Mr. Endings (not his real name) had said he would stop writing, but persists. I have found his comments long, tedious, argumentative and generally without substance. He is one of the people who reads this blog regularly--apparently, without really understanding it, though he has the fond conceit that he does. Unlike himself, I have enough self-control and integrity to do what I say I'm going to do. I have said I would no-longer open his e-mails, and I am not opening them. They do not tempt me, particularly, because I've seen enough of them to know what sort of treat I would be in for. When somebody imagines they are wiser than they are, by dint of having studied certain of the ancient Greek philosophers; and they persist in trying to dialogue with you even though they aren't really contributing much to the conversation; and you politely ask them to desist but they continue contacting you, what can you do? I think it is possible to take out a restraining order for online harassment, but he had backed off, and for awhile I actually thought that was the end of it. I see, now, why all public figures have constructed an impenetrable wall such that you can't find a way to write to them.
Mr. Endings, there is a host of public figures out there to choose from. Why not pester one of the other ones, who perchance is more prominent than I am, for awhile? I know why--they can afford to set up a firewall to prevent these kinds of problems, while I can barely pay my rent, because nobody besides this fellow will give me the time of day.
Which means that as an ostensibly public figure, who actually wrote "The Raven" in his past life, and can prove it, I have no colleagues (or none who will admit that I'm a colleague), perhaps one or two fans, and one stalker.*
Recently, I have been writing about the books which scholars tell us were written by Asa Greene, in the 1830's. I am reading them one-by-one, and right now I am into "The Perils of Pearl Street." This morning, I found flat-out proof that Mathew Franklin Whittier was the author of this book; and, that he was writing for Greene's paper, the New York "Constellation." Read 'em and weep, ye skeptics...
This is the Oct. 2, 1830 edition of the New York "Constellation." Mathew was the junior editor, and acting editor, of the paper at this time. Past-life memory indicated, in a sort of intuitive "hit," that Greene was busy running his bookstore, and really didn't like being an editor. He had trouble coming up with enough fresh ideas every week, whereas Mathew was a veritable font of new ideas. So in addition to his clerking job, he at least put together the editorial page of this newspaper. And note that unlike most papers, this second page, traditionally the editorial page, often leads out with either a humorous sketch, or fiction. This edition features a story which Abby must have sent him, and which he published for her--anonymously, of course. This may be Abby's first short story. It reflects her Victorian ideals of womanhood--and it tells us that at age 14, she already has her sights set on "Diffident Jim," i.e., Mathew. Abby is represented as "Sally" in the "Enoch Timbertoes" series (which some historians also attribute to Greene). I believe I have quoted from this story, before.
Next are the "Remarks of an Idle Man," by "Littleton Lounger," and this is Mathew. Later on, he writes in this philosophical commentary genre, for this same paper, as "Israel Icicle," and he will do so again for the Boston "Weekly Museum" as "Peter Popkins," and for the Portland "Transcript" as "Caleb Leathers."
Mathew has, no doubt, assembled the fillers, which I haven't examined carefully. But then, under the heading of "Original Communications," we see the article entitled "Picture of a New-York Boarding-House" by One Who Knows.
Now, Asa Greene was prosperous enough to own a bookstore and a newspaper. It's inconceivable that he lived in a boarding house. We've already esablished that. At the worst, he would have lived above his store. But this piece was clearly not written by the editor, because it is addressed to the editor.
With me so far? Hold onto your hats, I said "proof" and I mean "proof."
This is Chapter 5 of "The Perils of Pearl Street," supposedly written by Asa Greene. It's a lengthier treatment, written in retrospect in 1834, of the same account by "One Who Knows" in 1830. Note that this is introduced as a "faithful sketch"--and when Mathew says that, he means it is literal autobiography. This is not a coincidence, and it is not two separate accounts by two different writers, which treat a generic subject. The same author is describing the same situation, and even borrowing some of the original writing. In other words, Mathew is revising and lengthening his own original piece, just as Charles Dickens revised and lengthened Mathew and Abby's original version of "A Christmas Carol." Compare, for example, the respective passages concerning sweetening of the tea. First the 1830 article, and then the passage from the 1834 book:
Still, on the same principle of economy, you are not allowed to sweeten your own tea, lest you should be too profuse of the sugar; nor to cream it, lest you should draw too largely upon the precious milk and water, which is used as a substitute. The presiding goddess of the teapot puts into your cup a bit of sugar of the size of a hazle nut, and five drops of milk. If you should not be satisfied with this quantity, and should have the impudence to send up your cup for more, she puts in perhaps another bit of sugar of the size of a pepper-corn and three more drops of milk--but at the same time looks sour enough to turn the milk to bonny clapper, and the sugar to tartaric acid.
On the same principle of economy, the boarders were not allowed to sweeten their own tea, lest they should be too profuse of the sugar; nor to cream it, lest they should draw too largely on the precious milk and water, whereof a single gill was made to serve the whole table. The presiding goddess of the teapot--alias, Mrs. Conniption--put into each cup half a tea-spoonful of brown Havana sugar, and five drops of milk. If any one was dissatisfied with this quantity, and had the impudence to send up his cup for more, she put in perhaps one fourth of a tea-spoonful of sugar, and three drops of milk, at the same time glancing at him a look as if she would bite his head off.
Logically, either Asa Greene stole from an article written by an earlier contributor to his paper, or else Greene didn't write this chapter of the book attributed to him. But we are just scratching the surface of my evidence. There is an account of Mathew looking for a job when he first arrived in New York City, for which I could make the same kind of point-for-point comparison between a sketch in the Christmas, 1830 edition of the "Constellation," and a chapter in this book. This, also, would not match with Asa Greene's life. Green probably didn't write any of these books--and that he did is only assumed by historians, since none of them were signed with his name.
This discovery, which I can prove beyond a reasonable doubt is genuine, has ramifications. It means that Mathew Franklin Whittier was putting together the editorial page, and writing for it, at age 16 (i.e., as of his birthday on July 18, 1830); it means that he was probably writing the Police Office reports for Greene's subsequent paper, the New York "Transcript," in 1834-35. It means he wrote books anonymously (like his 1850 romantic adventure, "The Mistake of a Lifetime," signed "Waldo Howard"); it means he wrote the "Enoch Timbertoes" series in 1831. But more importantly, it means he had a history of living in New York City and writing for the newspapers there, so that it becomes entirely plausible he did so again, in 1844-46. Since we have him signing with a "star" in 1831 for another publication, and then in the early 1840's for the Portland (Maine) "Transcript"; and since one of these was reprinted from the New York "New Mirror" in Jan. 1846; it means that Mathew plausibly was the real author behind the star-signed reviews and essays in the New York "Tribune" during 1844-46, which historians have attributed to Margaret Fuller. (And there is a great deal more evidence to support that claim.)
When "The Raven" was published under "---- Quarles" in the February edition of the newly-launched "American Review" in New York City, Mathew Franklin Whittier was writing the near-daily star-signed reviews for the "Tribune," at the same time that Poe was writing reviews for the "Evening Mirror." The buildings for the two papers were in very close proximity. Mathew, in other words, was on the scene. He had praised the poetry of Francis Quarles, writing as "Franklin, Jr.," in the same 1831 publication for which he had written star-signed reviews; and in the "Tribune," shortly before "The Raven" was published, he had praised Quarles' poetry yet again. Francis Quarles was a deeply religious poet, and Mathew was a deeply religious man and a mystic, having been raised Quaker. Poe was, shall we say, not sincerely religious at all. If one was to guess which man would identify himself with Francis Quarles enough to use the poet's name as a pseudonym, hands-down the logical choice would be Mathew Franklin Whittier--who, once again, we now know was on the scene, at the right time.
This book, "Perils," has so many clues pointing to Mathew's authorship, that it would take a small book just to point them all out. And I have a few more anonymous books published by Asa Greene to read and take notes on. Once again, I find myself at that delicious point in the working of a jig-saw puzzle, when the few remaining pieces pop effortlessly into place.
Now what I am up against is a megalithic wall of solid ignorance and inertia. This business of being ignored and ridiculed is no joke. It is quite real, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you have something genuine to offer. I am refusing to dialogue with Mr. Endings because while he, himself, can't see it, he actually has mostly sophistry and imagination to offer. This is the legitimate reason to refuse to continue a dialogue with someone. What scholars, who brush me off, are doing, is pretending to themselves that this is their rationale. Whereas actually, they are fooling themselves. They are not doing it for this legitimate reason, at all. They are doing it in the service of their own cherished, ignorant views, which my discoveries would shatter.
And what would be the effect, in academia, of proving that Mathew Franklin Whittier was the real co-author of "A Christmas Carol," and the author of "The Raven," as well as a number of other misattributed works? And that he has reincarnated to set the record straight--and can prove all of this?
I think it would set off a chain-reaction. Keep in mind that the entire structure of academia is based on reputation. This new discovery would destroy the reputation of the people on whom this seemingly solid edifice has been built. To put it another way, it would make the most respected scholars of past and present look like fools. You know that when they believed in the flat earth, there must have been great, respected scholars who had spent their entire lives promulgating and expounding this theory. What ever happened to them? They have been forgotten, but you can rest assured that the remainder of their lives was spent in misery.
That's just the tip of the iceberg. Every historical textbook which mentions Poe or Dickens would have to be re-written and re-published. That, in itself, would cost millions of dollars--or are we talking billions? These things have been assumed as true, which means they are mentioned, at least in passing, in a vast number of publications, both fiction and non-fiction. At one stroke, all of these works would become obsolete, containing laughable errors.
But then, there is reincarnation. This study of mine proves reincarnation, and if these historical discoveries ever came out, the topic of reincarnation would remain front-and-center, being inseparably joined to them, for a very long time. It could not be swept under the rug. How many textbooks would have to be revised if that happened? How many professors, doctors, and clergy would suddenly find themselves flat-out wrong in their views--and hence, at risk of losing their status and position?
I still don't think I've even scratched the surface. There is so much true information out there ready to swamp the status quo, it's not funny. I'll leave you with this image** taken by one of the Mars rovers. If you think this is a natural formation, you are living in a dream world. And if you think Asa Greene wrote "Perils"; or that Edgar Allan Poe wrote "The Raven"; or that Charles Dickens wrote "A Christmas Carol," you are sadly mistaken.
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*If this sounds too harsh, it's because I'm fed up. This has been going on for some years, and early on--when I was trying to help him--he was really nasty with me. As I recall, I gave him evidence of Abby's existence, such that my cat turned to look at her, when I asked Abby to change position. He was apparently freaked out by this, and wrote that my cat was probably turning to look at the flies buzzing around the shit on my head, or something of that sort. His subsequent "apology" for this remark was merely that "everybody makes mistakes," which means it wasn't really an apology, and that tells me all I need to know. When I stopped answering his e-mails, he started writing to me with an alias, and also "communicated" by posting reviews, etc. He won't admit that he ever stalked me, even though this is clearly stalking behavior. There is more, but you get the picture.
Music opening this page: "The Great Beyond," REM,
from the film, "Man in the Moon"