Here it is:
That’s the link to my new YouTube video, “Five Additional Pieces of Evidence that Mathew Franklin Whittier, not Edgar Allan Poe, wrote ‘The Raven.’"
This is a sequel; if you missed the original one, which presents the first ten pieces of evidence, you can pick it up here:
Each video is a little over half an hour long. Do you want me to prove such a thing with a five-minute video? It doesn’t have flashy special effects—it’s tastefully edited, and moves at a measured pace. It’s the content that should hold your interest, because it’s real.
Of course, this style flies in the face of modern convention, because what we are used to, is a sexy, flashy, overstimulating presentation of bogus content.
These two videos will have to go viral, and I don’t have money to promote them the usual way, by creating an artificial buzz. There’s nothing artificial about this, at all. It will have to go viral based on the power of the evidence, itself. But I am now, by some fluke of chance, the production manager for the largest paranormal radio network in the UK; and I am on Facebook with these people, all the show hosts, managers, etc. The instant I post the URL for these two videos to my new Facebook friends, anything could happen. I’m not saying it will happen—I’m saying, the pathway is there. This will be Abby’s province. She does the magic; I just do the editing, etc.
She, or her friends on her astral team, can cause this person to see it, and mention it to that person, who happens to mention it to that person, who knows someone in a position of influence. I gather things are happening, now, at a faster pace, because of the team Abby has assembled over there. She tells me these things take psychic energy—and just one person is relatively slow. But with a team, the process is sped up tremendously.
I’m feeling from her (this is practically turning into a channeling session), that it is because I have demonstrated my faithfulness. There is nothing they like less, up there, than to put a tremendous amount of energy into backing a person on earth, only to have that person go off the beam and prove an unworthy instrument. The "man on the ground" has to keep his balance, especially if he attains some prominence. You have to take fame as an annoying side-effect of achieving the objective. You know it won’t last; so you take it casually for as long as it does, knowing it is necessary for the time-being.
In order to assemble an astral team—and these are experts at making things happen on earth— Abby had to demonstrate that I am mature enough to stay steady under fire, i.e., either ridicule, or praise. Apparently I have done that, and the team is in place. This is why I just happened to get an interview with people who were friends with the founders of PAUK, who then interviewed me. It just happened to come up that they needed someone to upload the shows; I happened to mention I’d be very interested, even though it turned out to be an unpaid position. It was all spur-of-the-moment—I wasn’t thinking, “Oh, I can use this to promote my videos," etc. etc. That’s work done by someone on Abby’s team, who also has connections with these people (or their spirit-guides), presumably.
This is advanced stuff. One’s mind recoils, and says—along with all the English professors I wrote individual letters to, recently—“If he was really that advanced a scholar, why wouldn’t he have social status and credentials?" The answer is, because it’s too advanced for that. You can’t do this kind of work, and still retain a job in academia. You can’t get a doctorate doing this kind of cutting-edge work, because your advisor and the committee that evaluates your disseration, won’t permit it. You can’t get a teaching job championing these theories, or doing this research. You can’t get your work published, either. Or maybe you can, but the difficulties you’d face are prohibitive, and the chance of success is slim.
So there are two reasons for being outside the system—one’s work is substandard, or it’s too advanced. You have to hit the sweet-spot of mediocrity in order to be successful in academia. There is one way around it, and that is to rise up through the ranks ignorantly, and then have your epiphany, after you have the credentials (and hopefully, tenure). Even then, it’s only a matter of how long you can hold out before you are ostracized, and eventually driven out.
I ended up getting the minimal degree necessary to have some credibility with academics, i.e., a master’s in counseling. If they want to accuse me of being crazy, at least they will have to admit that one of their universities gave this degree to a crazy person (which, in itself, doesn’t speak well for academia).
This work is too advanced for academia. The last person I had researching for me, a retired professor, as much as told me so. He said (from memory) that it was far beyond Ph.D. work. And he had only seen the tip of the iceberg. All he had seen me do, was to predict that Mathew’s work would be in a certain obscure newspaper in Syracuse, and after searching in vain for some two or three days, he finally found two pieces.* That’s a relatively common occurrence, for me. I don’t even blink at things like that, and this is what he’s calling more advanced than Ph.D. work. How about that I can actually prove, by a preponderance of the evidence, that Mathew Franklin Whittier was, indeed, the real author of “The Raven"?
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*There was nothing occult in this. I had found Mathew’s work, including some published with his standard pseudonym, a “star," in a Boston newspaper connected with the Odd Fellows, of which group I knew he was a member. One of these pieces, which I recognized as Mathew’s style, mentioned that he was writing in Syracuse; and an announcement (which I could tell was written by him), seeking employment as an editor or editor’s assistant, had as the contact person, the editor of a newspaper, there. I simply deduced that if Mathew was staying in Syracuse, and was friends with that editor, he would have submitted at least a few pieces to that paper.
Music opening this page, "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" by Johann Sebastian Bach