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Inside The Premiere Podcast on UFOs, NHI, Free Energy & High Strangeness

  • Writer: Matthew Tepedino
    Matthew Tepedino
  • Dec 16, 2025
  • 13 min read

A Guide to Understanding: American Alchemy

Expertise: UFO Phenomenon, NHI, Free Energy, Ancient Civilizations, Hidden Technology 


Playlists: 

T&T x American Alchemy Posts: 


The Definitive Guide to the Best of American Alchemy 


The Thomas Townsend Brown Doc: Everyone Talks About Tesla and Lazar, but Thomas Townsend Brown Is The GodFather of UFOs


Townsend Brown (1905–1985) is the kind of American character who only makes sense in the shadow-world where Cold War science, aviation money, and intelligence secrecy overlap. In Jesse Michels’ American Alchemy, Brown isn’t treated as a fringe footnote, but as a missing hinge: an inventor who believed the “Holy Grail” wasn’t faster rockets—it was field propulsion, the ability to engineer spacetime by coupling electromagnetism to gravity - often described as ‘electrogravitics’. Michels (drawing heavily on Paul Schatzkin’s biography) places Brown at the edge of mid-century power: adjacent to Navy research, defense contractors, and figures like Robert Sarbacher in the same lore-stream that later swallowed Bob Lazar. 


At the center is the Biefeld–Brown effect: an asymmetric capacitor driven at extremely high voltage, where thrust appears to bias from negative toward positive—described in the episode with the provocative shorthand “negative mass chasing positive mass.” Michels argues the phenomenon was repeatedly minimized through a familiar playbook (stigmatize it as “ionic wind,” underpower tests, then point to the weak result as debunking). Mainstream aerospace physics does have a strong rebuttal: high-voltage “lifter” thrust can be explained as electrohydrodynamic (corona-wind) effects, and controlled work has argued the “anti-gravity” framing is a misread of that fluid dynamics (AIAA Journal). Michels counters with vacuum demonstrations and with the broader pattern: when a result sits near weapons-grade implications, the fight is less about whether it’s weird and more about who gets to touch it.


Where the episode becomes journalism instead of folklore is in its systems-level accusation: Brown’s science didn’t merely become “classified,” it became myth-managed. Michels stitches Brown to the long afterimage of black aerospace—B-2 rumors, “Aurora” rumors, and the way UFO narratives can function as both cover and recruitment pipeline for exotic propulsion work. Even NASA’s own technical literature shows that asymmetric-capacitor propulsion claims were taken seriously enough to analyze (even when the conclusions are cautious and the mechanism is treated within conventional frameworks). Add the disputed Ben Rich (Skunkworks director) “locked in black projects” quote, the missing-paper intrigue (“Minor Quantum” vs. the circulating “Structure of Space”), and the Chapel Hill gravity summit in 1957 that helped set the academic agenda for decades—and the Brown story reads less like one inventor’s obsession and more like a case study in how a civilization decides which physics gets a future.



The Wall Street Journal wants you to believe the UFO story is basically a Cold War prank—misdirection, tall tales, and a little Pentagon theater. Jesse Michels’ counter-claim is sharper: that framing is the next layer of the operation. Admit some historical disinfo so the public feels “in on it,” then use that admission to sweep the still-live, still-unanswered cases into one convenient bucket labeled “mythology.”


The problem isn’t that the government spread stories to protect secret programs—everyone serious has already accepted that happened. The problem is the implied conclusion: that this explains most of the phenomenon. Michels points to the nuclear-linked incidents (the Hastings lane), where trained military personnel describe objects coinciding with weapons systems anomalies, and argues the WSJ’s preferred explanations don’t survive contact with the specifics. He also claims the Journal’s internal gatekeeping is part of the pattern—highlighting how pro-disclosure voices (like David Spergel, per Michels) struggle to get op-eds through, while skeptical “nothing-to-see-here” priors get oxygen.



Skinwalker Ranch: The Mecca of High Strangeness 


Skinwalker Ranch sits in northeastern Utah like a dare: a few hundred acres of scrub, mesa, and sky that—depending on who’s telling the story—is either the most surveilled patch of paranormal real estate on Earth, or a self-perpetuating myth machine that eats attention and spits out mystery. Jesse Michels’ deep dive treats it as something more unsettling than both: a place where the anomalies don’t behave like campfire folklore. They behave like a system—responsive, evasive, and weirdly timed, as if the ranch is not just haunted, but interactive.


The legend-stack is thick before the first sensor gets powered on. Tribal history gets folded into modern paranoia: Ute territory, Navajo conflict narratives, and the “curse” motif—skinwalkers as malevolent shapeshifters—become the cultural basement layer beneath the modern phenomena. Then come the 1990s Sherman-era reports: orbs, livestock trauma, shadows at the fence line, and the feeling that whatever was there didn’t just appear—it noticed you noticing. When billionaire Robert Bigelow buys the property and pours money into research that later tangles with government interest (AATIP orbit, in the popular retelling), the ranch stops being a ghost story and starts looking like a contested intelligence object: a location treated as if it might yield data with national-security value.


Michels leans hardest on the moments where the ranch seems to “push back” against measurement. Electronics glitch. Batteries drain. Equipment fails in clusters. People report biological effects—vertigo, nausea, temporary paralysis, blackouts—severe enough that at least one visitor ends up hospitalized after an episode. That’s the detail that separates Skinwalker Ranch from the average “lights-in-the-sky” narrative: this isn’t just sightings. It’s alleged interaction with physiology. The episode even nods at a speculative mechanism: differences in brain structure—like increased neural density in the basal ganglia—possibly correlating with heightened sensitivity to anomalous experience. Not proven. Not clean. But exactly the kind of hypothesis you’d expect when the data refuses to stay in one category.


Then there’s the ranch’s signature horror: livestock. The most cinematic incident in the video is also the most brutal: a healthy cow, dead with no obvious cause, elevated radiation readings in the vicinity, and surveillance footage that—according to the account—appears to show a UFO-shaped object directly above the animal at the moment things go sideways. Whether you interpret that as predation, experiment, intimidation, or coincidence, it functions as a narrative detonator: the ranch doesn’t just show you something. It leaves bodies.


Under the mesa, the story turns from paranormal to infrastructural. A large metallic-looking object—described as roughly 400 feet wide—is detected via ground-penetrating methods, with claims that samples contain manufactured elements (europium, tellurium) that don’t belong in a natural “random rock” explanation. This is where Michels’ episode starts sounding like a classified engineering problem hiding inside a supernatural wrapper. A buried “something” that big reframes everything above it: maybe the ranch isn’t a stage. Maybe it’s a lid.


And the sky keeps echoing the ground. A rocket launch meant to map the invisible “triangle” region—an area of the sky associated with recurring weirdness—doesn’t behave like a rocket should. It reportedly makes a sharp, unnatural right turn mid-flight, like it’s dodging an obstacle. Even stranger: cameras later show an object appearing and disappearing in the air at the exact moment of the deflection. If you wanted one clip that sells the ranch to a skeptic, this is it: a planned test, an unexpected maneuver, and a timed visual anomaly that lands right on top of the instrumentation.


The episode also threads in high-tech breadcrumbs—like the mention of Lockheed having a quantum magnetometer concept for navigation—alongside the ranch’s recurring theme: electromagnetic anomalies that scramble normal tools of knowledge. That’s the real tension Michels keeps returning to. The ranch behaves like a place where your best devices become props, and where “proof” is always one step behind the phenomenon. One line captures the vibe perfectly: “If you have something to tell me, tell me.” It’s half plea, half dare—spoken into a landscape that appears to answer in glitches, riddles, and timing.


By the end, Skinwalker Ranch stops feeling like a single mystery and starts feeling like a convergence point: underground structure + atmospheric anomalies + biological effects + surveillance interference + symbolic residue (“as above, so below” carved into the mythos like a mission statement). Michels doesn’t force a single conclusion so much as a single escalation: the ranch isn’t short on data. It’s short on theory—a framework that can hold cattle deaths, radiation spikes, sensor sabotage, and intelligent-looking aerial behavior in the same mental container without collapsing into either blind belief or reflexive dismissal.


If your takeaway is “this sounds like a hidden wormhole manipulating spacetime,” the episode basically invites that thought—then warns you that the ranch’s greatest trick might be how quickly it can make any explanation feel plausible. The point isn’t that every claim is true. The point is that the pattern is consistent: when people try to pin it down, the ranch doesn’t go quiet. It moves.


Aliens in Peru: The Best Hoax of All Time, a New Species of Hominids, or Actual Ancient Aliens? 


Jesse’s Nazca mummies episode is less “alien body found” and more an autopsy of epistemic failure: how a potentially world-changing forensic puzzle gets trapped between state power, stigma, and grift. The core reporting hinges on anatomical self-consistency and chain-of-custody tension. Michels frames two dominant classes—M-types (more hominid-sized, organ-bearing) and J-types (smaller, stranger morphology; some allegedly pregnant/egg-bearing)—and emphasizes the detail that matters most for authenticity debates: three fingers/toes with no obvious signs of surgical mutilation, backed (in the video’s telling) by CT imagery and forensic voices. The Peruvian government is portrayed as acting in bad faith—trying to seize specimens away from university study—creating the exact environment where a real anomaly can be suffocated or a sophisticated hoax can persist. Michels’ analytical point is sharp: the “stench” around the topic produces two useless camps (instant belief vs instant dismissal), while the only path forward is boring and adult—credentialed, transparent replication.


Where the episode gets provocative is in how it maps interpretive branches without marrying any one: (1) least crazy is “new terrestrial branch of hominid,” which fits the reality that paleoanthropology has expanded the hominin family tree rapidly in recent years; (2) a middle lane is “engineered/altered beings,” especially as the episode highlights alleged rare-metal implants (osmium/cadmium), the fact that the nearby lab is called the ‘Laboratory for Insemination and Hybridization’ and suggests they might affect electromagnetic signature—an attempt to connect biology to the UAP lore ecosystem; (3) the maximal claim is that J-types are non-human ‘reptilian’ beings and M-types are hybrids—a hypothesis Michels entertains as cultural/intelligence-era speculation rather than established fact, while still pointing out how oddly these bodies rhyme with recurring abduction-era descriptions (three-finger imagery, elongated skull motifs—Lazar/Varginha parallel). The real analytical test he returns to is decisive and falsifiable: DNA should match across different tissues if these are coherent organisms, and independent labs should be able to reproduce results outside any single “insemination lab” or personality-driven gatekeeping. Until that happens, the mummies remain the perfect liminal object—exactly where grifters want them, and exactly where governments can smother them—right up until clean replication collapses the wavefunction into “historic hoax” or “new species.”



Skywatcher, as James Fowler tells it, is the rare UAP outfit that presents itself like a startup instead of a séance: military-grade sensors, AI triage, and a taxonomy—nine classes of UAP—meant to turn “I saw something” into repeatable categories (tetrahedrons in formation, tic-tacs, jellyfish/blobs, “bright star,” “hornet,” “egg,” etc.). The origin story matters: the team’s roots run through  Jake Barber—the same figure tied to the Ross Coulthart “psionic” whistleblower lane—so the interview keeps one foot in defense-adjacent lore and one foot in instrumentation. Fowler’s most startling claims are operational: near-perfect detection rates in specific conditions (often around war games), instances of UAP behaving tactically (a “manta ray” using terrain/line-of-sight to evade, tic-tac pairing), and moments that read like hostile countermeasures (systems allegedly disabled by an energy hit). Add the “psionic assets + ‘dog whistle’” idea—humans as part of the sensor stack—and you get a worldview where the phenomenon is partly physical, partly perceptual, and always responsive.


The analysis is where the episode accidentally confesses its weakness: Skywatcher’s story lives in the gap between big claims (Grusch-level secrecy, “secret physics,” aerospace-held materials knowledge) and limited verifiability. If they’re “holding back” to avoid spilling government secrets, that’s understandable—but it also means the public is being asked to credit a black box with extraordinary output. Their nine-class schema is useful as a reporting tool, but without transparent error bars it can become a narrative engine: selection effects (war games are high-signal, high-confound environments), confirmation bias (you go where you expect hits), and “everything unknown = UAP class X” drift. The most mature read is your own: the truth is probably between the Greer “all benevolent” and Elizondo “threat” extremes—some portion could be adversary tech, some could be misunderstood physics/atmospherics, and some are likely genuinely anomalous. The next step isn’t another anecdote; it’s a publishable protocol: full sensor specs, red-team methodology, raw clips with metadata, independent replication, and a way for skeptics (including people like Mick West—whatever your opinion of him, there’s no public proof he’s “paid”) to stress-test the same dataset instead of arguing over vibes.



In this Jesse Michels’ American Alchemy episode, retired USAF Tech Sgt Dan Sherman claims he was pulled into a deeply compartmentalized NSA-linked program he calls Project Preserve Destiny—a “gray project” nested inside black funding—built to telepathically decode or interface with non-human signals. His personal origin story is the hook: he says the NSA told him his abilities trace back to a prenatal “genetic alteration” during an alleged abduction of his pregnant mother in the early 1960s, after an initial “contact era” beginning around 1947 - presumably after Roswell. From there the narrative turns procedural: a covert transport to a facility near Laurel/Fort Meade, training to “think in frequencies,” headphones/console protocols, and a signature “click” moment where information seemingly “lands” as semantic content—not visual hallucination, not movie-style aliens, but linear, foreign-feeling cognition that he interprets as two distinct non-human interlocutors (“Spock” and “Bones”). Layered on top are broader connective threads the episode nods to—Puthoff/extended electrodynamics, wormholes/“Wheeler tunnels,” and historical-religious parallels (e.g., Pasulka’s stigmata/UFO framing)—all used to suggest a continuum between parapsychology, classified collection, and the UFO problem.


What keeps Preserve Destiny from being instantly dismissible isn’t the cosmic storyline—it’s the institutional residue: Sherman’s verifiable service/NSA-adjacent training markers, the consistent “need-to-know” logic of SAP culture, and most importantly—the FOIA trail. As presented, researcher Noah Hradek’s request reportedly drew a response indicating Preserve Destiny is tied to the NSA and that the government “can neither confirm nor deny” / withholds under Executive Order 13526 classification authorities—language that doesn’t prove alien telepathy, but does imply something with that name (or close variant) is treated as real classified matter rather than folklore. That’s the right way to hold the ambiguity: the program’s existence (or an adjacent compartment) can be non-trivial even if Sherman’s explanation for what it was doing is partially wrong, laundered, or psychologically reframed. Net: ~35–45% plausibility for “Preserve Destiny as a real classified activity resembling his description,” with the alien-contact layer still the part that stays most open—and most contested.


“Aliens Invented Religion To Control Humanity!” -Top Philosopher Jason Jorjani: The Nordic Control System: How Religion, Remote Viewing, and the Epstein Web Collapse Into One Theory of Power


Jason Reza Jorjani’s thesis is blunt: religion isn’t humanity reaching upward—it’s a behavioral operating system installed from above. In his framing, the UFO phenomenon isn’t a modern mystery but the hidden continuity of recorded history, with “gods,” “angels,” and “celestial overlords” functioning as governance, not metaphor. He threads this through ancient and medieval accounts—pre-Renaissance sky conflicts, plague-era panic, eerie “sprayers” preceding outbreaks—and treats biblical/Sumerian overlaps (Elohim, Nephilim, Anunnaki) as myth-coded traces of a long-running intervention. The philosophical kicker is that modern science may have been steered into a narrow mechanistic lane—spirit and psi exiled from legitimate inquiry—because widespread clairvoyance or telepathy would destroy privacy and dissolve the basis of institutional power. That’s where remote viewing enters as the proof-of-concept: if perception can breach distance, the entire political architecture of secrecy becomes obsolete. In this story, “Nordics” aren’t a vibe; they’re the alleged administrators—linked to off-world oversight, grays as a surveillance apparatus, and a counterfeit “good cop/bad cop” dynamic where the benevolent mask hides the true hierarchy.


The interview becomes most provocative when it tries to fuse the paranormal with physics: matter, energy, and information as interchangeable states in an information-processing cosmos—where “reality edits” at places like Skinwalker Ranch aren’t folklore, but glitches in the substrate. Jorjani leans into the idea that advanced propulsion isn’t merely speed—it’s spacetime manipulation, meaning the technology behaves like a time machine, not a jet engine. From there, the architecture expands: Mars as an engineered world,  the Moon as an artificial stabilizer and transport device, a control lattice sitting over human development like a ceiling. The closing swerve is the one people will either reject instantly or obsess over for years: the UFO-Epstein connection. In Jorjani’s telling, the same elite networks that gatekeep exotic physics and antigravity research are entangled with social engineering—Atlantis mythology, “master race” aesthetics, and an implied eugenic endgame aimed at breeding a preferred lineage. Even with ambiguity hanging over almost every claim, the meta-point lands: if a control system exists—whether alien, human, or hybrid—then disclosure isn’t about “truth.” It’s about sovereignty.


Jesse Michels on JRE: AI, Antigravity, and the War Over Reality


Jesse’s JRE appearance is basically a guided tour through the new meta-crisis: when AI gets powerful enough to rewrite language, rewrite history, and rewrite belief—everything we call “truth” becomes negotiable. He uses the Sumerian/Nibiru rabbit hole as the perfect example: even if classic fringe translations were wrong, the moment AI can parse ancient texts at scale (and even invent its own private language), the old gatekeepers lose their monopoly on meaning. From there the conversation widens into the present-day pressure cooker—geopolitical instability colliding with quantum computing, CRISPR, and the AI arms race—where the stakes aren’t “cool tech,” but the collapse of encryption, institutions, and consensus reality. The subtext is constant: in a world this volatile, it’s not crazy that people start reaching beyond the Overton window for a “Hail Mary,” whether that’s a hidden physics breakthrough or contact with something non-human.


Then Jesse pulls the thread that makes the whole episode feel like one unified story: secret science. He leans hard into the idea that there’s a buried tech tree—antigravity/electrogravitics, exotic propulsion, materials work—living behind a wall of classification and defense contractors, with UFO lore clustering around the same repeat locations and names (Wright-Patterson, Battelle, “special access” ecosystems, etc.). That blends into the weirder frontier: future-human theories (the “grays” as us), abduction motifs, remote viewing claims tied to Mars/Moon anomalies, and the Moon itself as an object that’s almost too symbolically perfect to ignore. Whether you buy every claim or not, the episode’s real payload is the pattern: the hottest topics on Earth—AI, genetics, quantum, propulsion, UAP—are all information problems wrapped in power problems. And Jesse’s pitch is simple: if the world is entering a phase where reality can be engineered socially and technologically, then disclosure isn’t just about aliens. It’s about who gets to define the operating system humans live inside.

 
 
 

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