Bandar-Logs of the UFO Universe
The Jean-Marc Roeder Case
December 27, 2004
A listener sent me a recording of countless hours of interviews given by a certain Jean-Marc Roeder on the radio station Ici et Maintenant.
Jean-Marc Roeder, pataphysicist
http://pagesperso-orange.fr/quanthommesuite/roederholodynamquant.htm
From emptiness to its purest state
This interview is… exhausting. I thought of non-scientific listeners and felt compelled to intervene immediately—Roeder clearly does not understand, and is likely incapable of understanding, my work, as evidenced when he cites it. I must stress that I have not “reinterpreted the forces at play in the cosmos in terms of new curvatures.” That has nothing to do with it. Roeder remains deliberately vague about his sources. Moreover, he is unable to rely on his own work, as he has none. I currently hear him claim that antigravity is “less bewildering than it appears.” He inundates listeners with a torrent of empty words, utterly devoid of substance. Here are some quotes:
- What is the hand that creates gravity? … There’s no surprise: with current electromagnetic technology, and the military already carries out antigravity manipulations… antigravity engines have been built since 1920… we’re not in the realm of “maybes”—35-kilogram spheres fly… this is pure, hard science… all this has been published in extremely serious, peer-reviewed journals… with my narrow, simplistic rationalism, I assert categorically that a triangular craft does exist, using antigravity for lift and MHD (magnetohydrodynamics) for propulsion—a hybrid system. I’m absolutely certain. We have proof… you have dozens of articles on the subject… some published in relativistic journals, others in quantum journals… I’ve decided to make a 180-degree turn… in my next article in TOP SECRET on the TR-3B, I plan to cite numerous Nobel laureates to make a strong impression… if tomorrow I published an article—even with high-level mathematics—if I mention the names of Sakharov and Jean-Pierre Petit, people will calm down a bit… we have hundreds of testimonies from people who worked in military-industrial contexts… the Philadelphia Experiment was designed to render a ship invisible… the ship was surrounded by Tesla coils… an initial setup was carried out as early as 1939… then the Rainbow Experiment was conducted in 1943… Tesla built a car powered by free energy… you see what I mean… Einstein was merely a consultant on the Rainbow Project, though only for one week… this can be proven… Einstein’s schedule is known down to the hour… Tesla’s machines aren’t so complicated… the internet offers countless plans for building very simple, functional devices… regarding these discs, I’m a Buddhist, so I can speak on the subject a bit—they’re not mere legend; they’re actually based on acoustic levitation… concerning quantum mechanics, I’m closer to Schrödinger’s position… you know what I mean… very simply, what happens if we cancel inertial mass… if we reach superluminal speeds, everything changes…
This morning, December 31, I received a new recording. Emboldened by questions from his supporters, Roeder “lets go” increasingly, and his discourse becomes utterly delusional and uncontrolled:
… Time is a trivector… space is the rotation of time… if we’re right… this is even more revolutionary than special relativity and quantum mechanics… these are the first precursors of holodynamics… um… um… you know what I mean… even if the electric current’s speed is high… electron speed remains low… we can represent the electron as a spinning sphere, and it’s precisely this that gives it its electric charge (!…). Antimatter is a sphere spinning in reverse… you follow me… that’s why if an electron meets a positron, they cancel out—because we’re mixing two spheres spinning in opposite directions (!…)
Roeder never dodges questions; he showers his interlocutor with flattery before “thanking them profusely.” How long will this circus continue? No one can say. Only de Plaige could end it, though he is probably completely overwhelmed by events. No scientist would waste time questioning Roeder, whose discourse has now become utterly incoherent rambling. He eagerly responds to laypeople, never saying, “This is beyond my field of expertise.”
Where are Roeder’s published, peer-reviewed scientific works? I know of none. There are only hollow words, a tiresome logorrhea. This man simply treats his listeners as fools, and it shocks me. Yet I admit having no desire to “set the clock straight” yet again for the umpteenth time—last time, it was to clarify readers about the inconsistent “universons” theory.
These remarks don’t particularly stir me personally. What shocks me is that many honest, scientifically unqualified people get ensnared in such fantasies, like flies in sticky traps. It’s equally shocking to see de Plaige open wide the airwaves of his radio Ici et Maintenant to such nonsense, discrediting his entire program—even though it occasionally featured more sensible individuals with genuinely substantial insights to share. Yet beyond a few standout moments, what absurdity! Moreover, it’s been over a year since I asked de Plaige to remove all traces of my past appearances on Ici et Maintenant from its archives, refusing to have my interviews mixed with such incoherent ramblings.
De Plaige has found in Roeder a man capable of delivering hours of pseudo-scientific discourse. Where did this man emerge from, claiming, among other things, to be Buddhist, to have collaborated on numerous military projects, and to hold a “Vulcan”-level defense security clearance? Mystery. He clings to the microphone, warmly thanking each interlocutor, declaring himself “infinitely grateful.”
Following listener reactions, I must clarify one point. On the homepage of my website, a device of my invention—dating from the early 1980s and presented on the TV show Temps X—rotates: the Logotron. It’s a word generator, creating neologisms. As I mentioned on Temps X, I was inspired by a book published when computing was in its infancy: the Litteratron, by the late Robert Escarpit (1950s). This book is now out of print, and I no longer possess a copy myself. Escarpit’s “Picard Novel” (as the author himself called it) was fiction based on “automatic language creation by computer.” At Escarpit’s time, the Litteratron didn’t exist; today, building such a cybernetic-linguistic chimera is conceivable. Roeder is a Litteratron—his very own. A true intellectual chameleon, he can adapt his discourse to any direction. Though he insists on presenting himself as “very down-to-earth,” he lavishes all ufologists with flattery seemingly without limits: one is praised for “remarkable rigor,” another for “great human qualities.” This man has no enemies and believes “all speculations are equally valid.” His pseudo-scientific writings, for which I was provided samples, exemplify “epistemological litteratronic” activity—made possible only in today’s climate of confusion. I recall that when I was a taupin (a student preparing for the École Polytechnique entrance exam) in the 1950s, my friend Jean-Claude Mitteau (later admitted to Polytechnique) and I devised the “Lijikov Transmutation Theory.” It perfectly mimicked genuine mathematics, yet was utterly nonsensical. Honestly, I think Roeder has a bright future ahead. The Ummo niche has been seized with military efficiency; “hard ufology” is poised to be coached by Roeder.
Good Lord, how right I was a few months ago to decisively leave this ufological world behind!
Over the years, I’ve encountered many individuals capable of constructing incredibly sophisticated discourses, assembled from fragments of knowledge gathered during their encounters—reminiscent of crabs that cover their shells with various objects using mucus to camouflage themselves. Such camouflage may fool a fish, but not a marine biologist, who quickly identifies the animal beneath the disguise. Constructing such intricate systems is practically a full-time job. I recall a man I met over twenty-five years ago, who claimed to be an American doctor, a Vietnam War deserter. Though I lacked medical knowledge myself, I watched him bluff surgeons for days, citing precise technical details of battlefield operations. He quickly seduced a nurse at the hospital, borrowing all her savings, claiming he was expecting “a large sum of money.” Using her money, he treated her to expensive restaurants, and she believed she’d fallen for the “Prince Charming.” This all unraveled in a matter of days, triggered by a single question. I asked how he’d escaped Vietnam, and he replied he’d “clung to the landing gear of a U.S. transport plane as it took off.” My opinion was instantly formed. I attended Supaéro (French aerospace school). Transport planes cruise at altitudes exceeding 10,000 meters, where pressure is low and temperatures freezing. Moreover, many landing gears retract into cramped compartments—barely large enough for a rat, let alone a human. Rare survivors of such conditions—typically Africans on short flights—emerge with severe hypothermia and frostbite.
Our man was unaware of these details. I discreetly informed my physician friends, who then adopted a more inquisitive stance, and the fraud was quickly exposed. The man had merely worked as a nurse in a psychiatric hospital and was not American, but Swiss. The next day, he was hitchhiking toward Nice or Aix-en-Provence, ready to revise his story, making the “Vietnam escape” sequence more plausible.
Such people share a trait: their discourse is in a state of perpetual enrichment, exploiting every encounter and reading, burning any wood available.
A true scientist leaves tangible traces of his work. Jean-Marc Roeder is extremely discreet about his own work. In any case, when a genuine scientist seeks contact with a colleague, the first thing he does is send them his publications on the subject in question. Roeder was supposed to send me his own work—I’m still waiting.
I’ll lump Claude Poher into the same category—he has published nothing but “CNES internal notes.” I’m sorry, but our scientific community has its rules, its laws—often harsh, unfair, and restrictive. Yes, some ideas and works are difficult to publish—I admit that. But one cannot claim the status of “scientist” when one’s entire career consists of “CNES internal notes” and nothing else. The “universons” theory Roeder cites with pleasure is built on strawberry runners (i.e., flimsy foundations). I’ll stop here, as for months I’ve deemed it wise to completely distance myself from this ufological milieu—a boring desert. I’ve ceased appearing on Radio Ici et Maintenant or in magazines like Top Secret, as doing so implicitly lent these outlets a scientific credibility they didn’t deserve. This conflation worked both ways: it allowed impostors invoking my name to peddle low-quality ideas. Conversely, it annoyed genuine scientists who might otherwise have considered my work. Thus, I finally said “stop!” once and for all in autumn 2004.
Roeder’s discourse reveals what remains of ufology—particularly French-speaking ufology—once real scientists abandon journal columns, radio frequencies, and ufological platforms. It truly is:
I had to force myself to listen to his broadcasts until the end. It’s utter nonsense. If you have access to them, pay attention:
… I’ll clarify… let’s be clear… I’m in Schrödinger’s camp… to be precise… we’ll play quantum physicists… I was fortunate to have direct exchanges with Jean-Pierre Petit… whenever he can, whenever he has time, we’ll meet… yes, Nikola Tesla drove a vehicle powered by free energy… these works are cited in journals like Top Secret and Nexus… it’s very complicated to explain… the rotation of time creates space… I’ve posed questions to people like Patrick Barrieu and Jean-Pierre Petit and await their answers… I’m the one asking questions…
etc., etc. It’s the Marx Brothers’ “duck soup,” and it’s utterly exhausting. Roeder piles absurdity upon absurdity in ionized gas physics and MHD, yet can talk for an hour about Ohm’s law. Listening to these tapes (or reading Claude Poher’s work) is taxing for a scientist like me. I occasionally speak by phone with Patrick Barrieu, whom Roeder cites in his interviews. Barrieu, an unpretentious young computer scientist, speaks Hebrew fluently. For a time, Roeder had impressed him. Their relationship soured the day Roeder, the true chameleon, finally claimed to read the Torah in the original. Barrieu immediately began speaking Hebrew to him, to which Roeder replied:
- But… what are you saying?!?!?…
Barrieu, lacking scientific pretensions, then withdrew. Personally, before engaging in dialogue with someone claiming to be a scientist, I prefer they first demonstrate at least a minimum of competence. This was not the case with Roeder, so I did not pursue it. This is what he calls “having been in contact with Jean-Pierre Petit.” It doesn’t always go this way—I’ve worked closely for five to ten years with highly qualified individuals, often starting with a simple letter or phone call. In those cases, one quickly discerns whom one is dealing with—four sentences suffice.
I don’t know how long Roeder will remain on Ici et Maintenant’s airwaves or how many articles he’ll write for Top Secret. These media must fill their airtime and columns at all costs. Since we withdrew from this game, the quality of offerings has become problematic.
Roeder cites the case of “a great Swiss quantum physicist named Koupoupolos.” I asked him, who had criticized my MHD work on his website, to send me his publications. No reply. Eventually, I managed to contact him. He lives in Geneva. That’s not his real name. He has never published a single scientific work but acts as spokesperson for neighbors at CERN—too cowardly to speak under their own names. All this is incredibly tedious.
I regretted that someone like de Plaige joined the Holbecq-Pollion group to apply an “ADUMMO” copyright to Ummo texts. But you’ve seen what this vast enterprise has become—mountains giving birth to mice. The few scientists or science students who had frequented the ummo.sciences forum eventually grew discouraged, and I fear nothing will ever come of it. This page I’m writing is an exception to the conduct I’ve now adopted: work and no commentary on what I consider pseudo-scientific gestures devoid of any interest. I won’t keep it online for long; I’m responding only to requests from Top Secret readers and Ici et Maintenant listeners.
Much more could be said. I wrote on my site: “Learn to think for yourself, or others will think for you.” I would add here: “Don’t automatically take at face value the competencies people claim or the résumés they boast about. Maintain critical thinking. Investigate, research, cross-check, ask direct questions, demand proof.” The ufological world teems with liars, charlatans, mythomaniacs, illusionists—and even honorable correspondents in close contact with intelligence services (though these attributes are not mutually exclusive). There are even people who… speak under false names, outright. But my role isn’t to expose and clean out this trash heap. If you search, you’ll find—that’s all.
Once cleaned, ufology leaves little behind—this dead, abandoned Indian town, inhabited solely by Bandar-Logs, the monkeys Kipling describes in The Jungle Book. Among Top Secret readers or Ici et Maintenant listeners, ufology forum participants or Ummo Science site visitors, there are many decent, intellectually honest, open-minded people who end up disappointed by this general vacuity. True scientists (they exist) don’t stay long—or seek more substantial contacts elsewhere.
To conclude, I’ll retell a story. It’s so vast it deserves a book someday. Seven or eight years ago, a man living near Agen contacted me—well, through my then-partner, who was more naive than I. He claimed to have achieved transmutations, including manufacturing artificial diamonds. I thought: “Well, we don’t know what to do with our vacation. Why not a little trip to southwestern France?” When we arrived, he insisted we meet his mother, terminally ill with cancer. Indeed, the first day was devoted to visiting her in a clinic, where we sadly found her already comatose. We booked a hotel room. The man immediately began spinning his tales. Perhaps disoriented by what we’d just witnessed, my discernment was momentarily dulled.
He showed us many things: crystals he claimed formed around initial seed crystals in his “secret underground laboratory,” built by his deceased father. A gemologist friend of mine, a Spaniard, confirmed his claims (about the crystals, not the lab, which no one could obviously visit). Spectrographic analysis confirmed they were genuine diamonds. For now, he says, we can only reconstruct a crystal by assembling carbon atoms around a gemstone placed in a press. We know this operation has so far proven impossible, though artificial diamonds do possess properties very close to natural ones. Yet we cannot, in the lab, replicate the metamorphism requiring immense pressure and, above all, vast amounts of time—otherwise, diamond prices would collapse immediately.
Our host also has astonishing objects, especially a golden lily-of-the-valley branch. It’s genuine gold. Under the microscope, one sees… cells. The Spaniard, with complete sincerity (he’d be the first victim of this trickster), adds that no method exists to create such precise molds and that, assuming molds were involved, one could conclude they’re truly the result of transmuting a delicate plant into fine gold. He also produces correspondence (in fact, forgeries) with the Beers company, supposedly ready to negotiate purchasing his various processes (recall the “American doctor” above, awaiting “substantial income”). Meanwhile, he has no money, especially not to pay for his mother’s cremation, who dies the day after our arrival. But “he’s expecting imminent payouts.”
The situation is both surreal and tragic. We witnessed a dying woman, and now the funeral home arrives with its quote. The son wrings his hands.
- And I don’t have the money to pay for my poor mother’s funeral.
I eventually give him 7,000 francs to cover body transport and cremation costs. It’s my vacation money, but the situation seemed unbearable. He assures me, “as soon as I get payouts, etc…”
Everyone is ultimately destabilized by this sudden, recent death—understandably so. How could a man whose mother lived with him suddenly pass away, yet continue spinning his scammer’s tale without a moment’s pause? It’s simply… astonishing.
It took me 24 hours and a few discreet calls to untangle the whole affair, like Hercule Poirot. I remember a lunch the day after the woman’s death, where I finally blurted out:
- Well, the question now is whether Mr. Philippe Lembrouille is or isn’t a very skilled con artist.
I won’t use his real name, as know that great mythomaniacs are often skilled lawyers, quick to sue for defamation! But I’m convinced he continued his activities. If a journalist wanted to investigate, I’d gladly provide leads.
Everyone remains stunned. My partner glares at me, silently asking, “How can you so brutally attack a man who just lost his mother?”
The Spaniard reacts:
- But you saw the X-ray analysis reports! It’s authentic diamond, formed around an initial crystal!
- I don’t dispute that. We’ve learned these past days that Philippe Lembrouille’s father operated a mine in Madagascar. Now, this region is very rich in uniquely formed crystals, which locals trade. Indeed, diamonds can be brought to the surface and reburied due to new tectonic movements. A second diamond then forms around the first, which acts as a seed crystal—and these two gems can differ in color, as was the case with the sample Lembrouille showed us. But this is a naturally formed object, shaped over billions of years, not a lab creation. I think this “secret underground laboratory” exists only in this man’s imagination. Astrophysicists know this phenomenon also occurs in composite meteorites, where crystal structures can form twice, around debris scattered after a collision. With your Barcelona university friend—whose name you mentioned and who swallowed all your savings—you invested substantial sums, enabling Mr. Lembrouille, among other things, to buy himself a beautiful car at your expense. But you’ll never see your money again, and you’ll be left with a box of gems of little value.
The atmosphere grows heavy. The Spaniard is shaken. This time, Lembrouille tries to counterattack:
- You saw the lily-of-the-valley branch transmuted into gold. It’s not gold-plated—it’s pure gold…
- Exactly, but you obtained it by casting.
The Spaniard’s eyes widen.
- But… that’s impossible! Did you see the details under the microscope? Plant cells are visible! You can’t cast such an object to the micron precision!
- You’re mistaken. It took me a few calls to get to the bottom of it. My friend Jacques’s retired father taught casting techniques at the École des Arts et Métiers in Aix-en-Provence. He explained the process to me. First, you dip the plant in a mixture of water and ceramic, resembling very liquid plaster. When you remove the branch, it’s coated with a deposit about one micron thick. You let it dry, then repeat the process n times. It takes patience, but eventually, you cover the branch with a ceramic shell, tightly conforming to the micron. You can then perfect the mold by immersing it in a denser mixture. After drying, the branch is tightly encased in this solid material.
- And how do you extract it, breaking the mold without leaving traces?
- Precisely, you don’t break the mold. You eliminate all traces of the plant via carbonization. You put the whole thing in a furnace, vaporizing all organic elements.
- Fine, let’s suppose. You then have the negative mold. But how do you get molten gold to intimately conform to the mold’s inner surface?
- Yesterday, when Philippe Lembrouille showed us his late father’s “laboratory,” my eye was drawn to a large centrifuge, one meter in diameter—not a small biology lab centrifuge, but a foundry machine.
- For foundry work?!
*- You place the