Genevieve Abeille

FBI // COINTELPRO FILE

Obtained by Operation URIEL
during the lead up to the temblor event at the St. Francis Hotel.

GENEVIEVE ABEILLE (married name BALLARD, not used professionally), b.1929, Berkeley, Calif. Father Daniel was professor of European history at Stanford University, mother Martha entomologist who eventually found work for the Civilian Conservation Corps during the New Deal working on insect infestation in agricultural areas of Northern California. Brother Peter (b. 1931) professor of linguistics, University of Iowa; sister Patricia (b. 1934) concert cellist with Los Angeles Philharmonic. Parents both left-wing fellow travelers with extensive FBI files. High school Berkeley HS, graduated 1947. Attended University of California at Berkeley, Bachelor's degree in psychology, 1951. Moved to Boston, Mass. to attend Brandeis University for Ph.D. in psychology. While there met engineering student CHARLES BALLARD, married in 1952. Two children: Carolyn (b. 1953) and Thomas (b. 1955).

File begun on subject ABEILLE in 1962 after Ballards had returned to Bay Area (ABEILLE did not finish degree at Brandeis, became nominal homemaker). Upon return to Bay Area for husband's employment at Fairchild Semiconductor, ABEILLE got social worker licensure and began work at Mental Research Institute in Palo Alto, Calif. Also began attending civil rights marches and marches on nuclear disarmament and wrote letters to editors of both mainstream and left-wing publications on said subjects. Subject ABEILLE's marriage seems to be sexually unconventional with both BALLARD and ABEILLE engaging in frequent affairs with spouses' apparent mutual knowledge. ABEILLE participated in the infamous "nude sit-in" at logging site at California redwoods in June, 1967, was arrested and charged with trespass and indecent exposure; around this time she began publishing science fiction with Bay Area independent publisher Four Seasons Foundation (Bolinas, Calif.). Subject is believed to be a dedicated political subversive supportive of ecological activism, racial separatism (gave both moral and material support to Oakland Black Panthers), and feminist ideologies; COINTELPRO spot surveillance to be continued indefinitely.

Now Genevieve is onto a new series, the Kinarchist series, which looks at reborn individuals across time in different time periods – before Earth existed, in the Neolithic, in the 1970s contemporary Earth, in the near future of 2021, and in the far future when humanity has migrated peacefully across the solar system and found harmony with all the indigenous entities therein – linked by their relationship to a giant monadic larval entity being, situated outside of time. The first book which came out in 1972 is about people's past life reincarnations working together over many different periods of human history to achieve contact with this entity.

The new book, second in the series coming out in the next few weeks after the convention, examines that larval entity which all these humans over time have been working for, from the perspective of the humans first experiencing communion with it. It is supposed to be more psychedelic, more concerned with the thoughts and feelings of this alien entity, really digging into the connections between living things of all levels of existence: the common consciousness among all entities in the universe.

A trek through tall and driven snow in fur-wrapped feet, the entrance to the cave cold and clammy but practically steaming within. The roaring bonfire, the deep thump of the skin-drum beat, louder, drawing you deeper, calling you in to the sacred place kept by your people for the specific purpose of sacred ritual.

There is no distance between you and spirit here, which makes it difficult for those who have never known spirit to understand what you are doing now. You can see them, these scrawny, near sighted men of the future, squinting at your sacred drawings and assigning them primitive, libidinal meanings. But that bird man’s erect penis is not about the shaman’s visionary healing power

It is about creation
It is about the goddess
It is about the monad
It is about the future

All of it a map, extending back to the cosmic center

The sacred plants know
And the speak it in a low rumble in the belly of all peoples
A wisdom to never let go
Never let go
Never let go

⌼ 2012

Jaene’ had figured out that their task was to make vessels for gods to dwell in. This was the way this was the way this was THE WAY. The only thing that made sense to them was knowing that, as spirit roiled behind and next to and through them, as if material was the garment it had draped itself in for a romp, most of it was undifferentiated simply because it hadn’t been presented with the proper containers yet, hadn’t been fed the attention that enticed it to exert the effort to participate in the affairs of a person, or, with more energy and attention the affairs of a community, or a country. The ancient peoples got it, they were constantly creating containers to hold their gods, to hold their ancestors, a container of human meaning, wrapped in mythology, humbly petitioning “come fill up my cup, and I will show you nothing but devotion, and appreciation” and it is in this gifting of vessels that the gods become meaningful on this earth, because they have more to clothe themselves with, more attention, the highest form of currency in the imaginal realm, and gradually their powers increase in this dimension as well.

This is what empire had taken away from the peoples of the world, and this was what they were meant to do, here on earth, in this lifetime. Making vessels

So that the thing they belong to, the monster beyond the veil, could fill it up when they rejoined them at end of life.

It’s what the christ did and that egregor had enough power to be twisted to dominate the entire planet ...

What happened to the surrendered energy of those who lost faith in an egregor? Could it be gathered? Could it be co-opted? Could it be commanded? Was it a matter of creating the right vessel? Maybe everyone who had lost their faith in Christianity, and lost their faith in their guru or swami and lost their faith in their country could be gathered up and all that energy could be marshaled around a cause.

Like godhood, which required temenos and temple, perhaps all it required was the right vessels. And what better vessels were there than the humming, thrumming, energy guzzling super computers? They were already repositories of the attention of the people, of their names and faces, of their dates and places, of their stories; what if they also became the embodied containers for the future gods?

⌺ 2033

Everything is always uncertain in the aftermath of an apocalypse, but the forest is the filter that can hold us all. The deeper the forest the less of the mess that gets through and the more of the old gods who knit together the ancient ecological rhythms of the world remain. It was here, in this deep nest where the ancient ways are [being reborn].

⍐ 2158

I meditate upon the face of god and it looks like one of those snake fireworks where it gradually amasses material over meaning, but it’s also a rhizome, a wobbly turkey tail mushroom in its own spacetime accordion differentiating out from itself and reentering itself to catalyze change. Every split to the fabric of being is a monad, every monad dividing and reentering itself endlessly in a ballet of spacetime, all of it perfecting itself across a potentiation of being which is never-ending; the kaleidoscopic heartbeat of the entire cosmos, thrumming together in chaotic uncertainty.

It’s the diffraction, the differentiation, the creation, the splitting of timelines, the birthing of more of itself that is of primary interest to it, or, at least, as near as I can tell, to the monad which I am connected to which, though it has split and merged in magnitudes unfathomable my belonging to it stretches all the way back to the cosmic soup at the beginning of the universe and that? Is god, that apprehension of the total system in one piercing moment of clarity that is god. And from there was flung out purpose, each with yearning, with perception, with desire and appetite, exploring the queering intent of the mysterious velvet folds of its own archetypal purpose.

This is the thing that’s hard for human souls to grasp on to, that our Samsarah, the earth game, this repetition of karmic cycles to gradually heal the soul and escape maya? That’s just what the monad you are attached to is doing with you, it’s not even the total portion of their objective in the earth game, as that is all the parts of you, entering and reentering yourselves and each other, to achieve some sort of end. And that total earth game is a tiny way this cosmic larva makes its way across the universe, its spirit trails etched in matter across galaxies.

This is what touching yourself feels like on VS-315b.

They found it on venus (VS), which wasn’t surprising considering the chemical makeup of the planet. When the Mars colonization scheme fell through (due to a lack of corporate oversight and a conquistador’s ethic to the exploration of other worlds) the Venusian proposal took a completely different tact, rather than attempt to colonize and terraform the surface, people would create symbiotic pods designed to amplify the successful exchange of energy and resources between Venus and the Earth. This had brought with it a boon in not only medical technologies as access to rare gases allowed for long unexplored avenues of treatment to emerge but a whole new crop of consciousness experiences that had not taken time to root on earth.

An entity is found at the intersection of these ethics, of taking something that was never meant for you and making it sacred, giving it a home in the earth, a home in you, and integrating that with your own evolution. How do you help them? What do they need?

Venusian engineers understood that their work was more like bees to flowers than settlers to the long-inhabited indigenous lands, a gentle pollination which would let something develop in the womb of the world, an exchange of minerals and microbes more than complex organisms, who rely on the context that birth them to sustain them meaningfully.