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Half a century ago, Belgian Zoologist Bernard Heuvelmans first codified cryptozoology in his book On the Track of Unknown Animals.

The Centre for Fortean Zoology (CFZ) are still on the track, and have been since 1992. But as if chasing unknown animals wasn't enough, we are involved in education, conservation, and good old-fashioned natural history! We already have three journals, the largest cryptozoological publishing house in the world, CFZtv, and the largest cryptozoological conference in the English-speaking world, but in January 2009 someone suggested that we started a daily online magazine! The CFZ bloggo is a collaborative effort by a coalition of members, friends, and supporters of the CFZ, and covers all the subjects with which we deal, with a smattering of music, high strangeness and surreal humour to make up the mix.

It is edited by CFZ Director Jon Downes, and subbed by the lovely Lizzy Bitakara'mire (formerly Clancy), scourge of improper syntax. The daily newsblog is edited by Corinna Downes, head administratrix of the CFZ, and the indexing is done by Lee Canty and Kathy Imbriani. There is regular news from the CFZ Mystery Cat study group, and regular fortean bird news from 'The Watcher of the Skies'. Regular bloggers include Dr Karl Shuker, Dale Drinnon, Richard Muirhead and Richard Freeman.The CFZ bloggo is updated daily, and there's nothing quite like it anywhere else. Come and join us...

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Monday, July 06, 2009

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 16 - “Cat Researchers Gets Clawed!”

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Clearly,” said Danny Milstein, standing in the centre of a massive 500-foot diameter crop circle formation, “There is a meaningful Zen aesthetic at work here and we find the objective clashing with the subject in a struggle for understanding the role of such things within a semiotic counter-cultural environment.”

“Oh, absolutely, Danny,”
said his wife, Janet. “What occurs to me, looking at this creation, is the illusive phenomena we are examining now, whereby the indefinable clashes with the real to create a temporary mystery. I am reminded of the work of Maurice Merleau-Ponty. At the core of his and our philosophy is a sustained argument for the foundational role that perception plays in understanding the world as well as engaging with the world. Like the other major phenomenologists, he expresses his philosophical insights in writings on art, literature, and politics...as do the circlemakers.”

The mall group of locals standing around hadn’t a clue what the newly arrived members of the FPS were talking about and suspected that they were using long words to try and confuse them all, and seem cleverer than they really were. “Well, that’s all very interesting,” said Alan Davies, in whose field the formation had appeared, “But it just seems like flattened crops to me!”

“Ah yes,” piped up Joe McMenamy, an FPS junkie (as he liked to call himself when he wasn’t writing letters to his MP asking to be considered a “serious researcher”), “But in my view, for the circular artwork to function properly, we need to totally remove ourselves from the equation. Crop circles gain their power from that gap in knowledge about their author. As soon as you claim authorship of a crop circle you drain it of the very thing that gives it its power: its mystery, and it just becomes a mere specimen, just flattened crop.”

“Yes, Joe, you make a good point,"
enthused Chris Milstein, “But this, until recently, has been a curiously English phenomenon and it seems to me that we have a fusion of the real and unreal here; the yin and yang; the positive and negative, as Mother Earth seeks some sort of balance. It could even be the case that the Circlemakers do not fully understand their role within the overall scheme of things.”

“Bloody hell,”
exclaimed Alan Davies son, Mark. “The whole village is filling up with people talking rubbish; either you lot of geeks or those idiots in the camouflage jackets. Even if there is a big cat, it’s just a big cat. I mean, it’s like saying foxes are paranormal or something. When you work on the land, as we do, you see things differently and very realistically. You lot sound like you’ve swallowed a dictionary or just like using big words and that other lot with that comical General character ought to take up paintball or something!”

“Now, look here, young man,”
patronised Milstein. “You haven’t studied these phenomena as I have. I have peer reviewed articles in numbers of scientific journals that ask important questions about the philosophy behind what is going on in a place like Upper Minster. I understand that you resent outsiders, as you see us, but you will appreciate that 30 years or more in this subject gives us a unique perspective on such matters.”

“Unique, my ass,”
countered Mark. “You’re just talking rubbish. Everybody round here knows who the circlemakers are and they are very human. You should do some proper research, mate. It happened in 1990 and it’s happened again. Big deal. The circlemakers, as you call them, are just winding you up and it looks like it’s working, doesn’t it? It’s not as clever, arguably, as Banksy’s art, but it’s obvious who has done it and why. It is also obvious that there is little or nothing in these Big Cat stories but it doesn’t stop you. Meanwhile, we just get on with it and with that in mind, perhaps you’ll get off our land with your friends and let us do what we have done for 400 years...FARM!”

And with that telling off, Milstein, his wife and “team” moved off back to their cars with their tails firmly between their legs. “Bloody peasants,” said Milstein to his wife. “Wait until I write this up for the Journal of Ostension Research.”


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