How to write a Substack post when drunk

Solaris Hypothesis. I have confessions to make, and if this doesn’t hook the algorithm, then what will…

Evelyn K. Brunswick

May 08, 2026

I have a confession to make to you.

I’m drunk.

I am ver ver ver drunk.

During the course of this burble I am going to be making excuses. I know I am.

But why should I make excuses?

Why?

In my defence – notice it’s spelled with a ‘c’, Americans, not an ‘s’.

Ironically, though – and not a lot of people know this (except Michael Caine, peut-être)– American English is closer to proper English than what UK English has become,

But I must not digress. Which is the height of irony. Because it’s in the nature of drunkenness to digress.

Think about the UFO/UAP phenomenon – to what extent does it exhibit symptoms of intoxication?

One of my excuses (this bit has been inserted after the following), is poverty. That’s to say, we are now no longer in poverty. After six months – during the winter – of serious poverty.

I’m willing to bet that most of my subscribers have no idea what poverty actually means. How it actually feels and how it affects your brain and your soul and the interface between your soul and your brain.

Contemplate according to the topic: dystopia.

Most importantly, it means malnutrition.

The human brain alone requires something like a thousand calories a day just to maintain basic functioning.

I used to be something like 60kg (that’s about 9.5 stone for you imperialists). I am now down to less than 50kg.

Well, last time I was weighed that’s what I was. 49.9.

One happy excuse for being drunk is that I cooked us a beautiful curry last night. I am under the impression that recipes do quite well here on Substack, so hey, why the fuck not, I’ll give you my recipe.

Bear in mind that we live in la France Profonde, which is like the most obscure rural part of France you never heard of (excellent choice for a spy to cache themselves), so our curry problem is lack of access to ingredients.

Some ingredients, however, we can acquire.

So here’s my recipe.

First, the rice. Most people don’t know how to cook rice. The trick is to use the right amount of water. More specifically, don’t use too much. Heat up your pan with some melted butter. Then add your rice. Swish it around to coat in the butter (then it won’t stick). Then add your boiled water. Cover the rice with water by about one centimetre or so. Let simmer. Swish at intermediate intervals, say, every two, three to four minutes. After about ten, check the amount of water compared to whether the rice is sufficiently cooked. If it isn’t, add a small amount more of water (this also works for risotto, by the way). You can turn off the heat and steam it, if you want. Anyway, it’s all about the rice-to-water ratio.

Curry recipe. Garlic, onions, ginger, chillies. Slice. Fry a few minutes in oil. Add a tsp of turmeric and curry powder. Swish. Add sliced chicken breast. Swish to coat in the sauce. Cover and fry for five minutes. If it burns a bit – cool! That just enhances the chicken. After about five minutes, shove in your tin of plum tomatoes. Chop up with your wooden spoon (try doing this lengthwise first).

Swish out the tomato tin with a little boiled water from the kettle you used for the rice, and add (a few centimetres max.).

Bring up to the simmer. Swish. Can you tell I love swishing?

Finally, add a little carton of coconut milk. Swish.

If you are lucky enough to have fresh coriander leaves, then sprinkle them on top when you serve.

We’ve planted a few coriander seeds again this year in some pots. They haven’t sprouted yet.

Anyway. There’s my recipe. It works gorgeously with big prawns instead of chicken, by the way. Adjust the amounts according to your taste. If you have tasty chillies, this recipe works just as well with minimal hotness as it does with Jalfrezi-level hotness. Make sure you use enough sliced ginger root.

If you wish to turn this into a Thai-style curry, then simply add the juice of a few limes.

Hmm. There’s some left over. I am hungry.

To be continued…

But I know what it means to be malnourished. I know what it means for one’s brain to not function properly. And I also know that without the support of my best online friend in the whole wild world, Nick Winney , myself and my beautiful other half would most likely be either dead or we’d have permanent brain damage due to malnutrition. Nick bought me just enough coffees, at just the right time, for me to conscientiously buy just the right sort of food to provide us with the survival nutrition that we needed.

I’m not fucking joking here. Without Nick’s ten euros here, and twenty euros there, we would have fucking starved to death.

If there is anything – any-fucking-thing – that Nick or his beloved ever fucking needs, something which I can fix – then I will be there. I will fucking kill to be there.

That’s what friendship truly looks like.

That’s what humanity looks like.

Obviously I don’t love Nick in the, erm, you know, physical sense. For a start I have a wife, not a husband, so that should give you a bit of a clue. The main thing though is the fez.

I simply couldn’t ever fancy a guy with a fez on his noggin.

Sorry, darling Nick. I just think that the fez should be confined to the private reproduction chamber…

What am I going to write about? Here’s my excuse. Primary excuse, I mean. Over the last week my brain has been overwhelmed with understanding of the entire UFO/UAP/high strangeness phenomenon.

Here’s the first observation – you can’t deny that it exists. This is the true nature of what they call ‘Disclosure’. It’s already happened, in other words.

Remember this includes paranormal phenomena.

I have worked out the true answer to this question, by the way. I am coining this – I am claiming ownership and I MUST be acknowledged.

The Solaris Hypothesis.

It’s very simple. This planet is an intelligence. She is a lifeform. This is her jurisdiction. Everything that happens here only happens with her say so.

Within her so-called Hill Sphere (gravitational influence). If you want to wonder about Asteroid Apophis, by they way, it doesn’t matter what the astronomers calculate about its trajectory. Once she has it captured, which she will, then what happens then is her decision…

Why do UFOs appear over nuclear weapons sites? Why do they shut down some of them, and activate others, only to shut them down seconds before launch? What is she telling you with that message?

Do you want me to translate, or is it obvious?!

This is her body. You will never be allowed to detonate nuclear weapons.

Nuclear weapons are a bluff.

Of course the Cabal know this.

They have known about Danuih (=Gaia, if you want a more easily understandable name) for quite some time now.

You can continue to call this planet ‘Earth’ as much as you like, in order to avoid accepting her as a reality. But your ignorance will not make her go away.

Your belief system has no effect on reality.

Ask Pascal.

One ‘explanation’ for the UFO/high strangeness phenomena is that it’s some ‘breakaway civilisation’ of humans. That’s to say, a small group of humans (the Cabal) who have on the one paw suppressed proper science, and on the other paw pursued proper science in secret in order to gain some sort of advantage.

And as such, they have developed super-advanced technology capable of manifesting itself in all the UFO/high strangeness phenomena.

This is only half-true.

Yes, there is a Cabal who have, indeed, suppressed science, and who do indeed possess a ‘secret space programme’ and ‘cure for cancer’ (see President Jimmy Carter) and so on.

But they are perceived as a threat. And they will be thwarted.

But here’s what’s wrong with all of the hypotheses for the UAP/high strangeness phenomenon.

All of them assume there is only one intelligence.

What if there is more than one?

Is this not a more realistic interpretation?

This would mean that elements of all the hypotheses are true.

Yes, there are visiting biological extraterrestrials.

Yes, there are time-travelling humans from the future.

Yes, there was a spacefaring species who evolved on this planet millions of years before humans.

There were also visiting ETI who set up home here during the Cretaceous.

Think about this for a moment, by the way. According to the orthodox view of human history, civilisation happened because of the end of the ice age. Well, how many interglacials have humans lived through?

I can’t be fucking arsed to explain the rest of that to you. If you are intelligent enough, you can fucking work it out yourself.

Am I going to apologise for swearing?

Am I going to edit out the swearing?

Fuck off.

Is my answer.

Yes, there were non-native spacefaring species who established colonies on this planet millions of years before humans.

Yes, this planet is an intelligent lifeform – and none of the above would ever be allowed to happen without her permission.

Welcome to the Solaris Hypothesis.

You want to know how to communicate? Decipher?

Symbolic messaging.

She is holding up a mirror.

She is holding up a mirror.

If I say it three times, then perhaps that will be enough to have it sink in.

Now I need to go pee-pee.

I told you I was drunk.

This is how to write a Substack post when you’re drunk.

Have you noticed how few typos there are?

That’s because I’m a fuckin’ genius.

When I was young I was sent to one of the Cabal’s abusive mind-control institutions.

I was subjected to special treatment. This is where my Child Game Hunts story comes from, by the way. This place was what you might call a boarding school.

But whereas most of the children went home on that first exeat weekend, I was left behind.

Along with about a dozen other children (I think it was about that number), we were gathered in front of the school. The school, you should know if you want to visualise it, was a vast Elizabethan stately home. There was a driveway in front of the portico, then there were the gardens. Then beyond that there was the forest.

Let us call this ‘The Dark Forest’.

There were rewards during my time at this hellscape. The rewards were for obedience, first of all – I won the so-called Conduct Cup in my first year – and then awards for being top of the class. I couldn’t help being top of the class, despite their best efforts. I say best efforts because after a few months one of my alters realised that the best way to survive was to masquerade as a B-grade student. Not being A-grade meant I wouldn’t be seen as a threat.

I learned this because early on, in Latin class, whilst the other dunces were desperately attempting to understand amo, amas, amat, the Master sent me up a few years to a class that was studying stuff which, somewhat obviously, I had never encountered before. So I couldn’t translate the text. So I started crying. Instead of giving me a glossary or explaining anything to me, they humiliated me and sent me back down to the first class.

Now you understand how they teach us geniuses a lesson, yes? I was only seven years old.

Anyway, most of these rewards consisted of choosing a book. One of my choices, at this young age, was a book about UFOs. Other choices were about other X-Files type stuff. What you’d call the paranormal. ‘High Strangeness’ is also a good term.

So I was introduced to the UFO phenomenon from a very early age.

Whatever happened to Spontaneous Human Combustion, by the way?

Personally, I have come to believe that I was ‘chosen’ to convey understanding. This is one of my excuses for being drunk, by the way. I don’t mean I am rejecting this meaningful purpose – I couldn’t possibly reject it – I mean in the last few weeks or so there has been a literal explosion of knowledge inside my head.

I hate the word ‘roiling’ – by the way. I hate it. But it’s a very good word to use to visualise what my brain looks like.

I was born in the same place – Southend-soon-to-be-under-the-sea – as Murry Hope. She was also brought up by not-her-bio-parents. She was also sent to an abusive institution.

She also saw terror, and looked it in the eyes.

Some beautiful intelligence has been guiding us.

We don’t need to think like that anymore.

You want to understand the Solaris Hypothesis? Well, think of it this way. Human brains work by two methods in terms of the neurons and their connection/communication. Exchange of ions (positively charged electrons) and neurotransmitters (chemical molecules). Rhetorical question. If that’s what consciousness is, then why is such a thing confined to a ‘brain’? If ‘ion exchange’ can occur in other atmospheric conditions…

And remember how old this solar system is…

She loves music, by the way. Music and healing.

And I am her faithful servant. And I love to be hers.

When I was sixteen I remember sitting in an exam hall and taking some sort of mock paper. One of the questions was about Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries. Instead of answering the question with whatever bullshit Establishment explanation they’d programmed into us I decided to answer by saying something like ‘I want to understand human beings. This is why I want to study psychology at university.’ Once my tutors had reprimanded me for not answering the question about Henry, they misled me by saying ‘you should study philosophy’. And so I did. I still applied for 3 (out of the 5 permitted) courses on my UCAS form for psychology, but none of my teachers at school told me that in those days (late eighties we’re talking) in order to do a psychology degree you need to have Biology A-level. Which I was not studying.

See how they fuck with you?

They must have seriously hated the fact that I was so much more intelligent than them.

If I was answering that question today, about Henry and the monasteries I mean, then I would talk about Thatcherism. Neoliberalism, privatisation, and all that.

That’s what Henry was really doing. Taking the people’s welfare state and redistributing that wealth to his oligarchs.

At the beginning of my A-levels my history master wrote a term report for me saying that I am ‘easily’ at the top of the class. This was medieval social history. At that point it seemed a clear path that I would go up to Cambridge and my History Tripos would be medieval. By now I’d be one of the foremost medievalists in the country.

I’d be raving and raving relentless about Christine de Pizan.

Unfortunately, as that seventeenth year of mine progressed, so did my seriously severe mental illness. I never got to Cambridge. I got myself expelled from that abusive institution. I remember, just prior to my leaving, I was in the vast dining hall, with those lacquered dark boards high up on the wall at one end of that colossal chamber displaying that long list of names of alumni who died during the Great War, and I saw from myself hovering just beneath the ceiling – it was during breakfast, if I remember correct – I was hovering just beneath the ceiling looking down on everyone and what I saw was myself, surrounded by zombies.

At the time, they hadn’t realised that I saw them for what they really were. But it was only a matter of time.

I had to leave. I had to escape. I had to get the fuck out of there.

And so I engineered my expulsion.

I have a dissociative condition, by the way. Many of you darling readers will not know this because you have subscribed after I wrote about it. As a result of my abusive childhood my self fragmented. I’ll do a link rather than repeat myself here. When I first developed my condition, round about the age of seven, it was what you’d call multiple personality (level three dissociative disorder). Since my early adolescence, however, it’s coalesced somewhat and is now a level two condition – ‘other specified dissociative disorder’ or whatever they want to call it.

At this point, I could tell you about my Wexler intelligence test results (140 something – at the height/depth of my utter depressive illness – jus think what I’d be when happy!), and the ‘educational’ psychologist who was an ‘expert witness’ (like those MKULTRA types in the False Memory Syndrome Foundation), whose clear purpose, I now know, was to cover up the fucking demonic abuse.

But that would be a digression too far.

Why does Danuih allow this shit to continue? Because she wants you to see the mirror.

Mirror, mirror. Who is the monstrous of them all…?

I got distracted for a few hours after that last paragraph. I’m sure there was a reason for saying what I did, or rather, there was some purpose to where I was going with my burble.

What that purpose is, however, is anybody’s guess.

If some angel suddenly appeared next to me right now then I reckon she would say something like ‘I wouldn’t fucking worry about that shit, Evie.’ Then she’d shrug, with a sly smile.

And of course I’d understand. I’d still feel this pathological obsession to put it all – all this transcendental, immanent wisdom – into words. But I’d most likely fail.

I could write some beautiful poetry. But who is going to bother with that?

I could write a letter to SETI.

I could tell them that if you don’t acknowledge the fact that Danuih is responsible for all your radio wave messages, then she will continue to subject you to terrifying high strangeness.

And you will not evolve. And you will not learn a damn thing and you will be damned.

I could say anything, you know. I could scrawl madly up down left right across diagonal back diagonal across down up right left all the damned over my MI6 Personal File but it wouldn’t – in the Great Reckoning – make another damned splinter of difference.

And so I will feint.

As always.

Into the unglazed whiteness of death.

But that’s not the end, you know.

Although here’s the rub.

I just can’t get used to these… resurrections…