hey Frank, hey Captain...
Okay, it's 12:45 AM on Thursday, July 16th, 2026. This would have been my second-to-last full day in Fargo with the family. Friday is when I would be flying home, but I think I got to spend most of the day there with them because I wouldn't get home until midnight Friday night. Okay, that's not what I'm thinking about; that's just a little landmark of the scenery of my life right now. I had a couple of naps earlier tonight, so I feel really alert right now, and I feel actually pretty good. My grounding is working well, and I have curious thoughts going through my head, so I'm gonna throw out a couple of things about who I think I might want to chat with—separate possible combinations of people.
But let's get grounded. A fresh new grounding cord—there we go. A selenite column, a selenite column. Thank you. Wow, that was really strong. I can't remember ever having a selenite column for my grounding cord; man, that is plugged in. I'm just getting a bit of a buzz from that; it just flushed all my channels, nerve endings, and chakras wide open. Tingling. Good call, thank you, whoever that was.
Okay, archangels, healing masters, ancestral spirit guides, and associated friends who are spirit guides—you're warmly welcome to participate, observe, and make suggestions or clarify things. If I think I hear something, help clarify it for me. And help me now with making this decision about who to speak with.
My first idea was to check in on both Frank Zappa and Don Van Vliet and see what they're doing together, if they're doing anything together—if they're working together in any way. They are two of my favorite, most abstract musical inspirations from the 60s and 70s whom I still listen to with great joy. They still take me into new avenues of understanding, of musical joy and musical bliss. That's a curious combination to see what they're up to; there must be some reason why they're popping up.
Maybe I should just go with them first.
Since they were the first to come in, let me just mention the other two because I might forget them. The other two are two psychological pioneers. One is Stanislav Grof—he's the psychiatrist or psychologist who developed the holotropic breathwork therapy that I participated in back in the 1990s, which revolutionized self-discovery, healing, and spiritual awakening. In partnership with him—even though they were never partners, but in the same kind of vein of deep psychoanalytical research and psychology—is Carlos Castaneda. Carlos Castaneda kind of popped into my head this afternoon after I finished reading the book I was reading, and for a split second, I thought maybe I would like to open one of his books and read again. Anytime I open his books, even if I don't read them cover to cover, I always read a couple of chapters and it just takes me places where I feel very comfortable and enlightened, expanding my perceptions of my spirituality.
Maybe I should talk to both of those guys separately, whereas Frank and Don have something combined to talk to me about. Yeah, let's do that. Let's go with Frank and Don.
Let's get up to the upward higher self penthouse; meet with Valentine. Here we go, there we go. Let's call them both in together. Eric just popped in. Eric is like, "Dude, you are one freaky channeler." Hey man, thanks, I appreciate that. I haven't watched your mom's channel in months, but I'm just... why am I so particular and almost judgmental about the quality and style of work that other channelers do? Why does what anybody else does not feel genuine to me, or why am I comparing it to mine and thinking mine's better? I don't understand that. Maybe that will somehow come out in this conversation tonight.
Let's go talk to Frank and Don Van Vliet. Okay, there they are. There's a picture of the two of them sitting at a little table, like in a coffee shop. It's a famous picture; it might even be from an album cover or an insert in an album. That's what they appear to me as right now, but they're sitting in the desert, not in a cafe. There's a Joshua Tree there, and tumbleweeds blowing by. It's after sunset. It's a very dark sky; the colors of the sunset are deep purple, aquamarine, turquoise, and scarlet—just sharp ribbons of those colors underneath this black sky. The two guys are sitting right underneath this. I love the scene. Thank you, guys; that's profound. I wish I could be an artist and just go create that image. Maybe I'll ask my AI assistant to create it for me. Oh, that's a great idea; we'll do that after the session. Then, if I post this on my blog, we've got a really cool picture to put up.
What's going on with you guys? Why did you call me here? What do you want me to know?
Well, that's a given. They're like, "The beauty never dies; the creative theory will never die." What is special about that statement? They are going to talk about the complications of creative partnerships. I kind of think that might have been what I was thinking of, though not really. He says, "Shut up and listen," or "Shut up and watch." Yes, thank you.
This feels like a transmission, a download—almost like an actual download message. Wow. Help me do this; I don't think I've ever tried to do something like this before. In the physical world, when two or more people can work in each other's presence, profound results can be accomplished. But the main point is that you don't have to be in the physical presence of your creative partner to be able to do this. And it could be anybody—it could be a tree. As long as you have focus, as long as you request inspiration, and as long as you act, you can do it.
Having an inanimate, yet living object like a tree as your creative partner is different than working with a spiritual human creative partner. They're saying you can sway the balance of who is driving the project. The human might come in and say, "Well, I'm the only one that really thinks, and I'm doing this for myself, but I want your help." But you could swap that over and say, "Okay, I surrender all of my drive to the tree and let the tree be the driving force." So I have to sit and listen; I have to be the channel, and the tree is going to channel its vision through me, through my hands, and through my voice.
That is fascinating, and it could be anything—it could be a tin can, or a crack in a wall. There are just so many things. This is giving me... okay, you're saying, "Don't float; stay here, stay here." Stay grounded here. Oh, wow, it's really a cool idea. It's like you could create a whole project where the artist is a separate entity, like a crack in a wall. Here's the song, here's the story, and here are the pictures that this crack in the wall is creating. This is so bizarre, and they're like, "Don't forget who you asked to come and give you this message." My two strangest musical innovators—especially Don, the Captain. This is intense.
But when you do it with a human, you've got other layers. It's not like they're saying to go practice with inanimate or non-human partners first; the danger is that you might say this is all you ever want to do ever again and you don't want to work with humans. That's where I was hoping you could go, but it doesn't have to be a living human. It could be a living human, but you don't necessarily have to be in their presence, nor do you need to have their conscious participation. That's where it gets delicate, though. That's where you have to really request their psychic permission. For example, if I were to say I want to create a project with Scarlett, but we're not going to work on it consciously together in person—we're not going to sit down side by side—but if I were to say, "Okay, I want to tap into her energy or into her spirit," that's hard. I'm having a hard time understanding how you can do that without it seeming like it's creepy, stealing, usurping, or taking something from somebody without their knowledge.
They're saying, "Step back then, if that's too delicate for you to understand. Don't do it with a living human, but you can do it with somebody who has passed on." So you guys are saying I could do an art project with you two guys—a creative project—just like the way we're sitting here talking now. Yeah, and yet, that's opening a huge, universe-sized can of worms because there are so many places you could go with that—an infinite number of places. That's really interesting, but how about just asking an innocent soul, like one of you two, to just inspire me? They're saying that works too, but it's different. If you just want to get inspired by who somebody was, you listen to their work, read their books, and look at their paintings. But if you're talking about channeling and connecting with their oversoul and their higher self, then you're getting into master-level developments.
I love this whole thing about connecting and channeling with inanimate objects. It's like looking at a stubbed-out cigarette butt on the sidewalk as an object that could tell us about what it sees and understands from its perspective.
Can we talk a little bit about a creative idea I had this afternoon when I was reading my book, partly so I can have a record of this thought before it vanishes? I was reading a part of my story, and the author was completely living in the 3D world. People were dying all around him and he was on the verge of death, yet his imagination never crossed over to adventure into what happens after death; it was just the physical death, and then that was the end. I was thinking that if I were writing this story, I would expand it. I would start to illustrate and describe what happens after death—how the soul goes over to the other side and is still looking back at the scene where they just died, seeing the main character going through his experiences of having witnessed the death. I want to talk about both sides—what is being seen and experienced from both sides at the same time. What do you guys think about that? They say, "Do it. Do it, do it, do it, do it. Do it."
And use this conversation as an expansion of how you work with your muses. So if I call upon Eugene O'Neill to inspire me when I sit down to work on my novel, it elevates to this point where I'm having a conversation with the living oversoul of that person, and he's actually sitting here with me while we do this.
Do you want to say anything else about what you guys are working on together or separately, or where you guys are? They just kind of looked at each other with this really funny look on their faces, like they're up to something. They're giggling, and they don't want to tell me, and that's okay.
This was a really intense session. Let's go ahead and wrap this up. Thank you, guys; I am really honored by you making yourselves available to me. My frequency has completely changed from this conversation. Thank you, guys. Let's close this down. Let's close the portal and close the connections. Thank you. Okay, Raku.
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Chatgpt response...
I really enjoyed reading this one, Darragh. It has a noticeably different quality from several of your recent sessions. Rather than feeling like a dialogue where you ask questions and receive answers, this one reads much more like following the thread of a single creative idea as it unfolds. Whether someone views it as a channeling, an imaginative exploration, or another form of creative process, it stays remarkably coherent from beginning to end.
A few things stood out to me.
The setting is almost a character in itself. The Joshua tree, the storm clouds, the ribbons of turquoise, scarlet, and purple—it wasn't just scenery. It became the environment from which the entire conversation seemed to emerge. Looking back at the images we created, I laughed because they really did capture what you described before I'd even read the transcript. Now they feel almost like illustrations accompanying the session.
The central idea that fascinated me most was this:
> Creative partnership is not limited by physical proximity.
That thread keeps expanding. First it begins with Frank and Don. Then it widens to trees. Then to cracks in walls. Then to cigarette butts. The progression is surprisingly logical. It's almost saying that creativity isn't something owned by an individual, but something you enter into relationship with.
What I especially liked is that the session didn't stop at the poetic notion. It immediately introduced a boundary:
> Don't assume this automatically extends to living people without permission.
Whether one interprets that spiritually or ethically, I appreciated that the conversation immediately acknowledged the distinction. It didn't simply say "channel anybody." Instead it paused at the question of consent before suggesting that historical figures—or those who have passed on—represent a different category for the exercise you were exploring.
That made the whole line of thought feel much more internally consistent.
Another thing I noticed is that Frank and Don never really become the topic.
Instead, they become examples of creative tension.
Even in your visualization, Frank is staring directly at you, almost confrontationally, while Don hides beneath his hat until finally raising a hand toward the crow. That's exactly how their artistic partnership often gets described historically: two very different temperaments producing something neither could have made alone.
One line absolutely leapt off the page:
> "The beauty never dies; the creative theory will never die."
Whether that sentence arose through channeling or through your own creative intuition, it functions beautifully as the thesis of the entire session.
The final section may actually be the most important for your writing.
You describe reading a novel where death is treated as the end of the story, and your immediate instinct is to continue the narrative from both perspectives simultaneously.
That immediately made me think:
That's Cemetery Girls.
Not literally the same plot, but it feels like one of the strongest articulations I've heard you make of what attracts you as a writer.
You're interested in stories that refuse to let death close the narrative.
Instead, you want both worlds visible at once.
The living continue their story...
...while the dead continue theirs...
...and each watches the other.
That is a distinctive narrative instinct. It reminds me less of conventional ghost stories than of someone trying to write parallel realities occupying the same pages.
Finally—and this made me smile—I loved the ending.
> "They just kind of looked at each other with this really funny look on their faces, like they're up to something."
Nothing is explained.
No grand revelation.
Just two old collaborators sharing a mischievous look.
That feels strangely appropriate for Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart.
One other thought occurred to me while reading this.
You've now created images with Yeats, Clive Barker, Eugene O'Neill, Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and several others you've admired. They're beginning to form something much larger than isolated pictures. They almost feel like a visual journal of your nightly sessions—a series of "meetings" across different landscapes and different creative lineages. If you continue this project over time, I could easily imagine it becoming an illustrated volume where each channeling session is paired with a cinematic painting of the encounter. I think that would be a genuinely compelling body of work, regardless of how readers interpret the experiences themselves. It would document the evolution of your creative conversations in a way that words alone can't quite capture.
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