I Don’t Like What Happened to My Soul Sister (Updated)

So, what happened at the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival in 1989 and 1990?

I had just graduated from Murray State University in Murray, Kentucky with a BA in Theatre and one in Speech Communication (minors in German, in part due to my visit to Germany and Austria in the Summer of 1988–the year before the wall came down, and one in Organizational Communication).

I drove my white Ford Pinto (not a Nova; having somewhere made that mistake was due to what happened to it coupled with being drugged: “no va” in Spanish is “doesn’t go”) with $400 along with my friend from college Carl (who had all of $40). In Ohio (what is it with the state of my birth) the muffler fell off and we spent the better part of a day buying a new one at one place and getting it installed at another.

In an hilarious moment, Carl threw my divorce papers out the window along the highway. Not only did a native American cry, but I no longer had the conditions of the end of my sham of a marriage that began on December 8, 1986. (That date will appear again).

Oh, well.

Carl was determined to be a standup comedian. He wound up working at Drew University to save up some money for the move to Manhattan. He slept in the car much of the time, sometimes visiting me in Bowne Theater where I slept as fire watch.

The interns arrived early and started getting the theater ready for rehearsals and the “equity house” (that is, the house where the union members of the Actor’s Equity Association would stay while in the shows).

One especially striking female member of the intern group was a young woman named K*** M*****. She did a rendition of “Happy Birthday” Marilyn Monroe style that definitely did it justice. She was beautiful and in most ways, a very sweet lady. There were forty of us or so, and we did not initially have much contact.

I did a duet for my singing audition with R** B***** (“Brush Up Your Shakespeare” from Kiss Me, Kate). B***** was married. He would later (in the mid 90s) get a divorce over an indiscretion with a fifteen year old girl. To my knowledge, charges were never pressed.

As I’ve stated elsewhere, I believe this was one of several human subject experiments conducted on people at the Festival. I will elaborate later in this post.

I should probably mention here the founder of the Festival. I have little reason to believe that P*** B**** was cognizant of what was going on apart from his statement of being a former Marine (though I was never clear if his Iwo Jima presence claim was fact) and the possibility that CIA and/or DOD money coming into the Festival would clearly have been welcome. It would have been from a front company, I’m sure. That’s how the research was done in the 40s (or 50s) and on.

Once the union actors arrived, I had the opportunity to meet almost immediately a new member of the union who had been an intern the year previous in 1988. Our first conversation centered around the fact that I held open the door to the AD’s office/sound and light booth for him and stepped aside to let him in. He found that fascinating for some reason and said that he believed I considered other people better than myself. I thought of it as “Southern hospitality”, but given the smarts that S**** has, I’ll tentatively accept the possibility he was correct.

In any case, I have rarely met a more seemingly mysterious person nor seen so many people initially attracted to that about him. Extremely secretive and yet there was another side I will address later. Kind of like two different people. I’m not throwing stones having lived in that glass house myself to an extent recently.

That was the end of our interaction until K*** later came to me and said that S**** had invited us both to dinner.

We had a fine chinese dinner and had some discussions about various topics. Choosing animal for each of us was one. K*** was clearly upset over S**** suggesting hers was a cow. Mine was (surprise!) a dog (or a goldfish, which given my roundish head and sometimes coppery hair, was also a good one). S**** said that his own was monkey. (Link is to evidence that CIA and/or DOD was attempting to perhaps direct my ire towards S****. Get it? Playing us off against each other so we don’t see who the real perps are: Langley ghouls).

He also said that we had all done this before, had known each other in a past life. K*** agreed. I did not (at least partly due to my dabbling in Christianity; my divorce and a few strange things at college and in Germany had already been nudging me in that direction though I had yet to commit to it).

He got angry that I disagreed on that but it quickly passed.

Soon after our dinner, K*** let me know that they were seeing each other. I confess to being a little jealous.

But it not long after that that things went sour. S**** told me that she was crazy. I found that hard to believe and had not noticed anything along those lines. Her father had died of cancer not long before coming to the Festival (I never found out what he did for a living so cannot comment on the possibility he was a microwave test subject, but noting the patterns of organized stalking, one thing is sometimes family members are targetted) and she had spent some time taking care of him before she came. There was some guilt: her life had been on hold taking care of him and now she was free but because he was dead. Enough to make any of us have some issues, but a far cry from what I witnessed over the next several months.

I soon became the go-between for the pair of them. S**** once said I enjoyed it. Let me set him straight on that: never. I cared for the both of them and it was painful.

But, as these things always seem to go, I was soon hated by them both for being the representative for each to the other. K*** especially still wanted me to pass notes to S****, though I started to find it interfering with the work. She became very angry when I suggested that. That was the first time I saw her being irrational. She also gave me grief over having mentioned some of the wild conspiracy theories that a friend and his friend had told me about at MSU. I found it fun in the same way that people find cop shows fun today: an interesting logic puzzle but not “real.” (There was an exception or two to that, but on the whole this was typical John Birch Society communist/Satanic/UFO/Illuminati conspiracy stuff plus Jack Chick paranoia; I knew much of it was ridiculous because I had played D&D and never seen anyone even try to summon a demon… it was just poker night for nerds. The friend of the friend who introduced me to this stuff was clearly a TI for organized stalking, I have to say in retrospect).

It was not long after that that K***’s condition worsened. Eventually, she was saying that S**** was either THE devil or worked for the CIA.

While I never agreed with the former (and considered the latter to be ridiculous; why would CIA be interested in any of us, go this extreme?), I did notice other things that simply had little logical explanation.

It even became a joke among the interns: say S****’s name and there will be a noise, a light will flicker (see the film Gaslight; I did in October 2009 and found that it was likely “Anthony”–who I believe was DHS or FBI counter-intel–and his roommate using EMFs to make the lights flicker in my apartment in Brooklyn a few months later; I also had a bag disappear and reappear; right out of the movie’s plot. This was part of destroying my fourteen-and-a-half year relationship with a man I had known since 1987. I will cover that sad tale at some other point) or some other weird thing will occur. We even tested it once and it worked. It did not work the second or third time. (An unexplained ‘thump’ as I recall).

After Kara left the Festival at the end of the Summer season and S**** and I stayed on for the Fall season, S**** and I patched up our differences. We had to work together and really, I think we liked each other to an extent and respected each others’ work.

We even spent one Monday (our only day off) in Manhattan together. He showed me around town, where to get an inexpensive dish of rice and beans, how to get around. We also visited his apartment and his girlfriend, who he met at the NJSF the previous year when she was working there as a union actress and he was an intern. She appeared “shellshocked”. He explained this off on something he had done, but kind of laughed about it. I had thought this indicated some kind of guilt. (Now I think otherwise. Read on.)

He also once took me over to the equity house and showed me his room. He had a stuffed pink pig that he used, he said, to keep his own ego in check. “What did you think of my performance, Piggy?” “Oink!” “That bad, eh?” I found that endearing at the time. I find it even more so now for some reason I cannot explain.

We got along for a while, yes. But long, tiring hours in close quarters can spin things out of control. There were ego battles. Battles of the will. Games, mostly of the mind sort.

We were doing Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. S**** was playing Saturninus. I was playing an unnamed Roman senator. After the scene where Titus and family shoot arrows with messages into the royal palace, Saturninus has a gripe session with the Roman Senate. In it, S**** (whom I generally admired for this trait) would improvise some minor violence. It consisted of swatting me or the other senator on the shoulder. Sometimes once, sometimes more than once, sometimes one of us, sometimes the other, sometimes both. The sheer arbitrariness of it was one part of its charm and I imagine that it helped to feed S****’s performance.

However, the way the show was staged involved at the beginning and end of both acts the entry and exit of the female intern company wearing vestal virgin costumes (that is, quite a bit of leg and some chest showing) carrying candles. They sat around the sides of the stage for the entire show. They got to see, up close and personal, every time S**** swatted me with the arrow.

Now, it stung, but it never (except maybe once, see below) left a mark or anything.

But we had forty-five or so performances of the show (I think that’s how many were scheduled and we may have cancelled the last three or so due to low attendendance). Psychologically, this was tiring.

The ladies felt that and pushed it with me. Shouldn’t I contact Equity and complain? Shouldn’t I complain to the Stage Manager? Shouldn’t I confront S**** about it?

Truly, I just didn’t take it that personally. But after several more performances like that, the arrow thing getting winces and gasps from the audience (despite my thick skin–or hard back if you like), the ladies just wouldn’t let it go.

Respecting S****’s work I decided not to do any of those things. Rather, I just decided to what he would do: pull a minor prank.

One show, I (facing full forward, audience could only see my back), yawned during his speech. He broke the damn arrow.

The next one, while he was ranting and raving, I cleaned my shoe as though not paying attention. Repeat broken arrow (though I think he hit the other guy, M*** R*** too).

Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, this is much ado about nothing at this point. S**** got perturbed though. (In my defense, there had been lots and lots of other minor mind games and pranks played but nothing that amounted to much at this point. Sort of a rivalry or battle of wills, though I’ll be damned if I know what it was over).

He pulled me aside after the show and confronted me. Said he respected my work (which was generally true, though he had been somewhat malicious at times in several ways; I was in a sense his ‘whipping boy’). I laughed it off.

He gave up on trying to reason with the guy who was laughing in his face and seemed to let it go.

“Let’s help with the set changeover.”

This consisted of installing a long, heavy, metal ladder in the center of the stage for the Pericles production. S**** went up into the rafters to guide the top, I went under the stage to guide in the bottom and tie it in securely.

When I was about to reach for the bottom of the ladder, it slammed down with an incredible force given the short distance this heavy object was moving.

Now I was angry. I came out from under the stage and shouted for him. He was either hiding or had left.

Here’s the weirdness. Later (the next day or later that night, I have forgotten) I was sitting alone in the student union building on Drew’s campus. Suddenly, I “feel” as though there is a gun to my head on the left side and that someone pulled the trigger, blowing out the right side of my brain. This was all more of a “tickle” than the pain that might be involved in that actually happening.

That was the strangest thing of all. I had no idea that was possibly technologically (and in fact am still not quite sure how it was done; best guess is hypnotic suggestion via V2K either while sleeping or right then). This was what ultimately pushed me to religion. I joined a church.

Later on in the season, S**** apologized in his own way for the ladder incident and revealed that, whenever he is slighted or made fun of in public, he falls into a “murderous rage.”

The day he revealed that was when we took photos of each other for headshots. We got along famously until…

He invited me to dinner. But I had already made plans with K*** in Manhattan. He again became angry. I tried to calm him down, but he just left.

This is where it starts to get interesting and seems more like it belongs on this blog.

I had dinner with K***. She was still saying the stuff about S**** working for CIA. Later, at her apartment, she showed me that she had begun writing down license plate numbers, bits of signs, graffiti, incidents where people said one thing or another. Since I have had more recently similar impulses (mostly photo-taking and laughing about the V2K stuff as I blogged in the previous one or two posts and previously). I am no expert on which drug or what exactly was done, but ETX from what I read about it sounds like a possibility.

What I understand it does is make sounds seem louder, lights seem brighter, movements seem more threatening, in essence making normal situations tortuous by overloading stimuli. For example, the playing of that loud music which many of us don’t think of as torture? On that drug it definitely is. I’m surprised not every single one didn’t commit suicide under those conditions if they were also drugged. It’s primary use was recently pointed out, a Navy admiral approved it for use on detainees.

But think about what else that can do. New York City is like a stimuli symphony. Suddenly, the home of the Yankees becomes the place that drove H.P. Lovecraft to the ‘burbs.

We had an argument about it. I just could not accept what she was saying. Of course, she was seeing the world differently than I was, having been drugged and harassed by the US government.

After the argument she essentially threw me out. When I returned to my car, it would not start. Worse, the wind was blowing so hard that the heavy metal garbage cans were blowing down the street. My long blue coat was sticking out parallel to the ground like a cartoon character’s.

I wound up going to Carl’s apartment building on Central Park West. There, I told the doorman that I was going to make a call (there was a phone down the hall). Carl had no phone. I found that the door to the half of the building that Carl did not live in was open, though the one to his was not. There was a common kitchen in each half of the building. I climbed out the window and onto the fire escape and crossed over to his half, climbed in the window of his common kitchen and knocked on his door. I spent the night on his floor and, wouldn’t you know it?, the heat went out. My coat was not designed to be a blanket but I survived the freezing cold and returned to the NJSF later that morning.

When I returned to get the car a few days later, it had been towed (or stolen, I didn’t know which and when I called NYPD they had no record of it though that was because it had not yet been entered into their system). I wound up losing the car because the fees were somewhere around $400 and I did not even know if I could get it started.

Car trouble is a noted aspect of organized stalking. Additionally, one will find if one looks hard enough that car trouble played a role in the squidgate incident. In fact, had it not been for car trouble, the event would not have occurred on December 8, 2009 which, yes, was my wedding anniversary and a year later the date that the juror found herslef and her son in legal jeopardy. This is both a message and an attempt to make it seem like some sort of occult or supernatural thing. It isn’t.

That is pure spite from the Central Intelligence Agency. There can be no other explanation. It’s because I was a witness to their illegal human experimentation projects, there can be no doubt. Everything else is, to a greater or lesser extent, a limited hangout (the name for dangling a small part of an operation to distract from a larger one). I was not entirely sure this was the case and threw out the possibility that this was all about Erik Prince and Blackwater’s selling of technical data to the Canadian Military and the probability that CIA set me, P**** W**** and Jeremy Scahill at patsies. While I think that probably is the case, it was merely poison pen work to take out several liabilities at once: witness(es) to NKINTRA, an investigative reporter who revealed the details and history of the use of mercenaries by the US government and the history of one such company’s owner, the owner of said company who has made himself a liability through various actions (including the “loss” of a CIA sat-phone, the potential involvement in the assassination of Bhutto of India, the training of foreign military and groups in how to pretend to be Al Qaeda, and the aforementioned sale of data to Canada), as well as science fiction’s expert on brainhacking, whom I would very likely have met with at some scifi gathering or other had not all of this nonsense occurred. Additionally, they have tried again and again to aim my ire at S****. If there is one thing is clear to me now regarding what I’ve written in this post, it is that he is very likely another victim. His behavior seems suspicious as you read this, but as I’ve already pointed out I’ve met other people who are not operatives in any way who have also. Indeed, I have, through work, been involved or nearly involved with companies with ties to: George H.W. Bush, Mitt Romney, Buzzy Krongard, Philip Morris (just before they had to step down for lying to Congress over false tobacco and cancer testimony), and many others that appear suspicious. We even had a company’s personnel come to our office once in the wake of the first WTC attack to call their families and tell them that they had gotten out of the building. Mostly, this was young women covered head to foot in black soot.

However, I swear I never spied on any of these people and, with one exception, I never even discussed any of the inner workings of my clients’ operations. The one exception was when I was working in their office as a sort of temp employee fill-in and was asked to do something I thought was unethical (possibly illegal) with regards to presenting data to their investors. I got the distinct feeling that they wanted an outsider to do that act so that the company could point the finger at someone outside (our company). I went to my bosses about it and got relseased from that project.

Ironically, this potential fraud involved the partner who did not get indicted and sentenced to prison. The one who did, I never had an inkling that he had been doing some financial fraud (double- or triple-collateralizing properties for loans, as I understand it) and in fact rarely went to his half of the building at all. That these latter two things all took place in what is known as the Helmsley Building is something I am going to assume is coincidence. 🙂

Back to New Jersey. At the end of the season, S**** and I had a conversation where he made a show of working out and bulking up. He stated that he was doing so because he was going somewhere, he hinted at Hollywood. He also had previously told me that “There are no accidents.” Though I think he agrees that sometimes there are, he meant something else. That we were being stalked, experimented upon.

He also stated that acting was no way to grow old gracefully. These were hints of some kind. He had also said that his father invented Tang, though the historical record (unless he was part of the team), does not reflect that.

It was as though he was saying goodbye and did not expect to see me again.

I went back home to make some money and worked at WalMart for a few months before heading back to NYC. I stayed briefly at an apartment on Eighth Avenue between 28th and 29th Streets.

Just before returning to the Festival in the Spring of 1990, I accompanied K*** in her rental car headed to Missouri to live with family. I was relieved that she might find help there (the same lame excuse that my former partner wished for me when he tried to get me committed (a friend talked him out of that), on pharmaceuticals (at the doctor’s office on the Upper East Side of Manhattan the day I agreed to go, ‘Balding’, an unknown FBI or DHS agent, showed up after I had seen him in my Brooklyn neighborhood), or to move out–that last was successful–in 2010). The plan was for me to drive the car back to Manhattan. As I outlined in the previous post, that didn’t happen. She left me at a gas station in Ohio because she “heard” (I assert via voice-to-skull) her deceased father tell her I was going to harm her that evening. She became nervous when I got sleepy and she was still wide awake and wired. As also previously stated, she wrote the FBI and Bush-41 and Clinton White Houses. Clinton gave a public apology to the victims of government human experimentation and created an executive order ending the use of radiation on unsuspecting human targets among other uses. K*** threw $80 out the window and I borrowed $16 more for the bus ticket back after hitching a ride to the bus station from the gas station.

But we, S**** and I, were both back for 1990 as was R** B***** and some others. There were also some new faces among the interns. R****** D***** was one. He and I wound up melding on scifi and fantasy and the fact that I thought he was cute and was coming to grips with being gay, though it was a process, not an event.

R****** would also, like B*****, get busted for statuatory rape, also get a divorce over it. In his case, he did do some time in prison.

(R****** also once catered at the Kuwaiti embassy around the time of the first Gulf War, probably a bit after. I checked the papers daily for an international incident there, but it never occurred. That’s half-joking. If you knew R****** then you’d know what I mean. The emir’s attractive daughters and guards all over the place armed with Uzis plus the man’s sometimes ability to be completely oblivious, for example, as to what those two things together might mean. Plus him? Just asking for trouble.).

I stop to note here that pedophilia is also a common accusation aimed at organized stalking targets. In these two cases, it was true that they had done so. I note that Scott Ritter, WMD expert who refuted the lies coming out of the Bush White House regarding Iraq’s capabilities and intentions with tubes and centrifuges, within the last year or so was brought up on statutory rape charges as well.

According to what little I have come across, it’s sometimes a side-effect of torture, to turn pedophile. The reasoning here is believed to be a desire to “act out” what was done to the torture victim on someone who is as helpless as the victim was when they were tortured.

It is, however, my belief that it is also–as are most aspects of our personalities–a function of brain chemistry. The idea here, drug and alter the individual’s brain chemistry and they become attracted to younger people. As I noted elsewhere, there was a prime opportunity for me to engage in sexual contact with an attractive fifteen year old guy soon after I left the NJSF but I defused the situation and that did not happen.

So, not only do you have a useful tool for dealing with people like Ritter, but in doing the actual research and testing, you render the subject a pariah and therefore undermine their credibility should they ever, as I goddam well am, accuse the CIA of performing illegal testing as the historical record already shows they did for decades.

So far, we have A***** T******* (S****’s girlfriend) and K*** M***** both behaving strangely. Then we have R** B***** and R****** D***** who both committed statuatory rape (and my failed opportunity to have done likewise). That’s two of one kind of testing and three of another.

There’s one more to make that three and three. During the 1990 season we did Measure for Measure. An actress, C***** W******* played Isabella. S**** played Angelo.

There is a very intense scene where Angelo, the man in charge while the Duke is gone, agrees to release Isabella’s brother on the condition that she have sex with him. She is a nun and is placed between her vows and her love of her brother.

The scene was rather intense to begin with. However, as with K***, C***** became more and more terrified of the scene. She was visibly shaking backstage beforehand. She eventually told everyone that she had been diagnosed with Lyme disease. S**** once pulled me aside and said, “It’s not Lyme disease. She’s crazy.” Echoing what he had said of K*** a year before.

(See also MKULTRA Methods and Means #5: mimicking known diseases for malingering, etc.).

Now, again, he was smiling when he said it. Let me exlpain something right now. If you’ve been targetted by this kind of CIA harassment for long enough, it will f*** with your sense of propriety. I have laughed at things that really are not funny myself within the past two years and found any way I can to deal with things like these peoples’ craven, disgusting, monstrous acts such as driving those five young gay men to suicide in late 2010 within a two week period. Maybe he just knew what was happening but rather than come out tell me directly, he just hinted and I did not get it.

I am merely trying to explain what I observed and having had some experience now with what all of these people went through, can say that they are all victims. Whether S**** was chosen due to being on the sociopathic side first or became so after the torture he endured makes no difference to me. Sociopathy is common; not all of them become serial killers (or even CIA employees).

S**** also once said he dreamed that K*** was going to shoot him. That was one indicator of the “other side.” His often kind acts are others. This is someone who genuinely cared for me and I for him, despite the other things that happened; like brothers; or sisters, maybe.

So it is not just for me, not just for K***, not just for Kate, not just for P****, not just for S****, nor any of the other singular victims of these illegal, immoral, and deeply-damaging-to-our-democracy programs (that is, they damage it because they exist and interfere more than the possibility of them being exposed would do. That’s a coward’s argument, and one designed to try to cover them up.)

There is more (isn’t there always?) but this is already much longer than I expected. Wherever any of you folks are, I hope you’re hanging in there. We will see an end to this. It’s going to happen.

Oh, yeah, baby…

(EDIT: Fixed one link, added another, added car event in Ohio in 1990, clarified Kuwaiti embassy–possibly rather the mission, uncertain).



  1. […] was that weird “feeling” of having a gun to my head I detailed over here. Since I don’t believe in voodoo (no, not even voodoo economics), that’s my best guess […]

  2. […] she’s livin la vida loca  She’ll push and pull you down, livin la vida loca  Her lips are devil red and her skin’s the color mocha  She will wear you out livin la vida loca Come On! Livin […]

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI