Palmer Eldritch and Laura Palmer… Or more properly her father… Cosmic evil in two reducible forms, one a cyborg Belial, the other a literal daemon possessed serial killer.
David Lynch like Philip K. Dick is called unique, odd, eccentric and all the other pejorative compliments those with small reality boxes call those whose rality boxes have sides far off in the distance.
What the two men share is not so much distinctive visions as the alienation, existential ennui and an almost Lovecraftian sense of absent deities and monsters that use confusion as one of their main weapons of mass mis-instruction.
A PKD protagonist could easily wake up in Twin Peaks, only to eventually end his story driving on a Lost Highway under the influence of Can-D or Substance D…
Consider that there is a wave form that permeates what we think of as the cosmos. Let us call it a theotron.
Both Hubbard and Dick were overwhelmed by theotrons.
L. Ron Hubbard is the picture perfect exemplar of luciferian cult master. He proudly boasted to his son during a drunken triumphalist rant that he was a black magician, and that all he sold and packaged up was the same old lucifer hypnosis.
The reason why scientology and Dick’s agnostic gnosticism are starting to flourish is in each case because conventional religions have come true. Everything old religions promised, other than the chimerical eschaton, have been fulfilled. All the powers the old gods claimed are now at the disposal of any acquiescent member of modern society.
Philip K. Dick’s 8,000 page exegesis is the raw material for a New Testament, and is an insight into how both “Genesis” and “Acts of the Apostles” came to be created in their own times.
Hubbard on the other hand has no single coherent work, because he had no interest in maintaining a consistent thesis. His writings are mere camouflage for the same abandonment and devil channelling as every darkside religion has practised from pre-rabbinical judaism to islam.
We entered a New Aeon at the end of 2012 AD. Hubbard and Dick are the harbingers of a zoroastrian style war between light and dark.
What does a scanner see? he asked himself. I mean, really see? Into the head? Down into the heart? Does a passive infrared scanner like they used to use or a cube-type holo-scanner like they use these days, the latest thing, see into me—into us—clearly or darkly? I hope it does, he thought, see clearly, because I can’t any longer these days see into myself. I see only murk. Murk outside; murk inside. I hope, for everyone’s sake, the scanners do better. Because, he thought, if the scanner sees only darkly, the way I myself do, then we are cursed, cursed again and like we have been continually, and we’ll wind up dead this way, knowing very little and getting that little fragment wrong too.
- A Scanner Darkly, Chapter 11 (p. 185), Philip K. Dick