Federation of Magic Pop UFOS

In the basement of a Paris apartment building sat 295 boxes with the remains of a forgotten Woodstock style music festival. Some reels smelled of vinegar and rotten celluloid. Others had faded into malignant shades of magenta. The sound had separated from the image. Faces disappeared beneath mold, dust and chemical decay. For nearly fifty years, the festival existed  mostly in rumor. Then somebody opened the basement. Riviera ’76 had been Michael Lang’s attempt to transport the Woodstock dream across the Atlantic and reassemble it beneath the sun of southern France. Betty Davis came. Joe Cocker came. Jimmy Cliff, Gil Scott-Heron, Magma and John McLaughlin came. Organizers expected 100,000 believers at the Paul Ricard racetrack. About 30,000 arrived. This was not the revolution you were looking for. Perhaps that was the first clue that the counterculture had entered a different dimension—one where peace and love still appeared on the posters, but accountants waite...

                    When I set out to create a blog that would capture minds as curious as mine, I made a promise to stay as true to be  my beliefs as possible (I don't have many to begin with), be it cynical, naive or what's in my nature to remain motivated to strive to learn a thing or two.  We can drop the spectacle for a moment and look at what actually happened without feeling bad.  I have made the mistake of coming on too strong at times, drawing some ire from my peers.  Somehow, my "heroes" of  the journalistic world of the strange did/do it so much more diplomatically.  I'd like to think that the hard work pays off, and some of the talents in the field are ace researchers. But today I found out the fastest-moving UAP discussion didn’t involve a crashed saucer, a congressional confession, or another retired official promising humanity-shattering evidence after returning from the commerci...