Lessons learned from my journey with Dennis

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

That summer of 1986 was the best hiking summer of my life, while I was in professional limbo and starving financially. When the loyalists began to break up, I had less than $1,000 left of my yuppie nest egg that I arrived with in Seattle from my LA days. I offered what was left of my nearly depleted nest egg to some other loyalists who wanted to drop out, Mr. Installer in particular. When I think that he pretty much did not miss a paycheck the whole time, I smile at my naïveté, and to his credit, he did not take my money. About a month after Dennis left the state, he sent back about $1,000 that he essentially begged from a business associate in Chicago (on his way to Boston), and we gave it to Mr. Engineer, as he made it very clear that he needed the money. When I raised the money to become Dennis’s partner, Mr. Installer and Mr. Engineer were the first two people that we hired, and Mr. Engineer lived with us in Boston for several months.

I was friendly with all of the loyalists, became friends with some of them, but they dropped out, one-by-one, until I was the only one left. Mr. Inventor in particular befriended me (with my inventor-mentor past), and when Dick Southwick and friends had raped the carcass of Dennis’s company for all that they could and then disappeared, Mr. Inventor asked me to accompany him with the police when they finally got access back into the company’s building. We could not fit all of Mr. Inventor’s equipment onto that truck, to put into Mr. Engineer’s barn. When we accessed the part of the facility where Mr. Inventor’s remaining equipment and office were, it had all predictably been ransacked, with the looted office and equipment strewn across the floor. Mr. Inventor had that stricken look that morning, and he developed a deep hatred for Southwick, Mr. Controller, and friends. He said that he would sue the hell out of them, but I doubt that he did.

I wrote a vignette on Mr. Inventor, so don’t need to belabor it, but when I interviewed with Dennis’s company, I thought that inventors were heroes, and bowled Mr. Controller over with my enthusiasm. But that summer of 1986 is when I began to realize that maybe inventors weren’t so heroic after all, and Mr. Inventor told me that inventors’ organizations were never successful, primarily because every inventor tried to commandeer the organization into supporting his invention. Inventors’ groups were little more than forms of “display” as every inventor tried to become the Alpha Inventor.

But their lack of personal integrity was something that I had to learn the hard way, and Mr. Inventor was ironically the person who began to demonstrate it to me. After I arrived in Boston, Dennis asked me to contact Mr. Inventor, to get him involved with us again, and it was painful phone call, with Mr. Inventor almost yelling, “Show me the money!” Frankly, the heat storage technology that Mr. Inventor developed was pretty useless for a free energy attempt, and Dennis was trying to get Mr. Inventor involved again largely as a favor and to make up for what happened in Seattle. It was shocking and sad to witness Mr. Inventor’s reaction to Dennis’s offer, and that was when I began to wise up to inventors.

Not only was I friendly with the loyalists, I was even still friendly with Mr. Controller. As I was owed months of wages and was a creditor to the stolen company, I attended a meeting at our offices for the company’s creditors, sitting near where my desk was, listening to Southwick and Mr. Controller tell their tales of the company’s finances. Mr. Controller invited me to come to the office some days later, when he offered to hire me. I was such a lamb in those days. I declined his offer to hire me, but he asked me if I was willing to sign an affidavit to the books I had reconstructed, which showed that Dennis’s company had still made $1 million in profits (if the customers paid their Systems for Savings receivables). And I met him at their attorney’s offices to sign that affidavit. He actually tried to dish dirt on Dennis and Alison as I signed the affidavit, and I replied that I did not need to hear that, but I was there to testify to the truth. Would I do that today, sign an affidavit on behalf of criminals? Heck no, but I was a babe in the woods with a lot to learn. Class had really not begun for me yet.

As I look back, so much of it seemed surreal. At that attorney’s office (a plush, high-rise office in Seattle, not a Tara Brokers situation), Mr. Controller showed me a glossy brochure that they made, featuring the LamCo heat pump, and if they were sincere in trying to sell the heat pump, they surely thought that they could sell them for cash. Were they really deluded enough to think that the electric companies would leave them alone? I had many strange and sobering events that summer, and as I recently wrote, many events and facts were stored in my memory, and I did not make sense of many of them until years and years later.

I visited Mr. Young Engineer in his home, and it was the first time that I had ever seen the Excel program that I use every day of my professional life. He showed me a program that he wrote, which calculated the “balance point” of the LamCo heat pump, which was at what point the LamCo device could heat the entire home, and when ancillary heating needed to be used. He wrote it to use as a sales tool with customers.

I did not even know how the heat pump worked yet, and was impressed with his number crunching. When I moved to Boston and mentioned Mr. Young Engineer’s program to Dennis, he replied that it was a perfect example of why engineers should not be involved in sales. A balance point exercise would be meaningless to prospective customers. All that they wanted to know is if the equipment would save them money. In those days, Dennis made one of his many brilliant statements, which was that to understand the LamCo heat pump and its potential was not to see it as equipment that saved energy, but as equipment that saved money. On the macroeconomic level, it did save energy, but at the microeconomic level of the homeowner, it was all about saving money. I am a voracious learner, and Dennis’s experiences and insight comprised a gold mine for me, which I eagerly lapped up. As I learned many lessons over the years, I looked back at Mr. Young Engineer’s “balance point” demo and realized that he really had no idea what he was doing.

The next year, when we began flying high in Ventura, Mr. Inventor, Mr. Installer, Mr. Young Engineer, and Dennis’s best salesman from the Seattle days tried to extort $250K from us. Those “loyalists” tried to extort that money. It was like I was on Diogenes’s quest for the honest man. I found a few, but it was just a few.

During that summer, I had my second memorable awakening event, when I attended the bankruptcy trial that Bill’s dupes were waging. When Dennis was run out of the state, Bill’s job was finished and he disappeared and left his dupes holding the bag. Unlike Bill and his dupes, I was a legitimate creditor of the company, and I attended the trial more than once. The memorable event was a brief recess in the trial, when Southwick, Mr. Controller, the general counsel, and their cronies had a quick huddle, and one of the dealers who tried to steal from the company tried to join their huddle, thinking that he was part of the team, and they hostilely stared him down. The judge was in on the deal, allowing the fraudulent lawsuit to proceed in the first place. Bill was the other electric company asset in the case (as may have been Dennis’s original attorney, or they got to him, which I would see later with other attorneys during my adventures), and Bill’s dupes were fighting against Southwick’s cronies over the carcass of Dennis’s company, and deluded dealers like that one who tried to join the huddle were like jackals, waiting their turn behind the lions and hyenas, for a bite.

As we walked out of the courtroom, I said, “It was like watching the piranhas versus the sharks in there!” My loyalist pal replied that it was more like watching the piranhas versus the sharks versus the barracudas versus the crocodiles. He was the only Mormon among the loyalists, and we became friends. Most loyalist meetings were in his basement. Alison had sold him some of their home’s furniture (which he never paid for), which we sat on during the meetings, and Alison also asked him to store some of their key documents for them. More than once, that loyalist told me that he was being “nice” to Alison and Dennis because he thought that it might be “profitable” one day (typical Mormon thinking, in my experience), and when the loyalists finally fell apart, he suggested that he might hold those records hostage in return for his back pay from Alison and Dennis. I had to use my friendship with him to get him to do the right thing, and I took those records with me to Boston.

Of the loyalists, only two dropped out honorably. In the end, I suppose that my Mormon pal also kind of did, with me helping him find his conscience.

A key question that arises is whether Southwick and friends were Godzilla’s assets, and how long their con had been in play when they stole Mr. Financier’s and then Dennis’s companies. As I have written, it would be more psychologically interesting if Mr. Skeptic was a free-lance psychopath rather than being on Godzilla’s payroll, but I think that it is more likely than not that he was on somebody’s payroll, likely Godzilla’s in some capacity. The Mormon financial empire is apparently the most powerful member of the Global Controllers, was the biggest investor in Washington’s electric companies, and a Mormon provocateur led the effort to take down our Ventura company. How many dots really need to be connected to those Mormon grifters led by Southwick to the Mormon financial empire, and hence, Godzilla? Not many. When Mr. Skeptic first libeled Dennis, he quoted the official newspaper of the Mormons, which had blatantly libeled Dennis. Was it just a bizarre series of coincidences? If you believe that, then there is a bridge that I want to sell you.

However, I have my doubts that Southwick and friends were on Godzilla’s payroll, although they likely received plenty of assistance in performing their evil activities, some perhaps from Godzilla. That kid who told Dennis about the shell company worked for Dennis in Seattle. His father was a key member of Southwick’s operation, and the kid was being groomed in the “family business.” He was a few years younger than me. I doubt that the kid was all the way in, as far as knowing what Southwick and friends were all about. In that week between that attempted coup attempt and the shareholders’ meeting, he came into the office, almost in tears. The kid had come to believe in what Dennis was doing, and when his father’s cronies made their play to steal Dennis’s company, he came to his horrific moment of realization: he was a pawn that helped steal Dennis’s company, after his father and friends stole Mr. Financier’s.

It was not as dramatic as Ralph’s moment of realization, but the kid was devastated, although he would not tell me the details of why he felt that way. I imagine that he got out of the family “business” after that. He stayed in contact with Dennis for some time after the Seattle events.

I could go on for many posts about what I saw and learned in my Seattle days, before I chased Dennis out to Boston, but I will begin winding down that chapter of my journey. My adventures had not really begun yet!

Best,

Wade

Edited July 18, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Before I continue with chores to begin a very busy week, I am going to cut to the chase a little and get to some of my conclusions, which should not be surprising to my longtime readers. I am continually fielding observations and questions that clearly show that people do not yet understand my message, and I would have thought that they would at least begin to. I see as them being trapped in their Epochal conditioning, and truly not capable of comprehending what I am writing about, and it is a great way for me to work on my patience issues!

A primary reason for my writings about Dennis’s journey and what I learned on mine is to show that the businessman’s/inventor’s path to FE has been tried, repeatedly, by the best of the best. That path simply will not work, primarily because capitalism is based on greed and fear. The people who really run the world are masters of that game and almost effortlessly defeat the self-interested, if they even need to lift a finger before the efforts self-destruct in orgies of greed and fear. The people that I seek are less than one-in-a-thousand in the general population, and maybe far less, but my plan can work with one-in-a-million.

As I wrote this post, I received an email from some scientists/inventors who are chasing after FE and trying to enlist my interest/assistance, as they doggedly pursue the same paths that I realized were completely futile many years ago. These guys have been at it for decades, and they will never get anywhere. Part of me is amazed that I keep getting those kinds of entreaties. They don’t even begin to understand how the land truly lies on planet Earth.

I carried the spears of the best of the best for several mass movement attempts, and they won’t work for the same reason why the businessman’s approach will not work: personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, and the average person does not possess nearly enough of it to be playing on the high road to FE. They generally don’t last more than ten minutes or so. All of the betrayals and evil deeds that we encountered on our journeys were just encountering what The Universal People are like. People’s egos do not like to admit it, but what we encountered was actually normal. In a world of scarcity and fear, people rarely see beyond the horizons of their immediate self-interest, and they are almost effortlessly manipulated by the dark pathers who rule the world, if they ever do anything that might upset the evil applecart.

Dennis has yet to relinquish his delusions around his religion, the virtues of The People, and other aspects of his awareness and resultant approach. He will likely take them to his grave, and that is OK. They may seem to diminish his greatness, but in other ways, they emphasize it, in that he was able to come so far from where he began, still lugging along the baggage that he does.

People constantly approach me with stories of the “bad guys,” and at New Age/conspiracist venues, instead of the devil or psychopaths making people do it, it is the ETs or inter-dimensionals. They are simply banging the same victim drums, with the “bad guys” wearing different costumes. As Brian once said, it is about what the good guys do, not what the bad guys do. People who think like victims focus on the “bad guys,” while those who think like creators focus on what the “good guys” can do, and creators create with love. I know that if I can find and train that choir, what the “bad guys” do truly won’t matter, even if they are on the right hand of God. We all face the consequences of our actions, as that is the nature of our journey. People who constantly harp on the “bad guys” are defending their victim-oriented perspectives of their lives. That is one way to do it, but I have yet to see that approach leading anywhere near enlightenment, and it usually leads to paranoia and other mental problems.

It also does no good to judge The Universal People for our egocentric ways. It is just what it is, and I don’t expect the masses to be anything other than what they are, but I am also not seeking their help. I seek extraordinary people and know it, and we will see what kind of dent I can make in the rest of my life’s “spare” time.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 17, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

What became evident very early in my journey with Dennis was that he documented his journey as well as he could, moving as fast as he did. I have recounted already more than once when Dennis had almost everything stolen from him, even records that represented years of his work and adventures, but he retained enough of it over the years to adequately document his tale. He is also aware of the fallibility of human memory, his included, and the morning after the raid, for instance, he had everybody at the company write a statement of what they did and saw during the raid. Some statements of events he could not get until years later, such as Mr. Financier’s, and quite a few he got soon after Mr. Professor and I busted him from jail, such as his sales assistant’s (when people overcame their fear enough, when we had people such as Mr. Deputy on the run, to come forward).

Dennis’s memory is pretty good, and the events in his life were often so emotionally charged that they left indelible imprints in his memory, although his life had so many that I noticed that he would sometimes blur the details many years later. Then, I would obtain the documentation, often in his books, and see that he was not quite remembering it accurately, but it was close enough. His recall could be uncanny, as good as mine, for some events (especially with things like facial expressions), but I often noticed that he would not quite recall the events accurately.

For instance, when I last saw him, he said that he was going to be killed the same day as that commissioner of the prison reform system arrived at his prison, and he begged her to get him out of the shark tank, which had already pronounced his death sentence. That did not sound quite right to me, and I looked it up in his The Alternative. That conversation was held with an official at that prison, who was going to send Dennis to certain death if he put him back into that situation. It was some weeks later, after the crisis had passed (which likely inspired Alison to write that letter to the commissioner), that the prison reform commissioner arrived at his prison, which spooked the prison officials to the degree that Dennis was soon sent to a minimum security prison in the same town where I went to college, near the beach, and he served out the rest of his sentence in relative bliss. So, Dennis’s memory was close, but he would understandably sometimes conflate events that were close together, while not losing the gist of the situation.

I have talked with highly trusted associates around Dennis (there have never been many, but we know each other), and we have shared that Dennis’s memory could get a little creative, embellishing events a bit. Often, it was like an impressionist painting: the overall picture was accurate, if a little idealized, and the strokes might be a little too broad. Dennis would also stretch things in the bluster of his pitching (and I let him know about it), but when it came time to render these events in his books, I found his accounts to be pretty accurate, even conservative, for events that I also witnessed or participated in. I write this to point out that Dennis is a fallible human, with a fallible memory, but it is still pretty good, better than 99% of the population. However, I have never given Dennis a free ride, and will do my historian’s duty and check out the facts that I can. I have seen people call the documentation in Dennis’s books “alleged,” while making inane excuses for Mr. Skeptic’s pathological lying. That is one of the surreal aspects of my journey, as easily proven Big Lies are given a free pass, while solid documentation is dismissed as “alleged.” The media operates that way, too. So, the closer to the events that I heard Dennis talk about, the more weight I give it, and give less weight to his memories of events decades earlier.

My memory is not perfect, either, but it is better than Dennis’s. I only know one person whose memory is better than mine, and his is incredible. He says that he can no longer do it, but until he got to about age 60, you could pick any day on the calendar of the previous 50 years of his life, and he could tell you what he did that day, in a fair amount of detail. I have witnessed his memory in action, as have others around me, and it is amazing. He is the dean of a college at a university, and in a lecture hall of hundreds, by the end of the first week of class, he would know the names of all of his students, and not because of those memory tricks that some media figures taught, but just because it sticks in his brain that way.

My memory is not nearly that good, but I have what is called an eidetic memory. It is not perfect, but I have revisited places a decade later, such as mountain passes, and I would find that my recall was not perfect, but pretty close. I can still see pages in my mind’s eye of college textbooks that I studied, and I still have the textbooks, and I can open them and compare them to my memories, and find how close those they were. They are always pretty close, even to the part of the page they were on (left page, near the bottom, for instance). I continually go to my 2,000-volume library, looking for a quote or piece of information germane to what I am writing about, and more often than not, I quickly find it, and I have almost never come up empty, although a few times I have to revisit the stacks more than once, over a course of months or even years, before I found what I was looking for. I have been tested on my memory, such as in a random test that I was cajoled into as I walked through a mall, for some marketing effort (it was a Muppet advertisement – this was about 30 years ago), and the tester was amazed at my recall of what she made me watch, and I was one of hundreds who she administered that test to.

That kind of memory runs in my family, so is one of my hereditary “gifts,” but it could also be called a curse. Over the past decade or so, I have consciously recalled my actions that were less than noble and kind of wallowed in them. It do not do it as some form of self-punishment, but to learn to let go of the judgment, to forgive myself (apologize, if I am in position to), and do better next time, which is a key purpose of our memories, IMO. My life is almost entirely free of badly wounding somebody else, the kind that creates karmic ribbons, as I always avoided that to the best that I could (a common trait of Old Souls, who are busy repaying karma, not digging new karmic holes to climb out of). My life review is not going to be like Dannion Brinkley’s, for instance, so the process is not that agonizing, and sometimes I can even come to an appreciation of the mess I made.

That summer of 1986 was my life’s happiest, even though I starved and was getting sobered up about what chasing my dreams entailed. I don’t want to get too far into it, but there are generally two mystical poles of thought that I have noticed over the years, which cover a wide spectrum of views, but the two poles are these: everything is either in divine order, or everything in physical reality is some kind of mistake. None of the mystical schools of thought call it an accident, like materialists do, but I have found the “mistake” camp to generally be addicted to the victim’s perspective, and they say stuff like physical reality is a grave error and not part of the Creator’s plan, that we have been enslaved here by malevolent entities, and the like, and that when you reach the tunnel of light when you die, to run the other way. There is a large body of mystical material on those themes, and I believe that their perspectives are distorted by the rigors of physical reality. The Creator does have plenty to answer for, as it is responsible for all of Creation, but there is no good and bad at the Creator’s level of awareness, so it seems. It is all good, and all paths from the Godhead lead back to it, and really, nobody ever really left home. But that is not easy to see from here, I readily admit.

But the mystical sources that I respect the most make no bones about how cruel physical reality is. Being here is not easy, but the “divine order” camp sees physical reality as a school that souls choose to come to, for faster growth.

Can I prove any of that? No. Can anybody else? No. We all see through the glass dimly here, and I am wary of anybody who makes bald assertions of what the other side is like, and am especially wary of the “run from the light” advice that abounds among the “mistake” camp. We will all see when we go there, and my experiences, along with vast study over more than 40 years, makes me resonate with material such as Seth’s, Michael’s, Ra’s, and friends, and I don’t consider accounts such Michael Roads’s to be fiction. I know highly accomplished psychonauts who have made similar journeys, and they then bring back earth-shaking inventions with them (to only be suppressed or stolen, of course ).

The “mistake” camp includes the A Course in Miracles crowd, the “bad aliens run the show on Earth” crowd, the “negatives run the show in physical reality” crowd, and so on, and I take their “information” and advice with a grain of salt. I never saw any of them do anything in the least bit productive, but they usually wallowed in their victim-ness, often joined cults, and the like. There is a huge New Age faction in that camp, and they think that they have the “realistic” perspective, but I doubt it.

After more than 40 years of adventures and study after my mystical awakening, I know this: love is the most powerful force in our universe. I have seen it work “miracles,” and I believe that we are in school here on Earth, growing our souls, but what an agonizing way to grow, and I plan to have a little chat with whoever sent me here, stripped of my memories, when I pass over. That will be the first order of business. So, squaring the cruelty of this dimension with a loving Creator is the paradox of the ages, and I am sympathetic to materialist rejections of all mystical philosophies, even though I know that those materialists are wrong. My experiences taught me better, and my FE fellow travelers with my greatest respect all had mystical awakenings, generally as young adults, from around 16 to early 20s. Brian was a relative old man, not getting his until he was nearly 40, but once he did, he was ruined as a mainstream scientist, as he could no longer drink the Kool-Aid of this Epoch’s religion.

I did not know that my life was guided until that voice first spoke to me, in response to my life’s first desperate prayer. When it came through the second time, it only reinforced that notion, and they were only the most salient events in a sea of them, which popped out above the others like icebergs, and like icebergs, I knew that there was far more than met the eye to them. Materialism is merely another religion erected on a false foundation. With the preposterous events of my journey, which even I have a hard time believing at times, I have long accepted that I came here on some sort of special assignment. I don’t know exactly what that assignment was, but I like to think that the efforts of my lifetime have been performing it, with karmic detours along the way.

The mystical view that I have long believed is that a soul decides to incarnate, and essentially sketches out a life to be lived. The life is planned with many contingencies and opportunities, and then the life begins. Physical reality is where sh*t happens, and the soul’s best laid plans on the astral plane easily can go awry once the life begins in physical reality. That is part of the deal. There are no guarantees. The soul can try to shepherd the earthly personality, giving hints and help, but it is up to the earthly personality to live it out. We have free will, and life here is all about having it, living it, and dealing with the consequences for more than a 100 lifetimes, on average, until the soul gets what it came for. I could well be wrong, but I see it today as working something like that. And when you are on special assignment, the help, hints, and challenges are simply magnified, as befits the soul’s task for a certain lifetime. I believe that this is the lifetime that I have been training for, for perhaps more than 150 lifetimes, and I have likely messed up spectacularly along the way, as part of how my soul grew and learned. That is easy for my soul to say, greedy bastard that it is, eager for experience.

One primary set of contingencies that souls set up are mating potentials, for our sexually reproducing ensouled species, and according to sources that I respect, a soul can make more than a dozen mating arrangements for a lifetime from the astral plane, and how many, if any, are realized in a lifetime depends on how the personalities live their lives. Mates and offspring are not random relationships, but carefully chosen, by the involved souls.

And my views certainly did not purely come from a literature review, but by potential mating relationships that were presented to me (more like thrust on me), in ways that were every bit as larger-than-life as that voice in my head, and those “opportunities” were often presented to me in the most pivotal times of my life, so spectacularly at times that I knew that my “friends” were once again “messing” with me. To be “chosen” this way is a very mixed blessing, let me tell you. There have been times when Dennis, Brian, and I have wished that we could let our paths go, and somebody else could do it, but when we looked around, there was really nobody else who could. Plenty of pretenders and aspirants said that they could, but they nearly invariably tried to wreck what we were building (either intentionally or out of ignorance and being in thrall to their particular delusions), so we often reluctantly picked the burden back up and carried it, and it could seem like a boulder at times, and seemed like they could reach planetary size in ways.

This post is a prelude to relating some of those bizarre events in more detail than I have publicly done before.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Again, this series is written with those I seek in mind. This will be more on how my “friends” messed with me on my journey, and many of the most blatant manipulations were with the women in my life. I recognized several of those “mating arrangements” for my lifetime, as my “friends” careened me into them, or them into me. For the most part, it was not fun, and the source of a great deal of pain.

As I have written plenty, I am in the autism spectrum, closer to normal than Bill Gates, for instance, who likely has Asperger’s. It is likely that Newton and Einstein had it, too, or something close, as have some of the greatest minds I have personally known. Being social misfits also generally comes with that territory. If I did not have world-class athletic talent, and was not one of those tall Nordic types (the Hitlerian ideal ), I would have been a classic nerd. Being raised in a Southern California beach town, and then living in LA to begin my career, I grew up around some of the world’s most beautiful women, and most of the women in my life, for those “mating arrangements,” were babes with a capital B. Not quite at the Derek Jeter level (that dog), but up there. My first crush in high school was the homecoming princess the next year. I acted like such a nerd with her, and she quickly got rid of me.

A year later, I had my first girlfriend, and we were together two years. She was a classic beauty, I chased her to the university where she promptly dumped me, and we never had sex. That year in the dorms, with her literally on the floor below me, dating other guys, who I would see her with, was perhaps my life’s most emotionally trying year, but I became friends for life with my roommates, and I am not going to lament the path that chasing her sent me on. I put my head down, hit the books, and got straight A’s that year. I took my track career seriously for the first time, and performed the best I ever did, although an injury and other issues, and even those seemed orchestrated by my “friends,” held me back from becoming world class in my event. I could have been, with the proper dedication, training, and coaching. I had the talent for it, but talent alone is not enough, not at those levels. I saw the obsessive focus that world class athletes usually had, and I had that focus, but I had too much else happening in my life.

One of my brothers grinded toddler girls when he was two years old, became sexually active at age 13, and lived a life of sex, drugs, surfing, and rock and roll, almost like Jeff Spicoli did. My two best childhood friends became sexually active around 16, even became hypersexual at times, while I lived like a monk, with my mystical and academic studies. In college, one of them had a girlfriend who was a track star, cheerleader, and capital B babe. He treated her terribly, cheated on her all the time, and all of our friends hit on her, thinking that she was “available.” I was his only friend who didn’t, and in that year after my girlfriend dumped me at the university, she began throwing herself at me. I tried to warn my friend of what was happening, and after nearly a year of that, I broke down and lost my virginity with her, at age 22, for my life’s greatest crime. A few days later, I got the back injury that I still have today and will until I die, which is at the emotions chakra, and I don’t doubt the connection. I eventually confessed to my friend, it wrecked our friendship (I later asked her to marry me, but she had already gotten involved with somebody else), and I never had sex again until I was nearly 30 and met the woman who would become my wife.

I never cared about my appearance, other than being professionally presentable, drove a Pinto wagon for 18 years, have had the same haircut since I left home (my mother cut it while growing up, in a bowl cut, and my clothes came from the swap meet, and I wear clothes until they begin falling apart, and my prized possessions are usually patched, repaired, and pathetically dog-eared). But I was a tall, Nordic athletic type, nerd that I was, and I get told regularly that I am handsome, but I never cared, and especially now, as I become an old man, when I still get told how handsome I am, and my wife tells me that women regularly “check me out.” As I look back at it, women hit on me regularly, even threw themselves at me at times, and I rarely responded. Heck, most of the time I didn’t even get it. I got calls in the night from secret admirers, etc., but I never played the game how they wanted me to, and those encounters never went anywhere. Sometimes I got it, but could see that I was being lined up to be somebody’s meal ticket, and I avoided that like the plague, especially in my LA days.

But several times, I could tell that my “friends” were setting me up, and as I thought about writing this post, even more connections became evident. For instance, when my girlfriend dumped me a week after we arrived at the university, classes began a couple of days later, and that first day of class at the university, I was in that class taught by an ex-CIA analyst. It was a different classroom layout, in which we sat four to a table. Sitting at the table with me was a woman who became my girlfriend six years later in LA, and that was the ex-girlfriend who became my smallest investor who began attacking me soon after I became Dennis’s partner. Like my best friend’s girlfriend, that woman threw herself at me for nearly a year before I did anything about it, and she was also a babe with a capital B, and I mean beauty queen material. I had friends tell me that she was throwing herself at me, even a woman friend did that, and what the heck was I waiting for?

The girlfriends that I had before meeting my wife, after that first girlfriend, were mostly babes, and the relationships never lasted long. They usually ended painfully, with the woman ending it. I loved them all and still do, but they were not to be. I certainly own that checkered love life, before I met my wife, but my “friends” began to get very active during my days with Dennis, seeming to tempt and test me, to eventually reward me. Again, I felt like a rat in a maze at times, being given a whiff of cheese, to then have it taken away and put in a tantalizing spot, if I would only climb for it. I can’t say that I recommend that path, but it was the one put in front of me, those bastards.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 20, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I am working long hours, which will last for at least the next few weeks, so my postings are going to be relatively terse. I don’t have the time this morning for the post I would like to write, so it will be one of the observations on my list that I planned to make, which I will expand on later.

When I chased Dennis out to Boston, I did not even know how the heat pump worked, but I learned fast, and a couple of months later, when I became his partner, the magnitude of what we had stumbled into and pursued began to become evident, which challenged my ego. We soon drew Godzilla’s full attention, beginning with the friendly buyout offer, and a couple of zeroes were added the next year, before we had the boom lowered on us.

When the dust cleared a couple of years later, I hit the books, and a dozen years later (with about four years devoted full-time to the effort), I created my site as it largely stands today (the major essays, other than my big one, were all written by then), but that was before I encountered Bucky Fuller, when the paradigm that I had been groping toward for many years finally crystallized. It took another dozen years before I was able to complete the studies that resulted in my big essay, and align the rest of my site with it. I’ll be updating that essay, like a college textbook, for probably the rest of my life.

But it was not until about five years ago that the truly Epochal significance of FE began to become clear to me. That is how long it took me to really begin to get it, so I am sympathetic to people who encounter my work and say, “Energy, so what?” But, if they are not willing to do the work to learn, “Energy, so everything,” then they are not who I am looking for. I am not judging those who walk away, in various levels of denial and disinterest, or even those who go on the offensive, as they defend their in-group and worldview from the perceived affront of my work. They will begin to wake up when FE is delivered into their lives, along with the rest of humanity. I seek those who can help, and I know that they will be needles in haystacks, and they will need my help, at first, so that what I am saying really begins to sink in. Imagining the next Epoch before it arrives, as a way to help it arrive, has never been done before in the human journey, and it won’t be easy.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

A post in another forum spurred a reply that is appropriate for the current series of posts. Here it is.

Hi Adam:

On Mr. Young Engineer’s balance point exercise, it allows me to get a little technical. Dennis was completely correct that Mr. Young Engineer’s balance point presentation would be meaningless as a customer presentation. For systems engineering, balance point exercises can be useful, but homeowners only wanted to know if they would save money, and Dennis’s Systems for Savings program took away even that concern.

Not only was the entire thrust of Mr. Young Engineer’s balance point exercise misguided, but he also did it incompetently. I don’t plan to write a series of posts like this again, and am taking the opportunity to put in more documentation, especially test results. Mr Young Engineer’s test results that I recently added is Exhibit 1 for the point I am about to make. If you look at his stats, he mentioned cloudy and 68 degrees ambient for the test. But if you look at those test results that I added for that Arizona lab, you can see that the COP varied with the panel angle, and they also gave the wind velocity. Back in 2014, I added the rest results from one of the most famous tests of that equipment, and you can see the COP doubling in the daytime.

The panel’s absorption of direct solar radiation gets photon energy to the inside of the panel, where the refrigerant absorbs it, and is independent of air temperature. Also, the more photons, the greater the absorption, which is why that Arizona lab’s data varied with panel angle, as more photons will hit the panel the better that it faces the Sun. That is why high noon is the hottest part of the day. That is why many flowers follow the Sun as it crosses the sky.

Also, wind increases the heat exchange, and the faster the wind, the greater the performance boost. There are also other performance variables, and Mr. Young Engineer did not put any of them into his model, but just had ambient air temperature. It was just another reflection of how ignorant he was. He was about my age, not long out of college, and when Dennis walked into that bank’s factory, and Mr. Young Engineer was building the systems based on the original LamCo patent, and had his nose in his textbooks, Dennis had to shake his head.

Dennis eventually hired Mr. Young Engineer, but Dennis was constantly trying to educate him. If you studied the system and why it performed so highly, one measure was the gas pressure coming from the panels. It was twice as high as normal refrigeration systems or heat pumps, which is why its output was twice the BTUs that the components were rated for. To Mr. Young Engineer, that doubled pressure was not the secret of its success, but a danger to the system, so he put in a valve to reduce the pressure coming from the panels. That was going to kill the system performance. Mr. Young Engineer would happily destroy thousands of dollars of energy savings to reduce the load on the compressor (gas pump). It was that kind of stupidity that Dennis had to fight with Mr. Young Engineer, as Dennis had to reverse his ignorant design decisions.

The epitome of Mr. Young Engineer’s many mental blocks was when he testified that a four horsepower system could not generate more than 48,000 BTUs an hour, and then was shown his own test results showing a performance of double that. That is how stuck in his textbooks he was, unable to think past them, even with test results in hand that he performed.

That illustrates what Mr. Mentor told me long ago, in that the vast majority of engineers are plodders, without any creative ability or insight. They can be given a bunch of equations to crank out, but don’t ask them to think very deeply about the exercise that they were given, or the meaning of the numbers, or come up with an original idea, because they will be unable to. Only about 1-2% of engineers really have much creative talent, the kind that invents. As Bucky Fuller noted, only one-in-100,000 technically trained people will make the technological breakthroughs that move humanity forward, but that they will be enough. And this is part of the free energy (FE) conundrum: very few technical types are going to independently stumble into FE technology, and they are easy to take care of, one-at-time, working in their labs, garages, and workshops, trying to get rich and famous, etc. Godzilla’s bag of tricks has easily kept that threat at bay. The same paths of failure have been doggedly pursued by FE inventors and scientists for about a century, with each one being either ignorant of the fates of his/her professional ancestors, or their egos have deluded them that they somehow have something the others didn’t, which will see them succeed when tens of thousands of others failed. It is like those young men about to go into battle.

Anyway, thanks for bringing up your balance point exercise, which I am sure was highly useful, unlike Mr. Young Engineer’s exercise.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

This post will be about my exit from Seattle to chase Dennis. The biggest run at alternative energy in the USA’s history was over. Nothing like what Dennis did in Seattle has been tried before or since, especially to the extent that a corrupt industry mobilized all of its resources to wipe out the threat. I did not learn many of the lessons of Dennis’s Seattle experience until years later, partly because I missed most of the fireworks and came in on the end of it. To me, what Dennis did in Seattle and earlier, when he got involved with the LamCo heat pump, was his most interesting work, with what came after it less so. To be sure, chasing FE is no small beer, but in Seattle, Dennis was putting equipment on the market, which no FE scientist/inventor/businessman has ever come close to doing. Dennis’s Seattle experience can provide many lessons, for those able and willing to learn from them.

As we will also see in Boston and Ventura, there were never any complaining customers of note in Seattle (“We’ll put the world’s best heating system on your home for free” – nobody complained about installation delays). The “consumer protection” laws and their enforcement are there to protect the rackets, not the consumers. That is how dark pathers operate, posing as beings of the light, and most people are easily sucked in, played like violins, as their self-interest, naïveté, gullibility, and other deficits are exploited (naiveté can be cured through experience, but not most of the other deficits, at least in the same lifetime). What I saw in Seattle was only a gentle preview.

As I have noted, Dennis’s memory is not as good as mine, and more than once, I had to quote from his own writings to remind him of how he saw things in the past, as he would develop a somewhat creative memory of events. One of those areas was regarding the theft of his Seattle company. When Southwick and pals stole Dennis’s company, in a way, Dennis was relieved. Dennis later denied that to me, and I had to point him to his own book, My Quest, and his own words, to remind him how he felt in those days.

The gangsters in Washington would make sure that nothing that Dennis did in Seattle would come to fruition, as they would continue to attack his efforts (and they have to this day, incredibly). When Dennis was finally run out of his home state, with nothing but the clothes on his back, from a $50 million net worth less than a year earlier, he felt liberated, leaving Seattle with nothing, just as he arrived less than two years previously. Because Mr. Financier also had his company stolen before they stole Dennis’s, and the stock that Mr. Financier gave Dennis for that house was valid, Southwick and pals almost certainly feasted on Dennis’s house in Bellevue, among their other depredations. In Boston, I questioned Dennis about leaving everything behind like that, and he replied that it would have been a nightmarish battle to retain any of it, not to mention the attacks from the electric companies’ minions, so it was better to just walk away from all of it. He wished the thieves well, as they would have to settle up with God one day, and staying right with God has been at the top of Dennis’s priorities since that voice first spoke to him.

In December 1985, Dennis had hundreds of employees, as they heroically got those systems installed by year-end (and Dennis survived at least one murder attempt back then, which was partly why he had a bodyguard when I met him (along with the death threats)). By August of 1986, I was the only one left who wanted to be involved with Dennis, to extent of chasing him across a continent. I was flat broke by the time that I convinced Dennis to let me chase after him, and had to move back in with my grandparents, get a temporary job (making a whole $6 per hour), to save up enough money to chase Dennis across the continent. And here is where my “friends” twisted in their daggers one last time. Leaving Seattle to chase after Dennis was about the hardest thing I ever did. Moving there, when the voice told me to, was my fourth attempt to live in Seattle in the previous six years. Instead of going to work for Microsoft, which I have little doubt that I could have done, as they did their IPO (and I would have become fabulously rich before long), I starved and chased my teenage dream. It was the first time that I passed up big money to chase my dream, and I have had five such episodes now, but I have no regrets.

So, there I was in Seattle, my Shangri-La, and now I was getting ready to leave it, to chase that dream, and I was still reverberating from the lightning bolt. When I met Dennis, I soon moved out from my grandparents’ home and lived in the Eastlake District. My roommate was an aspiring writer, who moved to LA a few years later and never left. I am a character in one of his books. He had a writing partner, and he mentioned his partner’s roommate often enough, named Kate (not her real name), who also lived in one of Seattle’s many charming neighborhoods. When Dennis finally told me that I could chase him, after trying to dissuade me, I was broke, had to move back in with my grandparents, and got that temporary job at an insurance company’s headquarters, in a high-rise building that perhaps a thousand people worked at. My roommate told me that Kate worked there, and that I should look her up.

There I was, working as a temp, to save up enough money to chase after Dennis, and the last thing that I needed to do was look up Kate, and I never did something like that, anyway, being the introverted nerd that I am. But I worked on the sixth floor or so (I was doing some system design and implementation for them), and when I had to visit one of my colleagues on that project, I had to go to the basement, and in a cubicle that I walked past sat a woman who looked kind of like that girl that I had a crush on in high school. About once a week, I passed by her cubicle, and of the thousand people in that building, I was attracted to that woman in the cubicle, whose name was Kate. After I had been there a couple of months, I visited my old roommate (we stay in touch to this day, and I helped support him at times, in his starving LA days, and that is another story), and he asked if I had looked up his partner’s roommate Kate. The woman in that cubicle was that Kate! Do you want to name those odds? It blew me away. Kate used to work for my supervisor at that insurance company, my roommate told his partner, and a day or two later, my supervisor was introducing me to Kate at my desk.

I was about a month away from chasing after Dennis, and Kate and I had lunch one day, about two weeks before I left. I was leaving. As I look back, I guess that we were feeling each other out, but in my conscious mind, although I was attracted to her, I was just having a friendly lunch with somebody in my extended circle (I came to know my roommate’s writing partner, as he came over to our apartment regularly, we played basketball together, watched movies together, and the like), and getting ready to leave town. Maybe she would become a friend (I have had many platonic relationships with women over the years).

I spent that autumn storing my few belongings in my grandmother’s basement in Bellingham, and made more than one trip to Ellensburg to Mr. Engineer’s barn. That beat up station wagon that Dennis drove over the Cascades in two years earlier was in that barn, and in that car (which we brought to Ventura, by the way) held Dennis and Alison’s few meager possessions. I retrieved some clothing, the records that I wheedled away from the Mormon “loyalist,” and Alison’s most prized possession, her guitar.

When all was in readiness, I rented a trailer from U-Haul, and on Halloween (October 31), a Friday that year, I planned to drive from Seattle to Boston, towing that trailer behind my Pinto wagon. I went home to Ventura to get my car maintained, see friends (and I met Seth during those two weeks). My roommate and his partner were performing a comedy routine at a club that evening (they produced a comedy pilot show the next year), and I was invited to be there, as was Kate, but I had my date with destiny, wished them the best, and went and rented my trailer.

However, there was a small problem. I was planning on attaching the trailer to my car’s fender, but the U-Haul store said that it would not work and would be dangerous (as it would rip my fender off, especially for a cross-continental trip), and they would have to weld a mount onto my car’s frame to hold that trailer. They could not do it on that Friday afternoon, and I would have to come back on Monday. Having that hitch attached drained most of my travel fund (I also had to get work in Boston to pay some bills incurred on that move, such as renting that trailer), but I was free to attend my roommate’s show that evening, and you can imagine the rest. I sat at the same table as Kate, we went to her home after the show, and I spent the entire weekend with her, and drove from Seattle on Monday evening in tears, with my heart torn out. It may have been the hardest thing that I ever did. That was one of the most spectacular manipulations from my “friends,” and I see it today as their final “test” for me (like rescuing that hooker was a test before meeting Dennis). Colleen Smith killed herself, with Bill’s help, on Halloween of the previous year.

It was events like that that made me more than a little unhappy with my “friends,” as they continually threw events like that at me, seemingly to see what I would do. They could also “reward” me, but far more often they were tests that came before very traumatic events. It is not fun to be “chosen” this way, and I am a little tired of those manipulations, but I can also tell that they are not finished with me. I have no doubt that the Kate situation was one of those astral plane “mating agreements” and a final test of my resolve before I chased after Dennis. I could have canceled my plans, stayed in Seattle, and married Kate. I think about that, and it was like being tempted by the devil. It would have likely ended badly with Kate, and what was about to happen never would have.

Of course, I told Kate that I would try to make a bi-coastal relationship work, and she wisely ended it. I had a bi-coastal marriage a decade later, also because of Dennis, and those days are like a bad dream to me today. But on that Monday, in tears, I left Seattle to chase a crazy teenage dream. If you had told me what I was in for, I would have never believed it.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 23, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

As I drove out to Boston in late November of 1986, what had I learned since the fateful day when that voice told me to move to Seattle? For all that I had seen in my LA days, I was still a babe in the woods.

When I met Dennis, I was little more than a year removed from my partner’s admission of how worthless my profession was, although that did not fully sink in until 1988, when the issue had become a full-blown scandal, the first of several that I have now lived through and generally saw coming, with more on the way.

I subscribed to the Christian Science Monitor in my LA days, to complement my daily reading of the Los Angeles Times, thinking that I was digesting some high-brow, thoughtful, information. After being with Dennis for only a few weeks, I saw that lying TV segment, but I was still so green that I did not begin to appreciate what a Big Lie that news segment was until later, when I began to learn the history of that heat pump and Dennis’s involvement. Dennis actually testified in Washington D.C. about Carter’s tax credit’s lack of performance requirements, and he was appointed to a committee to write a better law. So, that TV segment was in the Big Lie category and a very consciously lying effort, not just sloppy journalism. They ignored the 99.9% of the buyers who got their tax credit because they followed Dennis’s instructions, found one idiot who didn’t do it right, was initially denied, and he became their sole example of why the heat pump was a scam and did not qualify for the credit. That news segment was criminally libelous, and the first of many like it that attacked Dennis for many years afterward, which included several nationally televised shows.

Dennis had told me some of what Bill the BPA Hit Man had done, and Colleen Smith’s death deeply affected Dennis. But I did not really begin to understand Bill’s involvement until later, when I began to learn what I had missed in 1985. Bill is a corporate hit man who protects the rackets, is active to this day, and killing people just comes with the job and might earn him some bonus money. That the legal system not only protected him during his crime sprees, but was his active accomplice in committing more by using the legal system as a weapon, which even extended to the federal court in Seattle, was not something that I learned until much later. I witnessed plenty of events in Seattle, but did not understand their full meaning. That is not unusual, and I have encountered many witnesses to historic events who really did not understand what was happening, as they did not see the bigger picture.

When I put together Dennis’s books in Seattle and signed an affidavit about what I did, I had no idea that I had history in my hands, or that to this day I would write about the many shameless people who blatantly lie about those days, people who are big names.

I learned many lessons in Seattle, but was really just getting a taste and gentle preview of what was ahead of me. What you could not have convinced me of during my first weeks with Dennis was the very people that I worked with would not only help engineer the theft of Dennis’s company, but that most of the others cheered the theft. To top it off, when there were only about ten of us “loyalists” left after the company was stolen, you could not have convinced me that not only was I the only one left by the end of the next month, but that only two of those “loyalists” dropped out with honor, and several of them tried to extort money from us the next year, led by Mr. Inventor. Those were the eye-opening events of my days in Seattle, when I began to learn that personal integrity was the world’s scarcest commodity. That was the chief lesson and booby prize of my journey, and I resisted it every step of the way.

While driving to Boston, I had just finished the best hiking year of my life (I am going hiking in less than an hour, and will do it until I can’t do it anymore, which I hope is at least 30 years away), and I was still in the happiest year of my life, and that would continue until after our first series of Greatest Energy Shows on Earth had ended. After those halcyonic days, it began to get very dark. By the end of 1988, I had reached the nadir of my life’s journey, but that was all ahead of me, and as I drove to Seattle in March 1986, or drove to Boston in November 1986, you could have never convinced me of what was ahead for me.

As I drove out to Boston, I still did not even know how the heat pump worked. I had been hit by the lightning, was sold on Dennis, and was chasing my dream.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

After seeing friends and family for a couple of weeks, meeting Seth, and getting some much needed maintenance and repair done on my 1973 Pinto wagon (which I had for 18 years, until a neighbor ran into it, parked in front of my condo, and wrecked it beyond repair; my wife witnessed the collision, and the policeman gave me a ticket, as if I was in the wrong, which I contested in court and won, for my life’s only legal “victory”), I drove from Ventura to Boston in four days. On Friday, about when I was driving through Oklahoma, Dennis was speaking at a Department of Energy (DOE) event in Boston. As I have stated plenty, Dennis was never “rebellious,” and mere months after being run out of his home state by the gangsters who run that state, there he was, trying to work with the DOE. The official who ran the DOE in New England actually came to one of our early Greatest Energy Shows, had the demeanor of a college professor, and politely asked Dennis during the audience Q&A when he thought that he could deliver free energy. Dennis, in his everlasting optimism, replied that he thought that it would take a year.

At the Friday DOE meeting, a man approached Dennis after his speech and said that he worked at a company that made electricity from hot water. He invited Dennis to their company’s facilities. Friday night, I slept in my Pinto at a rest stop in Tennessee, and the next morning, I drove for 24 hours straight (not wanting to stop and sleep in my car anywhere near the East Coast), to arrive in Boston on Sunday morning. Dennis and his family were living with the family of a salesman from Seattle who got his family involved in the business. They were greenhorns who really had no business doing that. The house became a historical landmark, as it was the first solar home built in Massachusetts, in the 1950s, by a man who worked at MIT. He was the family patriarch, but his wife was the matriarch who ran the show, and their son was the former salesmen of Dennis’s. They mortgaged that house to get into the business, to the tune of about $250K. I reconstructed their books after I got there, just as I did for Dennis’s Seattle company, and discovered that before Dennis arrived, they had spent that $250K with nothing to show for it other than the remaining Seattle inventory that Dennis sold them. As soon as Dennis arrived, he began his usual routine, and they were instantly cash flowing (meaning that they were bringing in as much money as they spent), but they were full of New English arrogance and fought Dennis every step of the way, treating him like some wayward salesman. That was typical behavior.

Dennis instantly saw that they were in way over their heads, and he doggedly tried to find a suitor to be his business partner, to buy them out and make them whole, but they fought Dennis the entire way and eventually went bankrupt, which was the standard story. At least a hundred companies came and went, trying to make a go of the LamCo heat pump, and they were one of the last of that line. Dennis is the only person who was ever successful, too successful.

I arrived at that solar home at around 8:00 AM, and immediately met Dennis. He called me an “anathema.” He meant “enigma,” and that was an example of how his vocabulary could go a little awry, and it also reflected his migrant farmworker roots. I told him about the lightning bolt that hit me in Seattle, and told him of Mr. Mentor’s influence. I was an enigma alright, but the mystery was solved a couple of months later, when I became Dennis’s partner. I have written plenty about Dennis and Alison’s Christian ways, and won’t belabor them, but I doubt that I knew much about their Christianity until that morning. Alison took me into their bedroom, and on their dresser was a painting that somebody had recently done (maybe Dennis, as he is also an accomplished artist), which was a scene from the New Testament, when that healed leper returned in gratitude, and the painting had the caption, “And only one returned.” It was referring to me, the only person from Seattle who chased Dennis out to Boston. Little did I know it, but I was already passing into the folklore of Dennis’s journey. I really did not know what to make of it, but Dennis believes that his “God” acted through me several times during his journey. I call it my “friends,” and that voice never identified itself to me, I have not always been happy with it, but I continue to feel my “friends’” influence to this day, and it is far from easy to be “chosen” in that way.

Whether I was an enigma, the one who returned, the boy hit by lighting, or whatever, it became very obvious how my “friends” were manipulating my life’s journey. The morning after I arrived in Boston, we put on our suits (I wore a suit-and-tie every day for the first dozen years of my career, until corporate America went “casual” in the mid-1990s, and this fat old man can no longer fit into those suits, and I dread the day that I would have to wear a suit again), and visited the company that made electricity out of hot water. Again, I did not even know how the heat pump worked yet, and while touring their company and watching their low-temperature turbine run was interesting, I had no idea what it meant, as far as our future went. As an aside, that company used river water as the condenser for their turbine, and their facility was almost certainly at the site of an early American watermill. I would not fully appreciate that until around the time that I wrote my big essay.

That family that took Dennis’s family and me in had an office in Woburn (they lived in Lincoln), and that is where I spent some days reconstructing their books, and a few months earlier, some heiress took an interest in Dennis, and was going to be his “angel,” and Dennis told her his life’s story over a series of days, videotaped it, and held up document after document to support his story. I watched the tapes in that office, and for the first time really began to understand what I was getting involved with. Nearly 30 years later, I was the audience, as Dennis described the recent years of his adventures, as he laid document after document on me, treating me like a historian, which I suppose I am, in ways.

After a couple of weeks of reconstructing those records, watching those tapes, playing chauffeur to Alison and her daughters (one vivid memory is driving Alison to her daughters’ school in freezing rain (the first time I had encountered such weather, being raised in Southern California)), as I learned to drive on snow and ice that winter, one evening, Dennis told me of his idea. That low-temperature turbine had an input temperature of about 200 degrees Fahrenheit, about the same temperature as the exhaust temperature of Dennis’s heat pump. Dennis told me that if he hooked up that turbine to his heat pump, that free energy was possible. That began our free energy odyssey.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 24, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

That winter of 1986-1987 ended the happiest year of my life, and it literally ended about exactly one year after it began, when I got hit by that lightning bolt. That first month in Boston was spent living at that family’s solar home, doing their accounting, watching those videos of Dennis’s past, getting to know Dennis and his family, and beginning to wrap my head around Dennis’s idea of how to do free energy.

Today, I am Uncle Wade to Dennis’s daughters, but Dennis understandably watched me around his daughters, a relative stranger who followed Dennis across the country, living under his roof. He obviously had had some bad experiences with taking in people like that. It was not until I saw Dennis in 2013 that he told me how carefully he watched how I behaved around his young daughters, who were ages six and eight that winter. I don’t know when he became satisfied that I was not a threat to his family, his daughters least of all, but I babysat them not long after we began living in a house together, so he must have become satisfied by then, which was around the time that I became his partner.

That family’s solar home was in a pastoral suburb, next to a pond that the family patriarch designed for the neighborhood, with the homes situated in a ring around it. One part was carved into what was about an Olympic-sized swimming hole that doubled as a hockey rink in the winter, which I walked on after it froze over (the first time in my life that I was on ice like that). It was my first real winter. That family took me to the family farm that the matriarch was raised on, on an island on Lake Champlain, on a weekend in early December, when I began what became the longest fast of my life so far, of 45 days. All that I had was a gallon of apple juice each day, which cost about $2.25. I did it partly because it was cheaper than eating. While it was the happiest year of my life, I had almost no income that year, and the yuppie lifestyle that I had left LA with was beaten out of me. I could live in a tent if I had to, and I spent many nights sleeping in the back my Pinto wagon over the years, with my sleeping pad and sleeping bag that I used for backpacking.

I also heard about what Dennis had been doing since he arrived in Boston, and it was a familiar story. He immediately began building a sales team, and his lead salesman tried to steal the company. That was not the only such attempt while we were in Boston. Another issue was the officials in Washington State. Betsy quit her career after her final confrontation with Dennis, as her conscience awoke when her nose was rubbed in her evil activities. But when tools such as Betsy are no longer useful, there are plenty ready to take her place, and a woman in the Attorney General’s office replaced Betsy as Dennis’s assailant. Over the years, I have seen her tell Big Lies about Dennis in the national media (such as the millions that he “stole” from people), and those who encountered her remarked on her hysterical shrieks about what an evil man Dennis was, as she nearly foamed at the mouth. Is she stupid enough to believe her lies? I doubt it. She is just one of the many zero-integrity individuals who populate the USA’s legal system, eager to ruin innocent lives on behalf of her patrons. I call her Ms. Pinch Hitter in my writings.

When Betsy quit the Attorney General’s office, she got a job teaching law school at a Seattle university ever since, and so has Ms. Pinch Hitter, at the same university, as an adjunct to her duties at the Attorney General’s office, where she still works as I write this. She is also a noted “philanthropist,” playing that dark pather game, pretending to serve the public interest and serve humanity, as she eats a plateful of humanity every day. Her public image is even more august than Mr. Deputy’s, who retired to a hero’s farewell several years ago, and whose annual pension is about $250K per hear. Working for the forces of darkness pays well and provides many “benefits,” for a time.

I bring up Ms. Pinch Hitter because running Dennis out of his home state was not enough. Just before he left, Dennis said that if he had stayed in Washington much longer, the police might have “found” a barrel of heroin in his bedroom closet. When Dennis left Washington, Ms. Pinch Hitter stalked him, spewing her toxic lies far and wide. She contacted the District Attorney’s office in Middlesex County, where that family’s office was in Woburn. Dennis had been there only a week or two when an investigator from Middlesex County’s District Attorney’s office swaggered into that family’s office. Enlightened by Ms. Pinch Hitter’s Big Lies, that investigator was convinced that he had the criminal of the century in his backyard, and among the many officious threats that he threw at Dennis that day, he said that he relished the day when he put Dennis behind bars.

You could not have convinced me of it at the time, but it is a little more honest on the East Coast than on the West Coast. That investigator launched a criminal investigation against Dennis, but could not find any laws that Dennis was breaking, and we left the state before they could come up with something. We discovered that in the discovery evidence in Ventura, in a statement that that investigator wrote the day after the raid.

While I was fasting, Dennis was beginning to stir things up. I made my first financial model, working all night long, at that family’s home, so that Dennis could make a presentation to some investors in Texas. An astronaut was on their board, and when Dennis’s finished his presentation, the astronaut said in disgust, “Hasn’t he ever heard of entropy?!” Actually, Dennis hadn’t, and before long this series of posts will get into thermodynamics. Dennis’s original idea was naïve, in more than one way. But I had no way to assess that at the time.

Just before Christmas of 1986, we moved out of that family’s home into a house in Winchester, which was a ten minute drive to that family’s new office in an industrial park, with a couple of offices in front and warehouse in the back.

I did not have enough money to pay the bills that I incurred by moving there, and in mid-January, 1987, I had to get a temp job to pay those bills (and buy my apple juice ), and I got a job at a Kennedy foundation, established in the name of JFK’s sister who got a lobotomy. It was run by Eunice, another of JFK’s sisters. I worked as a payables clerk. The Kennedys were regarded as American royalty in Boston, and generally revered or reviled by the people.

Dennis had been reduced to being a salesman for that family, but was trying to attract investors into bailing/buyout out that family, but the family fought and resisted him all the way. Any savvy businessman quickly realized where the talent was in that organization, and one of Dennis’s customers was not so interested in becoming partners with that family, but with Dennis.

Dennis was talking up his free energy idea, and that investor said that there were two kinds of entrepreneurs: those who wanted to get rich, and those who wanted to build something of lasting benefit to society, and he saw Dennis as the latter. I was making the only income in our household at the time, working for the Kennedy foundation, and Dennis was in discussions with that investor. I was going to keep working until Dennis raised the money, and then I would quit and help Dennis rebuild his next effort. That was really all that I was there for, to help out, and rehabilitating Mr. Mentor, who had long since retired, as an angry and bitter man, as all of his inventions had either been stolen or suppressed. He worked as a handyman.

On Thursday of that week, Dennis said that he was going to close on the investment on Friday, and he called Mr. Engineer, who had been waiting for seven months, to have Dennis make something happen, so that he could again draw a paycheck. Mr. Engineer got in his car and drove toward Boston, and by Saturday, he was on the Great Plains, heading our way. As I recall, it was an initial $2,000 or so from that investor that allowed us to move into that house, and Dennis had just made a rent payment to the landlord with that money, and Mr. Engineer had been promised $500 per week to come work for us.

I am trying to remember exactly what I was thinking at that moment. I really had little idea how Dennis was going to make things happen. I had not seen him perform his magic act of building an effort from nothing, and just wanted a front-row seat and be able to help. I certainly did not begrudge Mr. Engineer’s getting paid, and kept fasting. I was on day 36 of that fast, on Friday the 16^th of January. I came home from work, Dennis came home late that evening, and I asked if I should quit that temp job and start helping him rebuild, and he said that the investor was getting cold feet, Dennis did not close the deal, and that I should keep working for the Kennedys, but that he would know more tomorrow.

On Saturday morning, Dennis told me more of the details. That investor not only got cold feet (the magnitude of what Dennis aspired to scared that investor, who began fearing for his life if he got involved with Dennis), but he pulled a strange move. He gave Dennis a check for a couple thousand dollars as part of his initial investment (I believe that his first check allowed us to move into that house), and asked for one in return, as “security.” It was rather strange, but by Saturday, it became clear why he asked for that “security” check: he cashed it at Dennis’s bank. So the rent check and first check to Mr. Engineer were going to bounce, for starters, because of that investor’s betrayal, and Dennis was high and dry. Dennis was going to have to do some fast talking with the landlord (who lived on the property with us, in his own house) to keep a roof over our heads, and my paycheck would probably be all that kept food on the table (or juice ).

As Dennis told me about what the investor had done, for the first time, I asked about the details of the deal that the investor had backed out on. Dennis said that the investor was going to put up $20K to be Dennis’s 50/50 partner. I had seen what Dennis had going in Seattle, and I worked for no paycheck in Seattle for months, for the promise of a tiny fraction of stock in the company. That investor would get half of what Dennis was going to build for $20K. Wow.

We were all at home that Saturday, and Dennis later wrote in My Quest that he was so high and dry that that was when God always appeared with some miracle to bail him out, and Dennis really needed it then. I thought about that situation for a couple of hours, and then asked Dennis if there was any requirement for that investor, other than putting in $20K. Dennis replied that that was it. I then asked Dennis if I could become his partner if I invested $20K. Dennis later wrote that it was an effort to not laugh at me, a man who was fasting because it was cheaper than eating, and beginning to look skeletal. Little did I know it, but my life was about to radically change forever.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 25, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I was driven to write this just before I go out the door to a very long day at the office. The purpose of this series of posts on Dennis’s and my adventures is to help reach those who I am attempting to reach. The people that I seek will recognize our adventures in their own journeys. There are not many of them on Earth, but I am putting out a beacon for them. I know what they will have in common. All sorts of seemingly well-intended people proffer all sorts of advice to me, and almost none of them really understand what I am doing, as they invariably project their own motivation and awareness at what I am doing. Almost nobody on Earth is willing or able to comprehend my message, and I know this all too well. Messages of future Epochs have almost never even been comprehensible to those mired in their Epochs, and that is OK. I seek the few who can comprehend it, or at least are willing to try. The masses will awaken when the means of abundance are delivered into their lives, and not before, and only then will a message like mine begin to be comprehended. It is just what it is, and it does no good to judge the situation, but trying to crack the social nut for this Epochal undertaking is an exercise in futility (and trying to find the easy way out) and perilous to those trying to awaken their social circles to my message. I always try to dissuade that newcomer delusion.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 26, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

On that Saturday, the day after Dennis’s investor left him high and dry, I got on the phone, on fire, and called my friends and family. I did not ask them to invest, not really. I would borrow the money, and they would get the equity. I guaranteed their “investment.” I would not get any equity myself, but would simply manage the money of my soon-to-be-rich friends and family. That was how naïve I was. Alison knew it, and cautioned Dennis about somebody as naïve as me raising money like that and becoming his partner. Dennis replied that I was exactly the kind of investor that he wanted. My innocence, idealism, and enthusiasm were more important to him than a boatload of money. He tried to protect that innocence, such as not telling me that that investor was going to put up $1 million; the $20K was merely a downpayment. That cost me later, and I did not find out until I read it in one of Dennis’s books.

When Dennis heard what I was doing, he told me to get 20% of the equity for myself, which I did. So, I owned 10% of our company. By Monday morning, $25K was on its way to my bank account. I was just happy to be there, wanting to help Dennis rebuild, and until that Saturday morning, becoming Dennis’s partner was not even in my universe of the possible. I had witnessed his Seattle company get stolen, had heard plenty about his problems with partners in the past, and I decided to end all specter of problems from me, and gave Dennis one share of what my company would own, so that Dennis owned 501 shares, and my group owned 499. He would have control of the venture. I was his first partner who did that. I named my company Better World Investors. That name reincarnated a decade later in Dennis’s Better World Technologies.

My biggest investor was Mr. Mentor, at $10K (he understood that I was the arrow that he launched), my smallest was a college roommate who died nearly a decade ago, who was raising a family but could spare $200 (his children received ten times as much when he died), and that old girlfriend, who threw herself at me for year before I did anything about it, put up $500, for one of my smallest investors. Those who could not or would not invest got shares, as I gave away 10% of my shares to them. We were all going to get aboard The Good Ship Lollipop, and change the world in the process. There was really only one sour note during that amazing weekend, when I called my mother. She began ranting and raving at me, for nearly an hour, and I when I put down the phone, I shook my head in shock. It was only a prelude to her campaigning against me years later. I later realized that she was wrestling with the demons of poor decisions that she had made in her life, and was taking them out on me (and anybody else that she could, including Mr. Mentor, and his involvement was part of her ire). My mother was not very intelligent, with an IQ of about 90 or so. My mother’s reaction should have warned me about what was coming, but I just saw it as a bizarre event during that weekend, not as a harbinger of things to come.

That old girlfriend was only a little better than my mother in the intelligence department. I tutored her for the CPA exam, which she was never able to pass, after years of cramming. If she could have passed the exam, almost anybody could have. I never even studied for the exam. For any halfway decent accountant, the CPA exam was a trivial formality.

I was going to have a front-row seat to watch the magician build something, and something important. I was well aware that free energy, like Dennis’s heat pump, was not going to be welcomed in all corners, but I was embarking on the learning experiences of my life. I never suspected what the next two years would bring.

On Monday, we began the preparations for our first Greatest Energy Shows on Earth, and the first was held exactly one month after I raised the money. Events began to come fast and furiously, as Dennis was unleashed once again, and this time, he did not have to worry that his partner would stab him in the back. It is going to take quite a few posts to cover the next two years of my life. If not for those years, I would likely not have much worth saying.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I lived with Dennis and his family for seven months in Boston, three months in Ventura, and on and off in New Jersey a decade later. As you might imagine, Dennis is an extremely powerful personality, and I was certainly under his influence during my first stint with him. I am emotionally centered in this lifetime, and a strong personality in my own right. I was not Dennis’s puppet, but he is the 800-pound gorilla of my life. I don’t know of anybody else like him on the planet, and neither does Godzilla.

When I became Dennis’s partner, we attracted Godzilla’s attention in a new way, and the friendly buyout offer soon arrived, but I want to address Dennis’s most persistent delusion, which he had as a young man, and still had it in Boston: that people really cared for anything beyond their immediate self-interest. A decade later, he finally admitted to me that they didn’t, and two decades after that, he admitted that the greatest damage to his efforts came from his allies, not his enemies. But in our days in Boston, Dennis believed in The People.

I had already been sobered up plenty since I left home, with my days in LA and what I saw in Seattle, but I bought in to Dennis’s “the people really care” rhetoric. I was about to discovere how wrong Dennis was. Dennis harbored noble delusions, but they were delusions all the same. That delusion was really the foundation of our approach. Those in-group ideologies really aren’t worth believing in, and Dennis learned decades before I met him that American nationalism is built on fairy tales. But as we prepared for our effort, Dennis scheduled our first shows at the Old South Meeting House, where the Boston Tea Party was planned. Dennis went for that American Revolution rhetoric at the very beginning, wore his religion on his sleeve from the beginning (which was not evident in Seattle, as he presented himself as a businessman), and he sold business opportunities and talked of the “free market,” so he appealed to all three of the most prominent population management ideologies in the USA.

I went to business school (after that damned voice told me to). I had no use for organized religion, not since my mystical awakening, and although I was trained to worship a flag from early childhood, I never had the nationalism bug like Dennis did, and immediately upon graduation, I began to question my capitalistic indoctrination. I already began to get sobered up in my public accounting days, but it did not become clear to me until right after the 1988 presidential election what a crock my profession was, and I had already been radicalized by then.

But in early 1987, I was full of fire, ready to change the world, and my adventures really began in Boston, when I became Dennis’s partner. Also, what I began learning early on became the seeds of why I am not with Dennis anymore and am trying out my “choir” approach. Again, this story will take a long time to tell, will also cover my adventures with Brian, and will lead to my life today and what I am attempting.

Best,

Wade

Edited August 1, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

The Monday after I made those phone calls, the money hit my bank account. We got to keep a roof over our heads, I still fasted, however ( ), and began planning our first Greatest Energy Shows. Mr. Engineer arrived a day or two later. I called Mr. Installer, and made the standard offer in those days, of $1,000 per week to help us technically (good money in those days). He came out and built the demo unit that you can see Mr. Deputy and friends hauling away in the raid. They hauled away a piece of me when they did that. Mr. Installer built it in the basement of that family’s solar home. Mr. Engineer helped supervise.

For me, one thing that I looked forward to in Boston was experiencing my first real winter. I had memories of seeing snow in Seattle when I was four, but that was it. Southern California has that famous Mediterranean climate, which really has only warm and dry seasons. In Ventura, it is warm (between 70 and 80 degrees F) and sunny, nearly 300 days a year. But until I raised the money, I did not see a flake of snow for the two months that I had been there. Then it came. Right after raising that money, every other day, for two weeks, we got four-to-six inches of snow, and when it stopped, we had two feet of snow in the yard, which lasted nearly two months. I learned to drive my Pinto on snow and ice that winter, and shoveling our driveway after each storm (and using my crowbar to break the ice) began to get old.

When I raised the money, I immediately went to 70-hour weeks, driving all over Boston was part of my routine, and Boston has the craziest drivers in the USA. I thought I had seen bad traffic and drivers in LA, but Boston was on a different level. Also, that trailer hitch that I had put on my car to go to Boston came in very handy, and I hauled that demo model to all of our Greatest Energy Shows.

I drove to Boston without knowing how the heat pump worked, but I began learning fast. I developed a vague understanding of what Dennis was attempting, from a technical point of view, but before long I was hearing the name Carnot and why what Dennis was attempting was “impossible.” In a couple of weeks, we got the demo model built (which had one heat pump panel on it and refrigeration unit with a water tank, an industrial turbine for powering tools, and some other odds and ends). It was intended to demonstrate Dennis’s free energy idea, and before each show, I bought dry ice and put it in antifreeze, as the cold part of the heat engine cycle. It was really kid’s stuff, but Dennis always liked putting on a show. Even then, the heat pump was really the star of Dennis’s effort, and we sold off that inventory that the family bought from the carcass of Dennis’s company just before it was stolen (I got my last paycheck from the Seattle days when they bought that inventory). One application was a restaurant that used it to make hot water. Restaurants were always visible installations that were used for Dennis’s marketing efforts, and I had a meal at that restaurant. I saw quite a few installations in my years with Dennis, and ecstatic customers. It was definitely the world’s best heating system. Whether it could get hooked up to heat engines and make free energy was another matter.

In those days, Dennis began to see me as the heir apparent and took me under his wing. I stopped watching TV during my first year of college and never went back. I have not watched network TV since then, other than the stray sporting event, as far as my choosing to watch TV, but I have never lived by myself (other than those few months before meeting Dennis, when I rescued that hooker), and if I wanted to hang out with my roommates (I became friends for life will all of them, except for those who “disowned” me because of coming events), it meant sitting with them when the TV was on, and Dennis was the greatest TV addict of all of my roommates. Dennis is a genius, and I see that TV addiction as another relic of his migrant farmworker past. He also seemed to use it as a diversion from his highly active mind, at the end of long days playing businessman. My wife watches about as much TV as Dennis does, so in ways, Dennis is a typical American.

I have been an early riser for the past 15 years (I was up at 5:30 this morning, which is about average for me), and will for the rest of my life, but Dennis and Alison stayed up past midnight every night, as most of my roommates did, and as my roommates did, so did I. That winter of early 1987 was memorable, with us sitting on the couch in the living room, with the TV on, and Dennis telling me the story of his life. It was not done to impress me, but to educate me, as Dennis began to groom me into the heir apparent. I was only 28. Dennis is one hell of a story teller, and his stories were worth hearing. I heard about Dennis’s days growing up after leaving home at age 13, his harrowing experiences in Vietnam when he was in combat, his adventures in Alaska, with the New Jersey mob, and his many business adventures. I had already watched those videos soon after I got to Boston, but I was now hearing the non-public versions of those events. Dennis would later write of many of them in his My Quest, written in his jail cell in Ventura, and they were kind of sanitized, understandably. Many of the stories I will likely take to my grave with me, and if all of Dennis’s adventures were made into a movie, nobody would believe any of it, as it is that far over the top. But to Dennis, it was just the life of somebody who took a fearless approach to making the world a better place. It was what he learned through all of that which was important to him, not the spectacle of it all. Few people can believe that my journey really happened, and Dennis’s is another order of magnitude more preposterous.

After three weeks of feverish activity, building the demo model, hiring the Old South Meeting House, printing up thousands of flyers (like this one), and other activities, Dennis and I worked a booth at a home show, announcing our first shows. I sat with Dennis at the booth for several days. I was learning from the master, and Dennis put all carny barkers to shame that week. I was an incredible performance and one of the most enjoyable memories of my lifetime. It was also the calm before the storm. What I saw in Seattle was sobering, but in those days I wondered if Dennis’s strategy was going to work, of enlisting the masses. We handed out thousands of flyers for our first show, and about 30 people attended it. As I cleaned the seating area after the show (I was Dennis’s assistant in the show, in my suit (Dennis was in a white tuxedo), but I hauled the demo behind my Pinto and performed other tasks, including cleaning up after the show), one attendee left some art, which I reproduced, here. I sent it to Dennis in an email long ago, and when I saw him in 2013, he had it framed in his office. He could always see the humor in his situation, even when he was behind bars and surviving murder attempts. You really had to see it to believe it.

We had four shows over the course of a week, in February 1987, and then it got back to business, and the bloom began to come off the rose for me. My life’s happiest year ended almost exactly one year from when it began, in early March of 1986, when that voice told me to move to Seattle. If you had told me what the next year would bring when I made that desperate prayer, during my life’s unhappiest period, I would have looked at you in disbelief. The story of my life’s next year would have sounded crazily impossible to me. And if you had asked me right after our Greatest Energy Shows what the next two years of my life would be like, I would have also looked at you like you were crazy, but here they came.

Best,

Wade

Edited July 29, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I am going to take one more detour before I get back to my lessons learned with Dennis posts. It may have been that conference that Limor attended, and maybe not, but in the last couple years of his life, Brian told me how he had trepidation regarding speaking at conferences, as he had a professional heckler who stalked him across the world. I doubt that he tried to disrupt Brian’s talks, like Bill the BPA Hit Man and friends did with Dennis, but he attended and gave Brian a hard time, and tried to dissuade anybody who might be interested in what Brian said. This post will on be the hazards of public speaking on the FE issue and conferences in general.

The USA’s military tried killing Brian because he put on a UFO conference in 1992, and while he survived the murder attempt, his health never recovered and led to his early death. Back in his NASA and Ivy League days, Brian spoke at plenty of conferences and helped organize them, but the ET/FE cover-up is history’s greatest, and people who put on conferences or speak at them on those subjects are risking their lives.

I saw Dennis professionally heckled the day I met him, by Bill the BPA Hit Man’s lawyer, who was in the “Better Call Saul” category of attorneys, and Dennis’s own general counsel was in that category. Those were gentle previews of my own encounters with lawyers and policemen, and I eventually considered them to be quasi-criminal professions, and they often acted criminally in our dealings with them. But they acted on behalf of officialdom as they committed their crimes, so they not only enjoyed almost complete immunity, but most of them were promoted for their crimes, even judges.

When we put on Greatest Energy Shows, all sorts of interests attended, from the earliest days, and when the rocket began to take off in Ventura, Mr. Deputy not only came to a Saturday morning show at our facility, but he also was in the audience for a show, and the next day he was readying a search warrant for our facilities, and the next day he raided it, which began the worst year of my life, by far.

When Dennis barnstormed the country in 1996, the Justice Department subpoenaed our phone records and then gagged our phone company from notifying us for six months. In these neo-Orwellian days of Homeland Security, the phone companies, Internet providers, etc., are permanently enjoined from notifying their customers, as the USA has become a de facto police state, but with the superficial trappings of freedom, and even those trappings are looking rather frayed, as the police murder unarmed citizens all the time, and only in these days of citizens having smart phones with cameras are their outright murders (and then framing their victims) beginning to come to light.

When Dennis put on the Philly show to end his 1996 tours, which was the largest FE gathering in world history so far, federal marshals were in the audience to arrest Dennis and Yull if they put on the transmutation demonstration, which Yull arrived prepared to perform. Mr. Skeptic was in the audience for that show, and the next day began his “skeptical” career, which lasted for 15 years, until Dennis was run out of the USA, and then he quietly folded his tents, as his mission was accomplished, probably earning him a bonus. I just got run out of a forum, as the moderator gulped down heaping helpings of disinformation on the Internet about Dennis (a cousin to my mother’s “If I read it in the newspaper, it must be true” delusions), and Mr. Skeptic was responsible for much of it, in one way or another, but he had plenty of help, too.

Back when I was in my second stint with Dennis, and nearly went to prison for my trouble, I read an article, by Gary Vesperman, I believe, on FE conferences and how they were crawling with CIA agents and the like. The CIA agents had to identify themselves when asked, and they actually had to wear their identification by law, back in those relatively innocent days, but they would hide their identification behind lapels and the like, and would flash them when challenged.

Murder and attempted murder at or immediately after conferences (or before) goes at least back to the 1940s. The last mass movement attempt that I will ever be involved with was NEM with Brian, and the first thing that we did was mount a conference, and the first speaker that committed to our conference was murdered a few days after committing. Brian then immediately began planning his move to South America, in fear of his life, and spent the rest of his life in exile, immediately after the conference ended. Manning the registration table at that conference was literally the last place on Earth where I wanted to be, but Brian, although he kind of went MIA as we planned the conference, begged me to stay, and I quit the day after the conference, that same day that one of Brian’s UFO/ET colleagues came to a violent end. With our conference bookended by the violent deaths of Brian’s colleagues, I am kind of amazed that he kept speaking at them, especially when he nearly died immediately after one. He was brave, but you have to be, in order to become an astronaut. But did any of that do any good? I doubt it.

I think it was that same conference that Limor attended that one of the New Age /conspiracist talking heads shared the stage with Brian, and I could see how wary Brian was of him, and that talking head is a prominent disinformation figure today. At that NEM conference, my wife remarked on how Brian was swarmed by groupies, the kind that populate those New Age harems that the New Age gurus amass, often by the “woman in every city” style. That Assange guy tried to play the same game, being some kind of rock star, and is paying heavily for not keeping it in his pants. You can’t play at the high levels and indulge in those kinds of behaviors.

I saw the same people who gave Dennis a standing ovation the day I met him cheer a few months later when his company was stolen. A couple of months after the raid, I was given a standing ovation at a conference, led by the man who wanted to replace me as Dennis’s protégé, and a few months later, he helped lead the effort to steal our company. Standing ovations are meaningless ego-strokes.

I came to realize that when putting on shows and conferences on those topics that almost nobody is there to help. They come for the spectacle, or are there to serve their social needs or self-interest, often to survey the effort, to see if they can commandeer or steal it, or they are hit men, there to wipe it out, in one way or another. Bill the BPA Hit Man just changed masks, lying out of both sides of his mouth, making it up as he went, and easily duped the naïve people in attendance. Mr. Skeptic, Mr. Deputy, Mr. Texas, and so on earned their pay for their evil deeds.

What a life-risking waste of time conferences are. It is true that I met Brian at one, but it really had no bearing on our relationship, which began when I became Brian biggest fan after he published Miracle in the Void. It is also true that my close friend got his little underground technology show in relationship to a conference. If you risk your life for long enough and survive the experience, maybe you will get a show like that, too. You will have to survive at least a few murder attempts to be a candidate for a show like that. I won’t be aspiring to receive one of those shows, and you won’t see me as a conference speaker, and my effort will never mount one. We have to aim far higher than conference consciousness, in order to make a dent.

Best,

Wade

Edited August 3, 2016 by Wade Frazier