoping it can restrain itself long enough to let me get a little sleep. But the fucker is consumed with Mötley Crüe’s Too Fast for Love right now. Every night I am just on the verge of nodding off, and all of a sudden it is the opening riff to “Live Wire” raging in my subconscious. Hey, I do not blame it—that is a great fucking song. But at 3 a.m. it can be a little annoying.
As I move on out of sight, let me remind you: believe what you want, but try not to forget what you know in the process. Belief is a gift you should cherish; knowledge is a gift you should never squander. I see it all the time: the glazed eyes of the believer blatantly casting undue doubt on something as wonderful and freeing as a fact. This simply cannot stand. This is not the way to the future. This is how you end up broke, fucked, and crazy. If there is a God, there will be time enough to meet him. If there is no God, shit happens and get on with your life. The world is full of things to believe in and embrace, like charity for others and justice for the afflicted, food for the hungry and love for the hated. If you need to incorporate these into your religious programming, then do it. But do not render these beneath you because of “God’s Plan.” We as humans can actually do something about it. Religion should never be a crutch; it should be an operation that lets you walk on your own again.
I believe in the paranormal. I also know from past experience that these things exist. I believe these things are a part of something I call “intelligent energy,” which combines the powers of the soul and mind and encodes the energy of that soul with information, and thereby the longevity of that energy is made remarkable with personality and action. I have a pretty good idea that this is true because of the stories I have provided in this book. Take them or leave them; challenge them or accept them. Just do not dismiss them because of their context. Do not sneer at these ideas and stories just because they do not fit into your established take on what this world has to offer. Some people think very little of the world and most of the animals and plants that call it home. I am defiantly not one of those people.
I look forward to the debates. I look forward to the dismay. Shit, I even look forward to the out and out anger this book of mine might provoke. But in my opinion if you are not contributing to the conversation, you do not automatically reserve the right to speak. I want minds ready for fire and flame. There is no shame in ignorance as long as you do not try to hide behind it. For me the conversation begins now. It begins with this book. It will continue long after I have finished writing it. It will go on hopefully after I am gone. Maybe I will come back. I know some of my friends and family have. But I do not run. I do not scream. I just wonder.
I JUST WONDER.
Acknowledgments
As always, I could not have made this book a reality without the following list of enabling miscreants: Ben Schafer and all the wonderful people at Da Capo Press as well as Perseus Books for their continued belief in me and my shoddy abilities—and also for the leeway I received on the deadline; my agent, Marc Gerald, for being my spiritual cheerleader and getting me where I am in the book world; Paul Brown, Matt Kenny, and Stubs & Kirby for taking the time, making the effort, and going above and beyond for the artwork and the photos (still can’t believe you got that outfit, Paul!); Cory Brennan and everyone at 5B Management—Bob, Kim, Diony, and Harold—you guys have no idea what kind of monster you’re creating in me; Rob Shore, the keeper of the gates (“I’m Rob . . .”) and all my friends at RSA; again, my ever-growing family: the Taylors, Bonnicis, Mays, and Bennetts, whose never-wavering trust is something that makes my foundations unbreakable; and finally, my wife, Stephanie—The Boss—who I will never be able to thank enough or truly convey to her just how special and invaluable she is to me.
Copyright
Copyright © 2013 by Corey Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address Da Capo Press, 44 Farnsworth St., 3rd fl., Boston, MA 02210.
Editorial production by Marrathon Production Services. http://www.marrathon.net
Book design by Jane Raese
Set in 12.5-point Minion Pro
Cataloging-in-Publication Data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
isbn 978-0-306-82165-3 (e-book)
Published by Da Capo Press
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Table of Contents
Contents
Cold House
But First Let’s Meet Our Contestants
The Mansion
One Night in Farrar
Paranormal Paralysis and Paranoid Parameters
