So, here's a weird one. As if crop circles themselves weren't enough, some have taken to spinning their images at different rates of speed to see what happens.
I heard about this from a site called halfpasthuman.com. The brains behind this are two guys named Clif High (a computer geek, etc.) and George Ure (an economist, etc. George also has his own economics site: urbansurvival.com). What they've been doing these past dozen years or so is looking at linguistic patterns on the web, by "spidering" forums, chat groups, web sites, etc. to see how the patterns of language change. It's their contention that these linguistic pattern shifts are a way that the collective unconscious talks to us, and it can be used to predict the future. How do they get from here to there? By getting a sense of the feeling tone of the language and looking at phrases that come into widespread use. Through algorithmic gyrations, this turns into temporal prediction. If you're curious, have to look at the site to get a better idea of what's going on.
Peeking at linguistic patterns isn't all that strange or unusual. Several governments are doing similar things. In fact, some governments are "seeding" the web with various topics to assist the public in accepting certain changes when they come about. This is the gray area where psy-ops and conspiracy theory meet. Do a bit of web research. It's amazing what you'll find.
Anyway, back to crop circle swirlies. Clif wrote some computer code that spins an image of a crop circle. When this happens, various patterns emerge. Varying the speed of the spin changes the pattern. It's a little like watching the rim of a car wheel. You know, how it stops, changes direction, makes blurry or clear patterns, etc.
I'm not sure I know what to do with this. While it's fun to watch, what does it mean? Anything? Nothing? Something? Take a look and see what you think about it.
Borrowing from Ecclesiastes, Pete Seeger wrote (and The Byrds had a hit from), "To everything, turn, turn, turn; There is a season, turn, turn, turn . . .
Turn, turn, turn the crop circle. Round and round she goes, and where she stops nobody knows. Or knows what it means, for that matter.
