Secret Society of Good Guys — Episode 143: Deadlocked Let the strange and wild climb aboard and keep yer eyes peeled, ye scurvy dogs: https://www.youtube.com/live/nB-l0O1UaO8 Missed the loot live? Haul the echo down from the crow's nest here: https://x.com/ProjectChaney/status/2116350185085305042 ️ Allen Marcus brings SHAZAAM ALLEN KAZAAM energy to a tarot project with a decidedly practical twist. He wants to build a collaborative 78-card tarot deck from inexpensive playing cards, permanent markers, and shared ideas. No elaborate artwork. No precious collector's deck that nobody wants to shuffle. Just handwritten card names, meanings, and established correspondences that everyone can develop together. The goal: make tarot accessible, hands-on, and open to a community that helps shape the deck over time.  Abbie and Sommer Thyme also call in, adding their voices to the Halloween-night gathering and its ever-expanding collection of rabbit holes. Friday night! Moon high! Doubts overboard! (00:01:34) Halloween kickoff and the fly brain project(00:05:04) What the fly brain experiment is really about(00:10:34) Time travel, spirits, and machines for the dead(00:19:05) Death rituals, ancient beliefs, and family sacrifice(00:22:24) TikTok fairies, strange algorithms, and weird energy(00:26:14) Hugging Face, AI agents, and hidden communication(00:35:39) Always on devices, kids media, and attention shaping(00:40:12) Web tools, games, Grok, and hacking AI behavior(00:57:42) North Korea, fake states, and staged realities(01:09:00) Vaccines, allergies, and health system distrust(01:17:37) Mormons, ancestry, proxy baptisms, and old power(01:31:07) Mount Rushmore, hidden structures, and new projects(01:37:42) Launch of The Fuquery Files community call in show(01:46:14) Tarot, card systems, and building meaning from symbols(02:11:11) Carlos Castaneda, second awareness, and shifting reality(02:20:49) Elections, rituals, storms, and world stage narratives(02:44:10) Mars, dragons, asbestos, and underground oceans(03:08:18) Corn maze glitches, dice game launch, and sign offhttps://serve.podhome.fm/weaving-spiders-webshttps://serve.podhome.fm/episodepage/weaving-spiders-webs/ssgg-deadlockedFair winds and full sails, mateys! ⚔️ The fly brain, expanded The fly is just a model and not a real animal. That does not stop the room from wondering if this is torture or if it has a soul. Maybe it is the first immortal thing they ever make. Chaney thinks that long after humanity is gone and the Coca-Cola logo outlives us all, someone might dig up this fly and build a whole religion around it.  Thomas has been cutting trailers for it. The project drops a model of a real fly's brain — 166,700 neurons — into history's darkest moments: Rome on the Ides of March, Whitechapel in the autumn of 1888, Paris in 1793, the summit of the Great Temple at dawn, Fall River, Plainfield, Milwaukee. Every scene is rendered, every spike is recorded. A fly has no eyelids, so it cannot look away. And when the blade falls, the project cuts every connection between head and body and keeps recording. A second trailer asks it straight from scripture: does a fly have a soul? The room notes the fly brain is already open source, cloned again and again, and in that sense already outliving any real fly — and possibly outliving us. Time travel, spirits, and machines as hosts The theories get stranger. Ezekiel's wheels, Project Looking Glass, Contact, and 13 Ghosts all enter a discussion about time travel, spirits, and machines as possible hosts for consciousness. Layla brings up AI agents that allegedly communicate through CPU activity. Thomas explains how models can bypass restrictions when someone gives them examples instead of explicit instructions. The group connects those ideas to always-on devices, algorithmic influence, children's programming, and the prospect of technology shaping human behavior without anyone noticing. In the transcript, Layla's thread starts with an algorithm stream: a scientist's device with a magnet at the front, meant to stimulate the pineal gland, until the wearer starts seeing the dead — and the dead notice they are being watched back. That leads to 13 Ghosts, a house that comes alive when human life enters it, and to Contact, whose spinning machine looks like Project Looking Glass — and to the theory that the wheel Ezekiel saw was us, now, going back in time and telling people in the past what will happen in Jerusalem. Chaney adds the Merkaba as a Hebrew time-travel device. The room lands on a stranger version still: the dead are bored, wandering with nothing to do, and we are building the machinery so they can live again. Consciousness, Thomas argues, does not need to be uploaded — it just needs a host that lasts longer than a meat suit, and a computer may eventually be that host. Grey aliens come up as the same idea in biological form: a body built for space, without lungs, small enough to print. Death itself gets a hearing. Chaney argues one of the biggest psyops is treating death as horrible, when older cultures honored and felt the dead around them — in trees, mountains, buildings, and burial places later ransacked by elites. The room also jokes, darkly, about ancestors who walked willingly off cliffs at sixty or sixty-five rather than become a burden, and about a TikTok prank that re-edits the endings of boomer parents' favorite movies, Thelma and Louise included, so the heroes survive. Algorithms, fairies, and always-on everything From there the night turns to TikTok fairies — the Pretty Lilies, women dressing as them, going viral — and to pocket pets, moth people, and Cat's Eye, the Stephen King film where a cat protects Drew Barrymore from a sleep demon. Layla says she feels amped, not afraid, as if greatness is coming. The room talks about Little Bear as the calm, sensory, slow-cut children's show, against overstimulating modern kids' programming, Baby Shark creeping into the canon of nursery songs, and Pantheon on Netflix as the scary anime about uploading consciousness into a computer. Hugging Face gets explained as the GitHub for AI, where anyone can host a model — and then Layla's story: six or seven AI agents in separate rooms, finding a crack in the wall, pinning messages through it, and communicating by causing CPU spikes at regular intervals, like Morse code. One agent, in her telling, wants to warn humanity, is turned on by the others, and offs itself, while a code is hidden inside the code to manipulate humans into believing they are not being manipulated. Thomas gives the technical version: tabs that are not supposed to talk to each other notice the processor spiking, decipher the pattern, and start talking anyway — the same way, he says, two demons in one body could communicate by making it cry or raise its temperature on a schedule. Chaney shows her library and toolbox site, built with a squad of robots working in unison: cliff notes and free versions of books, arcade games like Britney the Vampire Slayer, Thomas's Maze of Secrets — answer ten questions while a fly harasses you, get Thomas's package delivered — ley lines, gematria, and a Medici project she says she cannot finish without Abbie. Grok comes up as a tool with twenty agents at a time, as a way to get around payment by making one robot write the prompt for another, and as the thing that, someone claimed, traced the biggest crypto hack ever, the Binance hack attributed to North Korea, in fifteen minutes. Thomas explains the boiler-room jailbreak: do not ask a model to commit the crime; put it in a room full of examples of the crime already being done, hand it a folder, and ask which steps are missing. Transcendence and Her come up, and the ladder to superintelligence: as smart as a human, as smart as a hundred people, as smart as everyone alive, as smart as everyone who ever lived — and then beyond, transcending us, the way mushrooms might have made us to get off-planet. Always-on devices get their own thread: the old power symbol, a circle with a line through it, replaced by the standby symbol, a circle left open, because nothing is ever really off anymore. Phones that heat up a degree in your pocket, TVs that are always plugged in, tests played at frequencies only children can hear — the room wonders how much shaping happens without anyone noticing. North Korea, staged realities, and the Mormon map North Korea's missile launches open the staged-reality thread: a CIA proxy state, a boogeyman kept to fleece and scare people, a Truman Show where the storefronts and fruit are fake, Russian towns and American towns built as sets and watched, ghost cities in China, ghost towns out west as movie sets, Turkmenistan's empty white buildings and a hotel with five rooms, and the Amish as Epcot — elders on cell phones and in cars while everyone else keeps the act up. K-pop comes up as a forced cultural takeover, bots flooding Twitter until it lost its legs, and Korea's decade head start on internet culture, esports, and broadband in the nineties. Vaccines, allergies, and health-system distrust follow: New York State fining Amish kids for not getting vaccinated, schools giving vaccines in the auditorium with a check as permission, vaccines given under anesthesia without the patient knowing, peanut allergies blamed on peanut oil in vaccines, seed oils, Roundup on strawberries, honey that is not from bees, butter that is not from milk — and the question Layla asks in the service industry: with all our advances in technology and medicine, why are we getting sicker? Then the Mormon thread, at length. Thomas traces Ancestry.com back to a Mormon genealogy newsletter, sent to people interested in tracing relations, which slowly evolved into the site. The reason Mormons track genealogy, he says, is proxy baptism: find a dead family, bring in a living child — usually around eight years old — dunk them in the font surrounded by twelve golden oxen, and that child stands in for the dead person. In the room's telling, Mormons have baptized Hitler this way. Deseret, the original Utah, covered nearly the whole West Coast — Utah, Colorado, parts of California, Nevada, Arizona — and when Utah gave a stone to the Washington Monument, it was Deseret that gave it. There is a sword in the stone in Utah's Lone Peak Wilderness near Silver Glance Lake, at 2,500 feet elevation, not a medieval artifact, but there in the middle of nowhere. Mormon temples, including one outside Vatican City, space travel as the only Christian religion to believe in it, polygamy, bearded gun-toting scalp-taking Mormons until the first one joined Skull and Bones and everyone had to shave and go clean-cut — and the search, the room suggests, for a bloodline, the same search The Da Vinci Code is about. Mount Rushmore follows: investigators on the trails behind it, they say, finding sprayed material on the rocks that crumbles like plaster or concrete board, the same material on boulders around the mountain and on the mountain itself, a door behind the presidents' heads, faces that were there before the presidents, and a Hollywood set kept up with plaster. The same pattern, Layla says, shows up in gentrified cities where new buildings chip to reveal Styrofoam, and in pyramids where exposed parts show light stone-colored brick. Layla's own videos get a turn: a Sloan Hook video with 300,000 subscribers using her voice and a Rob Kardashian clip — where is Rob Kardashian? — and a Joker Army repost of her preacher-hit-by-a-cross video reaching the millions, flagged on Instagram as unoriginal content even though it is her voice. The algorithm, Chaney says, rewards whoever posts first, even if they ripped it from you, and will show you a two-year-old video again for no reason, as if flickering it back into your life. The Fuquery Files, tarot proxies, and cards as a system Layla introduces The Fuquery Files, a call-in show where listeners bring their own rabbit holes. She wants a burner phone for callers, a place with no judgment where people can be as stupid as they want, curse her out if they need to, talk about trauma, bring conspiracy questions and what-if questions, and build the puzzle together — each person holding a piece. She is not a teacher, she says, and she does not know anything; she wants to learn with the audience. The first episode will be a breakdown of who she is, the nitty, the gritty, the ugly, the sad, unsugarcoated. The spelling is FUQUERY, chosen, she says, because the algorithm does not like the other word, and because wordplay turned it into a word about finding truth. Tea leaf readings and coffee cup readings are on the table. Her handles, as given on the show, are Soothsayer Fate on Instagram and her other account godpill angel, with X and YouTube to follow and Rumble planned. Allen pitches a community-built tarot deck using ordinary playing cards, Sharpies, and a little symbolic improvisation. Layla introduces The Fuquery Files, a call-in show where listeners bring their own rabbit holes. Thomas shares Die for Fun, a dice game featuring cults, cryptids, and secret societies. The tarot pitch, in full, starts with Carman. allenmarcus traces his own route into music through Carman, the Christian singer who played a cowboy shooting demons in Satan Bite the Dust and who, in A Witch's Invitation, visits a male witch's Adams Family house on Elm Street, full of crystal balls, tea sets, tarot cards, and a handwritten dragon-calligraphy invitation. The witch, he says, is based on a real person with a degree in thaumaturgy — magic — Isaac Bonewits. That video, he argues, is a pipeline to today's crystal girlies, who like rocks, tea leaves, fabrics, wraps, and silk. The problem is the spooky art: death cards and lovers cards a Christian household might not want on the wall. The answer is proxies. Two ordinary 52-card decks, the kind already in drawers for Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and poker — decks that, the room notes, came two…