Former Egyptian Antiquities Minister Zahi Hawass completely loses his mind in the warm up to a debate in Cairo with Graham Hancock. The trigger event appears to be the mention of another disinformation® author, Robert Bauval, a well-respected Egyptologist … in some circles but clearly not in the mind of Hawass.
For more than a year the encounter that took place at the Mena House Hotel, Giza Egypt, on 22 April 2015 between famed Egyptologist Dr Zahi Hawass and controversial alternative historian Graham Hancock, had been billed as”the first open debate between the representatives of two completely different versions of history.” On the night of the event, however, as Graham Hancock was focussing his slides prior to giving his opening presentation, and before most of the audience had even entered the room, Dr Hawass saw that one slide contained a photograph of Hancock’s colleague Robert Bauval, originator of the Orion correlation theory with whom Dr Hawass has had disagreements for many years. Dr Hawass immediately became furiously angry and began to shout at Hancock and at Hancock’s wife Santha (Santha is wearing the white dress in the video). Hawass demanded that Hancock censor his talk to remove all references to Robert Bauval and the Orion correlation theory. When Hancock explained that the alternative view of history that he was on stage to represent could not exclude the Orion correlation and therefore could not exclude Robert Bauval, Dr Hawass, again shouting, marched out of the debating room. One member of the audience who was present managed to record part of Dr Hawass’s meltdown which is the subject of this video.
Meanwhile, as the audience began to arrive, frantic negotiations took place off stage between the conference organisers and Dr Hawass. Finally Dr Hawass agreed to return and give his talk and answer questions from the audience, but he refused absolutely to hear or see Hancock’s talk, or to engage in any debate with Hancock. Hancock therefore gave his talk to the audience without Dr Hawass present (Dr Hawass sat in a room outside the conference hall while Hancock spoke). When Hancock had finished he answered questions from the audience. Then Dr Hawass entered, gave his talk, answered questions from the audience and left. During Dr Hawass’s Q&A he was asked a question about the 11,600-year-old megalithic site of Gobekli Tepe in Turkey and whether it had any impact on his assessment of the disputed age of the megalithic Great Sphinx of Giza (which Hancock and others have theorised may be of similar antiquity). Unfortunately it appeared that Dr Hawass was completely ignorant of the existence or implications of Gobekli Tepe so he was unable to answer the question, which he passed on to the moderator who also happened to be an Egyptologist and whose knowledge of Gobekli Tepe was also clearly incomplete (for example the moderator stated that Gobekli Tepe dates from the “late eleventh millennium BC through the tenth millennium BC” whereas in fact the dates presently established for Gobekli Tepe are from 9600 BC through 8200 BC, i.e. from 11,600 years ago to 10,200 years ago). Hancock did at that point have a brief opportunity to stand up and give his own point of view on Gobekli Tepe and on its implications for the age of the Sphinx, and we will post that exchange shortly.
I told you the other day that alongside holding down LA like a solider and exploring 5D spacetime with Grant Morrison and Gerard Way, this weekend I’d watched the first five episodes of marvel and Netflix’s Daredevil, which in your humble narrator’s opinion make up a masterpiece that at long last executes perfectly a serious-as-fuck comic book to screen translation, in the manner that people erroneously claim Nolan’s first Batman movie did. It is HARD, it is BEAUTIFUL, it is UNCOMPROMISING, it makes me CRY a whole bunch. Anyway, first time I heard the theme I was like, OH SHIT WE NEED TO REMIX THAT, and so we did, and it is is fucking banging. Shout out my dear old friend and world famous audio scientist Erol Alkan, who’s been staying with us this week ahead of his show at Coachella this weekend, and helped out with the mix and master, dropping GEMS on me like a butterfingered watchmaker.
This weekend half of LA decamped to a particularly dusty bit of the desert, including Wade who went all in and crashed a golf cart into a tree like a goddamn pro-fesh-ur-NAHL. Hollywood Don stayed in Hollywood, learned exciting new live sound manipulation techniques, held down Blind Dragon like warrior, executed two action packed DJ sets, explored 5D space with Grant Morrison and Gerard Way (the former left us slack jawed with his live renditions of a catalogue of full blown self-penned peakwave pop songs, the latter was left slack jawed by my live rendition of a little ditty called Thanks For All The AIDS), and watched five episodes of Marvel’s Daredevil, which in your humble narrator’s opinion make up a masterpiece that executes perfectly what people erroneously claim Nolan’s first Batman movie did.
As the new week dawned we were joined in the Studio Of Dreams by two old friends – Blue Logan, who is setting up a temporary tattoo studio on the premises which I plan to take full advantage of, and Erol Alkan, my dear old pal from dawn of the millennium London, a crazed and dark pre-social media era when we ran that town like booze-and-otherwise-soaked twin velociraptors, stalking merrily from party to party, draining free bars and stealing Norman Cook’s drugs. How we are upstanding members of our respective communities with children and wives, running record labels and enterprises and straddling the oceans like mighty neolithic monuments to Good taste and Dedication and Hard Work. Erol has been enjoying playing with my Traktor setup very much, immediately and gleefully falling back into his old bootlegging ways, looping Hot Chip and Soul II Soul breaks and dropping Basement Jaxx and Donna Summer acapellas atop like cluster nukes. I am very proud of my DJ library, the rock hard foundations of which I spent all those months In Wales last summer laying, and I now tend to for days a week like a beautiful garden atop a misty mountain.
Meanwhile we haven’t Game Of Thrones yet. Priorities are getting completely squiffy out here in crazytown. But never mind that. Look at that amazing photo up there, taken by the world’s premiere Dystopian Lens Shaman Allan Amato in his Downtown LA lair recently. What a magnificent thing it is. “That’s how he SEES us,” enthused Grant Morrison, “like Superheroes! Like immortal beings!” Which is true. For we are. Grant said I was in The Daily Star the other week, “DJ AKIRA THE DON PLAYS FOR HARRY STYLES, IS AMAZING,” type thing. Grant said he cut it out and kept it. The bucket list is taking a hammering, but there is still so much for us to achieve. “Only You Can Save Mankind,” I told Grant. Which is true. If not us, then who?
Hercules, along with his beautiful Mamma, flew away to the UK last night, so I’m glad we have this photo for him to marvel at when he’s back there, to remind him of what waits for him here. He loved Hollywood Boulevard. I’d push him down there in his chariot and his head would crane about in wonder at the all the marvels. “I see a Bongebob! I see a BIDER-MAN! I see a BIDER-MAN daddy! HELLO BIDER-MAN” When I was his age I had Spider-Man painted on my bedroom wall. International Hollywood Herc gets to SEE him. He lives a charmed life. It makes me very happy to think of it all.
So on his last Day, we went out to find a Bider-Man to take a picture with. Now, most of the Bider-Men on Holywood Boulevard are cracked-out parasites in sodden, shit-stained, ill-fitting costumes seemingly stolen from dumpsters. We saw two such filthy reprobates that very morning, running up and down screaming gibberish at people in foul drug-crazed tandem, yet, as fortune would have it, we chanced on a brand new, super-clean, super-pro, super-suited Bider-Man within two minutes of stepping out on the Boulevard. Free of his pushchair, dragging me by the arm, Herc made a beeline for him instantly, “HELLO BIDER-MAN! I GOT SHOES!” They compared shoes, and exchanged fist bumps, and took photos. Bider-Man wondered if Herc was Australian. He wasn’t, but Herc didn’t mind. “BYE BYE BIDER-MAN!” he waved, as we left, to get our lift to the airport. “Friends,” he smiled happily, as we walked away, hand in hand. It will be hard for us to be apart again, but he knows he’ll be back soon, and Daddy and Bider-Man will be waiting, on the sun drenched street of Super-Friends and Wonder he loves so dearly.
A cool, Martian neon sunset was falling down on the Boulevard like a drunk when I got back from waving goodbye to my beautiful little family at the airport. I felt strange, trippy, and full of love. It had been a beautiful day. Life is so bittersweet, and there is no plateau, only in death, and of that I’m less certain every day. A guy dressed as Jesus played Pearl Jam songs on an electronic keyboard at the side of the road beneath a burning pink sky. I crossed the road, and Herc’s other favourite, Spongebob waved at me. “HI GEIKO GUY! I SEEEEEEE YOU!” he chirped. I didn’t know why he called me Geiko guy, but I took it as a good sign. “Hi Spongebob,” I smiled, and walked back to the apartment. I got in the lift, pressed the button (“I pressa BOOTUUUHN!” went Herc’s excited little voice in my head), walked through the door, stepped over one of Herc’s little cars, picked up a bowl of hummus Herc had left some little fish-shaped cheddars to go soggy in, and sat in the window looking down at Jesus playing Pearl Jam songs on Hollywood Boulevard. Night fell quicker the Look Of Death upon my father’s face when he discovered I’d bust his record player, once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away.