Trapped (Updated)

(Modified first paragraph and attempted to clarify with a footnote at bottom).

Trapped inside my own head. That was how it felt. It was as though “I” was still in there some place, but the only ways to communicate with the outside world were through jokes, quoting song lyrics or movie lines and history and writing. Though there were certainly some things I was conscious of (the title of the novella Learning to Fly coming from the Pink Floyd song, sure. It’s relationship to what happened in the Minneapolis FBI office prior to 9-11, consciousness of that came later.* Still on another level, flying being equated with sex also but probably after the title was chosen. Finally, that one deceased band member road manager, whose laugh can be heard on a few tracks on the album, was the father of Naomi Watts named Peter… Well, yet another very bizarre coincidence), there were a great many that I was not. Looking back, it’s weird how some of the things I was not at all aware of but said seem to have been true.

References to the short story “Glass”, for example. The short story centers around two groups of human test subjects. One is completely sociopathic while the other is overly empathetic. As I recall (it’s now been years since I read it and that was in the months before Squidgate), all of the test subjects were sociopaths to begin with. SPOILER ALERT: What happens is that one of the empaths becomes afraid that one of the sociopaths is going to harm the doctor overseeing the project. The doctor of course winds up screwing over the empath. The overarching point, I suppose, this is what corporations do. Caring about other people is becoming a liability, remorseless murder a virtue.

That is what our society is becoming or has already become. The utterly unbelievable size and scope of our surveillance, security and war sectors are proof of it. That you cannot even get a sockpuppet arsonist arrested despite the obviousness of the situation (much less the puppetmasters themselves) is proof that the Rule of Law is just effing gone for anyone who isn’t a millionaire, billionaire, begins their name with Sen, Rep, Gen, or Adm, or ends their name in Inc or Corp. Worse, it actually protects criminals (as long as they only rip off the poor and middle class; that was Bernie Madoff’s mistake, he ripped off other rich people).

But back to the point. One of the effects was a bit like having a concussion, I assume. So much nonsense, combined with the drugs (as I wrote previously, there must have been more than one), it was just impossible to find my way back to the truth, much less be able to state it coherently. I was constantly reeling, trying to regain balance. Every day was an emotional roller coaster. Could not catch my psychological breath. (I think that should be enough metaphors to get the idea.)

The multiple drugs. I’m not clear on whether or not the euphoria, the love drug and the frisky drug were all the same. Could be. Feeling like everything is good could lead to thoughts that would under normal circumstances be part of evolutionary desires for procreation.

What was definitely separate was what I think of as removing the gatekeeper between the conscious and unconscious. Probably the same as “heightened awareness.” You notice things that you normally would not. Largely because that is a new experience, it is frightening. The model of a bridge in front of your condo would not normally be considered something to be afraid of. But under the influence of whatever drug (ETX, mefloquine, what-have-you) it suddenly is. Especially when the garbage men keep forgetting to pick it up. In fact the only reason it actually does get half-heartedly thrown into the compactor after two weeks of sitting on the curb, getting a little more and more damaged each day—were they trying to plant the idea of having me blow up the Blue Water Bridge? Sure sounds like something they would try—is because you happen to be on your balcony that morning just as they pull up and they just happen to notice you standing there watching them as they were about to leave it yet again.

Instead of just being conscious of .01% of stimuli you actually see unconsciously, you see .05%. Which means that the gatekeeper is not actually gone per se (one assumes that would cause catatonia or something) but that the “aperture” between consciousness and the rest is open far wider than normal.

(Kind of off-topic quickie I’ve been wanting to throw out there. Anyone know the anecdote about Douglas Adams breaking his leg? He was, I think, in New Zealand or thereabouts, trudging through jungle or similar terrain. He started laughing hysterically just after breaking his leg in a horrible way after slipping in some mud. Why? Mud + plant-name-I-have-forgotten that he was looking at when he slipped was a perfect, letter-for-letter anagram of his name. What does it mean? Something about how the brain is capable of working and that Adams had a very sharp one, I guess. That we are in the Matrix and he saw through it? Don’t think so. While I agree we barely see the world as it actually is, the idea that there is a higher order in charge is denied by the existence of nazis, corporatists, and people who talk in the movie theater).

The normal questions that follow some of my accounts are, “Why didn’t you…” take a picture, video, call the police, etc. Two reasons: drugs and voice-to-skull. Together: brainhacking.

It was one of the owners of the same deli where I saw that non-existent person, where I saw the three men in the white pickup emitting smoke from the truck’s tailpipe on the same day as the Conway’s condo fire, where I last saw the military man with the dog skulking outside Scahill’s, where the local drug dealer/pimp frequently started following me, where the NYPD detective gave me grief for mistakenly thinking me an animal abuser, where my former dog walker said that a friend of hers was a FBI agent and that somehow the justified Squidgate… It was there that one of the owners of the deli gave me grief for carrying my camera. It wasn’t even out, it was in the upper left breast pocket of my parka. Why did he start giving me trouble over carrying it when it wasn’t even visible, not in my hand, not even the original topic of conversation?

Obviously voice-to-skull. He might have thought he had other reasons. Those reasons are bulls***.

It was this incident that stopped me shopping there. I started going to the Egyptian-owned one instead a few blocks away. There was weirdness there as well. Note that stopping shopping there prevented me from asking to review the video footage (once that finally occurred to me) of the day I thought I saw my mysterious visitor.

But they followed up with the whole thing via V2K that somehow I had been “deputized” to help with whatever problem had been the cause of Squidgate. That was why ‘Balding’ and the Army nurse (as I think of her) had shown up at my doctor’s office, it was supposed to be a “spy physical.” Again, that feeling of well-being (too much oxytocin?) meant that hardly anyone had bad intentions. Besides, I thought it was so ridiculous that it must be true.

It was clear that all of that was bulls*** once the prompts to be violent or commit suicide started rolling in. Oh, there was still the belief that it must somehow have all been a mistake (I had done nothing wrong after all and this was Obama’s, not Bush/Cheney’s administration) but it was clear that that other false narrative was just to ensure I got to Port Huron in April in order to inexplicably go postal on Beaudry’s father and two brothers assuming they were the arsonists because it appeared that it had been them in the pickup the same day as the fire. They most likely were not. I don’t even think they were the ones in the truck. That was just another failed psyop.

And so this government still fails to do what it should. I understand full well that greed and corruption are difficult to overcome. If you want to demonstrate just how out of whack Executive power has become, start rounding them up and disallow access to attorneys. I guarantee a lot of squawking followed by sharp improvements in cooperation and the restoration of respectful discourse. There is nothing like being in the same position as The People to suddenly find some empathy for them. Nothing like being humbled to remind the high-mighty-and-corrupt that there still are possible repercussions for their actions.

Because I have no reason whatsoever to think that the next election will result in anything different than ’08 and ’10…and those were, starting in ’09 up to now, the worst years of my life.

Sure, I also understand that there are people worse off than me. That’s a bulls*** argument, though. The same s*** I’m getting smacked with is smacking them. It’s one and the same.

Except I’ve peeked behind the curtain. Grr. Chomp.

So try something new. Do your goddamn jobs…not the sorry excuse you have substituted them for. I mean protect the Constitution as you are sworn to do. For everyone…not just the select few.

* Let me be a little more accurate. I was, on some level, aware that I was being treated like a terrorist. I found (and still do sometimes) the mere notion hysterically funny. It is so far and away from who I am that it’s comi-tragic that it could ever be entertained by any serious member of the law enforcement or intel communities.

However, the actual 9-11 hijackers who were, the FBI was told, learning to take off but ignoring the landing training (a rather clear indication about what was intended) actually occurred in Kansas, as I recall. I had no idea that the Minneapolis office had any connection to it prior to moving there. Or, if perchance I read that somewhere prior to that, I was not the least bit conscious of it. I moved there because my ex said it was a decent place to move for writers, artists, and musicians. “The new Seattle,” he was told at his job. Which was at Google.

Whether or not there was any truth to Minneapolis being that, I never really found out. Between the continued (indeed, intensified) harassment and psyops and the scary-at-the-time fact that one of the writers I connected with suddenly found that her mother was on death’s door with cancer (and they did not have the money to treat her), I stopped going to the SciFi writers meetings.

Of course, the ideas floating in my head were backed up with voice-to-skull, and all of that was just a further attempt to violate my First Amendment rights and to isolate me further from anything approaching what was a normal social life, friends, etc. in the hopes they could still jostle me into violence of some kind.

No. I am only allowed to hang out with people with “issues” like Heath and ‘Gabe’. While I am not attempting to slight the latter in any way (he cannot help who he is, what he suffers from) if you think that’s my f***ing choice to be limited this way, you are out of your mind.

There is no going back to pretending things are normal, to pretending there’s nothing wrong. Just isn’t possible. What they fear is that I would get the opportunity to show that I am not delusional, not suffering from constant hallucinations, and that there is something to what I am saying.

There clearly is. Wake the f*** up.

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MKULTRA 06-Materials Which Will Render the Induction of Hypnosis Easier

Back to our regularly scheduled programming, (ringing telephone be damned!)

MKULTRA

6. Materials which will render the induction of hypnosis easier or otherwise enhance its usefulness.

Really, I don’t have a lot to say about this subject, because, well, if it was done to me I wouldn’t remember it, would I? That’s part of the point in creating proxy criminals, you don’t want them saying who it was set them on whatever path of mayhem you set them to.

There 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 as to how it was done. Voice-to-skull fills in nicely for those sixteen hour tape recordings that Ewan Cameron used when he, for example, reduced an eighteen year old girl to the mental capacity of a toddler.

Similarly, there was K*** M*****’s belief that she was hearing from her dead father’s ghost. A very similar story to that is that of Dan Markingson and the tragically named Dr. Charles Schulz of the University of Minnesota:

Only a year before, Dan Markingson had seemed perfectly normal. But his latest letter from Los Angeles suggested a troubled mind.

He claimed he was about to become famous. He was at a crossroads in his life, and would soon have more free time. He even had a big movie premiere in the works.

“I knew then that something was wrong,” says Weiss. “I knew that there wasn’t a premiere, and when he said he was going to have a lot more free time, I thought he was quitting his job.”

Weiss immediately jumped in her car and drove to California. When she arrived, she found her son far worse off than she’d feared. He was talking nonsense and couldn’t be reasoned with.

Weiss tried to convince Markingson to come back to Minnesota, where she could look after him. But he had a stipulation: He would only return home if his dead grandmother Daisy told him to.

So you’ve got an actor in Hollywood * who’s brain has been scuttled in less than a year. He comes home to Minneapolis and the care of a University of Minnesota ** psychiatrist. Once there, he is put on a controversial drug that doesn’t seem to help him at all and he commits suicide.

Oscar Ortega-Hernandez thought he was on a mission from God.

Where do these strange ideas come from?

How about “Harold”, shooter of Ronni Chasen (a well-known, well-liked personage in Hollywood)? He talked to neighbors about getting a $10,000 fee for shooting the woman, but no evidence has been found as far as we know that anyone ever told him that in person. Use a drug to soften someone up, then voice-to-skull the instructions along with a reward and you’ve got yourself an assassin.

Who would do that and why? See the first note below.

Then you have the people I listed in the V2K post here, the Unabomber Ted Kacynski, Bruce Ivins, and of course Jared Lee Loughner.

That’s the purpose: hypnotize someone into doing whatever, spying, sabotage, shooting, and keep your own hands clean because there is nothing but the long-dissipated waves connecting you to the crime. It’s another form of false-flag attack.

So what we’re talking about is the either the cause of the onset of mental illness or something else that softens the will up for suggestion followed up with the suggestions via disembodied voices. If one is without one’s faculties for logic and is unaware of the technology, the voice is going to carry a lot more weight when it imposes its will upon the target.

If ETX causes sensory overload, then maybe it also makes suggestions “stronger”.

* Which, as I and others have been saying, has way too much CIA and DOD influence over it largely for purposes of propaganda but also to keep the liberals and progressives out there in line with what the military industrial complex and those special business interest want.

** Which, as I’ve also said is rumored to be one of the top DOD-funded (and therefore CIA-funded) universities for military research in the nation. As I said on this blog before, I met a pre-med student who was working with a team there on a drug to prevent bleeding to death.

MKULTRA 02-Substances Which Increase the Efficiency of Mentation and Perception

“It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.”
–David Lynch

MKULTRA

2. Substances which increase the efficiency of mentation and perception.

There is some overlap between many of the numbered parts of this 1955 memo. This is one of them. Though I don’t know precisely how and when this came about in the research, an increase in “awareness” can also be quite disturbing. If it was ETX (among, I suspect, other drugs) I was being slipped, then it in part caused irrational thinking because it heightened awareness.

For example, I recall sitting in the kitchen of a friend in early 2010 in Manhattan and being keenly aware of the knives hanging on the wall, the heat from the stove, etc. We all notice these things unconsciously, but the “alarm” in our head does not go off under normal circumstances.

This was also why I was shaking during the fireworks at Times Square not long before.

Another anecdote, also in January of 2010, not long after the extreme depression episode I detailed here, my partner was thinking to get me committed or, failing that, on some drug that would make it all better.

This was also the afternoon after Anthony and his roommate seemed to be making so much noise that I could hardly sleep.

Partially as a result of sleep deprivation and–here’s where it gets all sciencey again–the use of some sound projection technology, I was tricked into thinking something that wasn’t so.

Here’s what happened. First, I had a really nasty cold. Just couldn’t get rid of it. Additionally, we had snow previous to this (that’s important later).

While laying down half-asleep, I thought I heard the sound of a hose sliding in the wall (where the central air duct is). It sounded strange, as if it were coming from my head or was in a dream rather than actually in the wall. I was just at that exhausted point in between dreaming and being awake, so I wasn’t entirely certain I had actually heard it.

While I was attempting to answer that question, I suddenly started coughing nonstop. It was worse than it had been prior.

On top of that, I had a salty taste in my mouth from the phlegm.

Backing up ten to fifteen years, I worked for an environmental consulting firm (the one, also half geotechnical, that Bain Capital bought, shrunk and sold in the 90s). I only entered containment when we were short of personnel or for specific reasons. Twice, maybe three times, in all, as I recall.

We had been taught in class for our air monitoring and project monitoring licenses that there is no known minimum exposure to asbestos for mesothelioma. That’s what popped immediately into my head.

Now, keep in mind all of the other stuff that happened. In addition to the Conway’s fire and Squidgate, there were many harassing events including what happened at the movies, people randomly taking my photo, weird things being said to me by strangers, etc. And drugged with something that made me more susceptible to any and all stimuli.

Put the voice-to-skull stuff on top of that to “guide” me to an incorrect conclusion and always a new distracting harassment event, and I never really had a chance to think through much of anything. Someone else was attempting to do the thinking for me.

So. I thought I had been dosed with something, via a hose from the apartment above, that would emulate mesothelioma or some other asbestos-related disease.

I posted to LiveJournal about that (using words that only people who knew something was up would understand–the euphemism was a “bad cup of coffee”).

The purpose was to further torture P****, or failing that, to make him think I was working for the prosecution, DHS or whoever it was he thought was ultimately responsible for what was being done to him.

As if all of that wasn’t enough, this was also the morning (around 4:30 or 5, I think) that I saw the two phony-looking clouds: the one on the left was a shark doing a flip in the air. The other on the right was a roiling mushroom cloud.

The connection was for me to think that S**** was a terrorist of some kind.

I didn’t think that the clouds were real enough and believe that were I on a “trip” I’d have come up with something more colorful and interesting (very likely humorous) but because I had no idea how it was done, I simply thought, “I’ve been dosed with LSD or shrooms or something” as a placeholder until I could puzzle out what it was.

When I get to the MKULTRA list item on memory, this will probably belong there, but the answer was in the back of one of P****’s novels: SONY’s patent (7,350,522) to project “data” onto the cerebral cortex. I’m sure I had read that, but I didn’t recall it at all at the time. It would be the better part of a year before I would even think to look. (It’s possible that the patent is not yet operational despite it’s age, but that doesn’t mean someone in government or their private partner doesn’t have something along the same lines that works, more or less. As I said, the clouds looked fake, sort of CGI and the coloration had magenta and cyan tones in it).

The Conway arson had given a clear indication that these people are not above attempted murder, I thought I had been given limited time to live with a plausibly deniable excuse of asbestos exposure from my former job.

I later figured out that the salty taste was from salt. The neighborhood was covered in it from the attempts to melt the ice and snow on the sidewalks and streets.

While I doubt that Anthony and his roommate (who also, after the Conway fire–and three other fires in Brooklyn that were suspected to be arson–broke the door that would have been the primary exit from the building in case of fire for the half of the building I lived in) knew what was going on, things got more interesting later while I was waiting for my partner to come take me to see my doctor.

The noises from their apartment got louder. I later joked that they must have been practicing the Riverdance or stomping grapes (and again in Minneapolis when it was other people).

It got so bad, I finally struck back. I blasted “The Star-Spangled Banner” * back at them full volume. I had been afraid to go bang on their door, that I might lose my temper. I did hope in vain to see them again in the hall some time but never did.

(* That song would later, while in Minneapolis, also play on its own on my iPhone in another error like the one I detailed previously, “Retribution”. It really happened, folks. On top of that, when I was finally able to think and make the connection to MKULTRA, when my fingers got near the keyboard on the screen, the keyboard would drop down off the screen. This went on for some time. I rebooted the phone and it still did it. Eventually, it stopped and I made the first post mentioning that program on this blog).

I went out on the balcony to have a smoke and saw ‘Balding’ getting out of his vehicle, laughing angrily. He was wearing that same goddam hat but I’m not sure that that was “orange down coat day.” Might have been a hunter green he wore that day.

I thought maybe I had at last gotten through to these DHS or FBI a**holes. When Balding showed up at my doctor’s appointment later, he looked silly, reading something on his BlackBerry (one assumes Twitter, I tweeted about the music events that day), and looking remorseful.

I wish I had punched him in the head. Really, I do.

But instead I laughed. The euphoria (also partially responsible for the illogical thinking and Impulsiveness covered in the previous post) made me way too forgiving.

I convinced the doctor that it was both my ex who had some issues as well as a very real situation perhaps stemming from my attendance at an event where Rep. Wexler spoke and the subject was impeaching Dick Cheney. Wexler made a joke at the event about why a Florida congressman would be at a New York event. That answer was, he said, “Because statistically speaking, many of you are going to one day be my constituents.” The room erupted in laughter. It was over 90% Jewish folks and that was a classic joke.

So, I wrote about that event on my LiveJournal and gave the doctor the URL. He knew something strange was happening because, clearly, DHS was there. There was a nurse who did not work there. She had tried to provoke me by taking my blood earlier than it needed to be taken, I needed to wait eight hours and I was early for the appointment. She also implied I was an intravenous drug user when she asked me twice, pointedly, “Do you often have trouble finding your veins?”

But, as per usual, I have had to grin and bear the bulls***, put up with it to find out what was really happening. Now we know: it’s filled with crooks and madmen.

The doctor left his office at one point. I could hear him telling that strange nurse that there was someone who wanted to talk to her. He got testy when she played dumb. “Right there! There’s a man who wants to talk to you!”

I had, when I first went to that clinic, signed a document stating that DHS could look at my medical records if they desired (it was a hold-harmless for the clinic and I assume they all do that) in the case of investigating terrorism. I almost refused to sign it on principle but decided not to make waves because I never, of course, thought it would actually get used.

The narrative here was that I was being recruited by these yahoos. The medical work was mostly done by that nurse including the most bizarre hearing test I ever recall with a machine I had never seen before nor since.

The further narrative then was that it was my “assignment” to go beat the s*** out of B******, his father and two brothers or whichever combination because they were, it was supposed to be believed, responsible for the Conway fire.

(The connection there, if you haven’t read that already, was that there were three men in a pickup truck the same day as the fire in December, near where I lived with a chemically-induced cloud of white smoke emanating from the truck’s tailpipe that I was supposed to think was a fire at Jeremy Scahill’s place. At the Squidgate sentencing hearing in April of 2010, I saw the three B****** relatives together. This was when the parties responsible inside CIA, DOD and/or their private contractor actually responsible for the fire had hoped I would get myself arrested for assault or disorderly conduct at the courthouse. I made sure that B******’s kin saw me, clearly and repeatedly. There was no recognition from them at all, whereas the people in the pickup truck were looking in the mirror and laughing as they drove away, and clearly knew who they were showing up to f*** with. Yet another example of some well-funded group playing people off against each other and attempting to direct me to violence. I didn’t actually find out about Kate’s fire until a few days later, so the truck thing seemed like a prank at the time it occurred).

If that’s not government-sponsored terrorism, what the f*** is?

Back to the main point, while my ex and I were having lunch at a diner near the doctor’s office awaiting the results of my blood test, we chose one that had a lot of cartoon characters on the wall. I mean a lot. I have to imagine he noticed me laughing and freaking out a bit. It felt like those symbols and images were just jumping out at me.

My drug experiences are limited to very little pot use, the vast majority of which was in the 80s and as I said, very limited. Never really seemed to do anything for me so I never actively sought it out (until Amsterdam in 2008; tried it again there and was disappointed). So, when this stuff was happening, not knowing that I was drugged nor how it could have been accomplished, I really didn’t have anything to compare it to to even grasp that that was the problem.

In addition to this, I saw that former New Jersey Shakespeare Festival intern K*** M***** had filled several composition books with graffiti, license plates, and other things that she thought were some sort of messages from whatever. This, again, was largely the result of having been drugged so that she could not think clearly and having here awareness “heightened” so she could not block out the meaning of that stimuli she was getting bombarded with. It’s as though those things must mean something; her brain was telling her that they were important. Then it was up to her unconscious (and sometimes voice-to-skull) to tell her what it meant. Additionally, sometimes the graffiti or other “message” probably was directed at her by these people or other people they were manipulating.

On the flip side, of course, sometimes it’s good that you notice things (like an FBI agent pretending to take notes when he’s just scribbling). It has its advantages. But it was also illegally administered.

MKULTRA 01 – Substances Which Will Promote Illogical Thinking

First in a not yet complete list of what the historical record says CIA and DOD were up to with MKULTRA and other programs. You may have noted that some posts on this blog have a tag with a number followed by a phrase. That is to indicate where it came from and the bizarre similarity between events I witnessed or have read about in the news and the research that happened in these programs. I will also expand the list to contain other programs such as MHCHAOS, the program to try to link the peace movement to foreign powers, which largely consisted of spying on Americans in order to discredit the movement and its members.

From the publication (Stock No. 052-070-04357-1) “Joint Hearing Before the Select Committee on Intelligence…United States Senate,” August 3, 1977, into “Project MKULTRA, the CIA’s Program of Research in Behavioral Modification,” page 123, draft memorandum dated May 5, 1955:

MKULTRA

1. Substances which will promote illogical thinking and impulsiveness to the point where the recipient would be discredited in public.

A number of the events on this blog fall into this category when you come down to it. Sometimes it was me, sometimes other people.

The illuminati conspiracy and similar conspiracy theories also fall into this category. I recall a humorous episode of the X-Files with Michael McKean as a MiB. He was reading a yellow journalism, National Enquirer-style mag and laughing at all the stuff they had planted to throw people off of the track of the truth. While I think that Chris Carter and company were on to something, the “truth” in the show was the Alien conspiracy. I’m saying it’s just plain old fashioned greed coupled with fear of allowing Joe Citizen being given the freedom to decide for himself what to buy, where to worship (if at all), to decide instead of Exxon-Mobil and the Pentagon whether or not we should wage a war, etc. and technology that is closely watched while being developed by institutions of higher learning and corporate laboratories. Causing people to think that it’s “too advanced” to be that made by earthlings has a great deal to do with: A lack of interest on the part of the layman for this kind of tech; conservative disdain for education and how that movement has managed to sow distrust between conservative citizens and academia; distractions like Islamophobia and empty non-news like “the balloon boy” (literally empty!); black ops to crush people who notice and–for example–put it in fiction; and corporate control of the could-it-possblibly-be-dumbed-down-any-further-and-more-shallow mass media.

G. Gordon Liddy talked openly about how they (CREEP) planned to put LSD on the steering wheel of at least one reporter and a US congressman to discredit them in the coverup of Watergate (and possibly other issues of policy, it’s been a while since I read the articles and heard the interviews about that). He even toured colleges with Timothy Leary (Liddy had also been part of the War on Drugs, which is ironic since LSD was invented by the Swiss company Sandoz and they ordered large quantities of it; that’s the story where the connection between the legal and illegal drug trade meet: some of the larger pharmaceutical companies made their fortunes off of illegal drugs according to some sources).

Additionally, when you, for example, dose detainees with something like ETX and proceed to torture them (that loud music story we heard about combined with that drug or others like it is torture, no question) you can “persuade” them to provide false intelligence so you can justify wars, private contracts, and the erosion of civil liberties. I point specifically to Dick Cheney’s public request that the Obama administration release only specific pages of the documents that contained intel obtained by torture. He knew some of the rest would undermine the illegal steps they took, but that those few pages, taken out of context, would help to make it seem like torture works. It does, if, as with pre-invasion intel, you’ve already made up your mind what the truth is and just want someone in enough pain or intimidated enough to say what you want to them to in order to justify it. That, and the personal enjoyment of the lower-level people who have forgotten what it means to be a human being (like the necro-urinators being discussed in the news this week) are the only things torture is good for. You inflict enough pain and you can “prove” anything because the person in pain will generally say whatever it is that will stop the pain. This is a serious problem for national security because it means we don’t know what’s really happening; we’re being deluded and confused by propaganda-through-pain.

Those are just some of the uses that the criminals in our government and the private contracting world can get out of item number one. To reiterate a theory I latched onto in 2010, the two original appearances of the Men in Black were in 1947 and 1949. Both times the actions of the strange, orange-skinned * men with sunglasses being retold by people who thought they had seen an alien spacecraft but had actually seen a prototype of the U2 spyplane (first recorded flight, 1955), would be discredited. This might not only cause any Soviet spies to ignore the story but also the American people. To believe it was aliens and not our own government’s toy in the sky, kept their project from being discovered.

In my case, I had ‘Balding’ running around in a bright orange down coat and a furry Russian hat (what are those things called? You’d think dating a clothing designer for seven months I’d have picked that up) coupled with whatever ETX-like drug I was being slipped. (Again, see the link to the CIA manual at right as to how that could have been done in the mid-20th Century knowing it’s only easier now).

The reason wasn’t national security, it was the opposite, that some people are playing loose and fast with the Constitution and are cooking the books for political and financial gain by creating fear, terror, and a false narrative.

Balding was just one example. There were lots of people walking by with primary colored hoodies, that weird man who spit towards the church on my street and made other strange, dramatic gestures in Brooklyn in December 2009 or January 2010. Then there was the “joker” who was laughing and dancing until he (or an accomplice) saw my partner was also standing on the balcony with me. Of course, they wasted no time in peppering his head via V2K with the idea that this guy was simply “cold”. (Really, not exaggerating, dancing and hopping up and down and giggling more like Frank Gorshin in the old Batman 60s show, so more like the Riddler I suppose. Comic book writer, remember? Would make it seem like I’d simply become disconnected with reality, wouldn’t it?). There was the noise coming from the apartment above that kept me from sleeping (that was in Brooklyn before it was in Minneapolis and someone else complained about the same from me. Nevertheless, Anthony and his roommate who moved into the apartment above me in Brooklyn seemed to be operatives. There was a lot more where they were concerned and Balding at one point seemed to be checking up on them).

Now, apart from the reasons I’ve listed, what legitimate use did that research item have? I’m coming up blank. Discrediting one foreign leader in favor of another, I suppose, if you think we ought to be doing that.

* The Wizard of Oz (1939) had a man with silver skin. “Omygod…he must be an alien or an android!” That silver makeup early killed Jed Klampett and Barnaby Jones, IIRC. 😉

THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Phantom Noises

Here was another goodie that was slipped under my door while in Minneapolis in January 2011.

The idea here here was at least twofold: one, start some s*** between me and my neighbor downstairs which they hoped to escalate into something requiring police presence. The second, well read that note from the perspective of someone who has been the subject of attempts to be framed for, or actually being provoked to, violence…an act of terror.

There was no “workshop.” Sounds like Ted Kacyznski lived above him, doesn’t it? The Friday in question he said (when I went to find him to get things sorted out) was the worst between 10PM and 11PM. I and my now ex-boyfriend-later roommate (yes, the person who gave me one of my final memories of Minneapolis on my final night there, screaming “I will f***ing kill you!”, breaking things and requiring me to call the MPD so I could sleep before the long drive, the one who accused me of choking him several weeks before…yes, that one) were laying down watching a movie. And the volume was not that high.

The closest thing to a power tool (while resisting the temptation to make an anatomical jest) was my coffee grinder. A few seconds and nowhere near every morning, certainly not at night.

Now, tell me with a straight face that if, something got blown up somewhere and the criminals inside Top Secret America blamed me, and that letter were found as “evidence”, that our mainstream media wouldn’t just lap it up, that there wouldn’t have been zero chance of getting out of whatever charges they wanted to pony up.

Anyway, I tried to explain that (quite calmly, ridiculously so in fact) to FBI in January 2011 (my third visit; the first was over the Eco-Terrorists in the Summer of 2010 and the fourth the request to stop the psychological harassment, “My Brunch with Pheobe”; the second I have not detailed yet). They didn’t seem to understand what I was driving at. Nor did they, as I requested, arrest me. That’s right, I couldn’t get arrested in that town. I decided the best way to deal with the problem would be to admit that parties unknown (who are definitely American but I’m sure have already or will try to pass it off on the Russians or Chinese–it’s what they do when caught, use a shotgun lie strategy) attempted to turn me into a Jared Lee Loughner.

The only indication I had that anything I said got through (and, really, I’m probably not the only person in this situation) was the when the ex got arrested (breaking into his own place) MPD asked two questions that were interesting:

1) Do you believe it’s possible for someone else to project their voice into your head?

2) Do you believe that someone is projecting their voice into your head?

I wondered if that wasn’t just another mindf*** directed at me, but we bumped into one of his fellow cellmates in Dinkytown who said that they had asked him as well.

I’m guessing that this young man who sent me the letter was either also drugged (so that sound was “amplified”, as in the use of ETX to enhance interrogation) or they were using a V2K thing to project sounds into his head that weren’t there. Only explanations that make sense, he was sincere, believed he had heard them.

Meanwhile, I was bitching about the noise coming from the people who lived above me! (Hence one indicator that this s*** could be via satellite, projected downwards…how would I know? Sounds silly until you realize they have an incredible budget and renting this stuff out to whatever billionaires can afford the price to perform all manner of socio-political engineering and revenge, well, then you see it’s an investment with a sweet payoff).

THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Burn Notice

I have on occasion covered some of this same ground previously on this blog. I’ve read over some of that and found it to be somewhat cryptic and difficult to read. (Having been drugged and skullf***ed as I have been will tend to do that to your communication skills). This is an effort to try to explain some of what went on in the interests of getting to the truth.

As you’ll see, there was an interest in setting me off against S****. As you can also see, that effort failed.

In addition to the bizarre events I’ve detailed below, I recently went to the bank to see about getting a short-term loan and was told that my credit rating was “unavailable.” Besides the obvious–this prevents certain actions and inhibits mobility–it is another indicator of being on burn notice (that is, having been a covert operative who is now considered a problem and therefore gets stuck in some place like Minneapolis until they can scuttle your brain, drive you to suicide, or get you in prison where you can be shivved at their leisure or they can fake a self-hanging).

Except, of course, I don’t believe that I am a former covert operative. I think it possible that this was a way of dealing with a test subject. It’s kind of like not being an employee, but rather the property of these c***suckers. I can imagine some of the legal wrangling that must have gone on, “What do we do with our malfunctioning flesh robot?”

Besides Ed, there was also Anthony Gipe as connection to the US Navy where my “journey” was concerned. Gipe was a former Navy translator of Russian who attached himself to my group of friends in Indianapolis at GenCon in August of 2006. That weekend was the first time I recall feeling the euphoria (see MKUKTRA Materials and Methods #11 in the back of the 1977 Joint Senate Hearings, substances which will produce euphoria) and link to The CIA Manual of Trickery and Deception at right). That weekend was also the first and only time I considered cheating on my partner. It’s difficult to describe how that came to be. Sort of like being drunk without the loss of motor function. You feel as though your actions cannot possibly have any negative consequences as if you’re in a movie or on a reality TV show.

And then there was that admiral who authorized the use of ETX on detainees to enhance interrogation.

This one is about the Navy, Naval intelligence, or the Navy’s influence on the CIA or vice versa, or some combination of those things.

—–

In late July of 2010, I decided to go see if I couldn’t get involved with a film festival I saw advertised on Craig’s list, MNKINO.

This particular event was simple: create a film that runs under five minutes from start to finish in 24 hours. The theme was “dance.”

While driving around, we had a conversation that turned to some recent article on cognition. I mentioned the theory that the unconscious mind decides what’s going to happen and leaves consciousness hanging as to why. Consciousness then happily offers up reasons that may or may not have a single thing to do with why Unconscious decided on a particular course of action. It’s just guessing.

This also aligns decently with the neurochemical model of personality. That is, we are who our brain chemistry tells us we are.

We went shopping for some props. At the last stop, since we were just looking for one item, I decided to stay out by the car. When the rest of the team returned, Ed, Andy and Scott, they had picked up one of those dancing monkey toys.

I laughed. There was an immediate connection, given the intense harassment, drugging, and the connection of “monkey” with S****.

(But in retrospect, I have to think that connection, being as tenuous as it seems, was aided by V2S. Read on.)

When we were nearly on location, Ed pointed to the “witch tower” in Prospect Park just a bit further down the road toward St. Paul on University Avenue. When we got out of the car, he told me something I did not know before moving to Minneapolis: that tower was believed to be the inspiration for Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower.”

If you aren’t clear on the significance of the song to me, well, I made two attempts at writing comic books and both were interfered with by parties unknown (intimidation for the first, then the robbery of my local comic store for the second along with the s***storm that preceded and followed the Squidagate events: in essence, the contents of this blog) and the song, among others, is featured in both the graphic novel and the film Watchmen. Then there was that seemingly innocuous comment by the US border guard on the way to the Squidgate trial. And there was even two comments I left on two other people’s blogs in relation to the events surrounding Squidgate (the first about “prophecy[ing] with [one’s] pen” about another Dylan song also in Watchmen, the other about Hendrix’s cover of the Dylan song in question). If that’s not enough, there was the later conversation with a man who does security at a megachurch (in other words, he’s a security contractor) who mentioned Hibbing (Dylan’s hometown as well as a password for a website I worked on). I had always assumed the song was somehow connected to Vietnam and did not recall that Dylan was from Minneaota.

Ed, like Walter and Dan the FBI informants pretending to be ecoterrorists, seemed to know more about me than he ought. Or, rather, seemed to know more disinfo than he ought.

The shoot went smoothly enough. After we returned to start editing, we had further conversation. Among the things he said:

Asked me to read aloud a one paragraph blurb about the old British TV show The Prisoner (for some really mindbendy fun see the remake miniseries). He laughed loudly when I got to the paragraph’s punchline: “Be seeing you!” Also a favorite quotation of my former employer in NYC when we departed in the evening after work. This was my first real indication that I might have been mistaken for a former spook and on burn notice.

Ed also said that the plot (hardly obvious) of the film we just shot was a young spy trying to get an older one to play the game. For some reason, the older one won’t. I did not see that coming.

He broached the subject of the intelligence community in general. I replied that it was largely private nowadays. I think I was acknowledging being a former member. (Hey, when you don’t know what the f*** is going on, you sometimes go along to try to find out).

He mentioned that atheism was historically often equated with communism. (Though I think it was more the other way around. Even Marx agreed on that, “opiate of the masses” and all. But there was little reason to mention it, I don’t think I brought up Squidgate at all).

That “Captain America” (see again my twice-failed comic book writing career) fought both fascists and communists.

He mentioned an event where two sailors (don’t recall if it was the aircraft carrier or ship Ed was stationed on or another) tried to start WWIII by firing on a Soviet MiG. He said that their CO spent ten to fifteen minutes reading them the riot act and that the duo did not “have those thoughts again.” (An interesting way to put it). I suggested that ten or fifteen minutes was practically an eternity for the military, where typically orders are given and expected to be followed without question. Ed seemed to agree.

Ed, toward the end of the editing process, brought up Three Penny Opera while we were discussing music for the end credits. Ed suggested, and we went with, “Pop Goes the Weasel.” I trust that selection does not require too much imagination to see how it could refer to a double meaning. If that doesn’t convince you, Ed discussed the details of the musical: a last-minute reprieve for a murderer via a pardon from the local ruler. (You can view the film here).

Now, see the post here. This is first and foremost how spooks communicate in public. It prevents others from understating what is really being discussed or, even if someone figures it out, they have plausible deniability. “No, when we said ‘banana’ we meant ‘banana.’ Rocket launcher? Wha? I don’t even…” In acting, we refer to this as subtext. You may also recall more recent bizarre missive that has been the subject of a lot of speculation.

So what was really being implied here? That if I would just kill S**** then all this harassment would go away, I’d be off of burn notice…free!

Except I didn’t believe that. Didn’t fit. Something smelled fishy.

That we seemed to be at each others’ throats in our little net war was more evidence that this was what they were really trying to arrange: the removal of two people who were the subjects of human experimentation. Witnesses.

What it also fits with is what I’ve already stated here about Watergate: insubordination on the part of some brass due to disagreement over foreign policy and the budgeting implications of same. Which would also seem to fit with what Seymour Hersh has been saying, as incredible as it sounds to people who get their view of the world from CNN and FOX.

That, and one failed attempt to get me to go back to Minneapolis are where things currently stand.

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).