Unexplainable

Dear Diary,

This evening I watched ‘the greatest movie ever made’, Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. It was certainly enjoyable. The film also prompted me to think about my recent metaphysical meditations, certainly in the first-half of the picture.

A good friend of mine (the very best, McCormick) once had a re-occurring dream. It was of a woman, whom he painted, and sketched, over and over again. A colleague artist and art historian saw the painting and did some research. The lady turned out to be a noblewoman from mediæval times. I will find out who, when next I see the wily Scot.

Another time, the philosopher friend of mine, the man interested in the line of philosophers, once told me that his father had given him some clothes to wear. They were his grand-fathers, who had inherited them from his father (the philosopher’s great-grandad). The garments - believe it or not - contained memories. My friend would sometimes see scenes from the first war whilst wearing those clothes, inherited memories from his ancestors. Much in the same way that when someone writes with someone else’s signature pen, the first line appears in the previous owners handwriting, only with family matters it is more acute.

Akin to the experiment conducted some years ago in France. Where scientists were able to measure vibrations in the rooms atmosphere, on an atomic level. If a space had been used for beheading, the blood sprayed and splattered over the walls and floors actually had a measurable negative effect on peoples moods, darkening them in the place. Contrastingly, chambers that had once been bawdy houses had the opposite effect, again measurable scientifically, only instead of casting a dark spectre over the place, joy would be felt. I am very open-minded, and do not discount the possibility of atmospheric differentiation.

Kate Aidie once interviewed some dictator, and as he entered the room she felt the temperature drop sharply. Later on it transpired that the tyrant had just been executing prisoners, immediately prior to the interview. Distubingly, the man was cool, charming, debonair.

Before I set off on my voyage of lonely homelessness, I believed only ‘living’ things could have a ‘spirit’ (plants, animals, and people). Although I stayed mainly in tents, I eventually took to squatting old derelict buildings. With no wind nor rodents about, I would hear things, feel things, odd disturbances. No-one can explain away this with atmospheric pressure or differences in temperature, these old buildings definitely have a spirit. In my thirteen years experience as a rover, to me at least, this is beyond all doubt. One hears things, sees things, that are not explained.

Pangloss says only amber has such qualities. That mundane rocks and even every other precious stones haven't any sort of measurable quality. He once had in his possession two ancient (and I mean millions of years old!) amber necklaces. These orangey greenish looking pieces of jewelery had an electromagnetic field about them. He placed one of them next to his cat and all her hair stood on end.

Once in a very old town in Wiltshire, I was sat in the room next to Conan’s kitchen. The philosopher friend of mine was there. Suddenly I felt very cold, half my body became paralyzed. My philosopher-friend said, “Did you see that?!” “See it?!”, I replied, “I felt it!”. As the spirit left, my body I caught a glimpse of what looked like a small piece of mist, flying about us.

This is only the tip of the ice-berg. I have many such tales of unexplained happenings.

That’s all for now,

Good-night dearest Diary,

Maxwell.