Here is an excellent article, written by a medical intuitive about her targeting:

https://www.collective-evolution.com/2018/05/13/meet-a-targeted-individual-woman-shares-her-experience-with-directed-energy-weapons-more/

First, I want to acknowledge and honor all the individuals enduring the ongoing torture of being a ‘targeted individual,’ especially those who have experienced it for many years.

Awareness about ‘targeted individuals’ is still in its nascent stage. A growing number of people such as myself report having both been stalked and harassed by others, and subjected to satellite-based directed energy weapons that penetrate the mind to simulate sounds and conversations. Yet such claims continue to evoke skepticism on the part of the general public, with victims often being seen as paranoid schizophrenics.

I write this not only to bring awareness and credibility to the claims of targeted individuals, but also to offer my insight into the strategy I have adopted to mitigate this ongoing invasion into my life.

 Why Was I Targeted?

It seems as though individuals are targeted because some powerful force like the Deep State wants to disrupt the ability those individuals may have to disclose information or otherwise influence people in ways that expose or impede Deep State agendas. While this may not be true of all targeted individuals, I can point to several reasons why I might have been targeted by those who feared what I may know. After all, just before the torture I have endured over the past 15 years started,

• I had just taken a part-time consulting job with 2 men formerly in Jimmy Carter’s White House Administration
• I had a Palm Pilot (yes, no smart phones then) that had just been loaded with Pres. Jimmy Carter’s cell phone number, multiple U.S. Senators’ and Congressmen’s numbers, and national lobbyists numbers
• I was one of the first people to sign a petition to prevent the Patriot Act from passing
• I had been helping women who were escaping Satanic Cult families
• I was an intuitive who could see inside the human body
• I had a growing number of followers

My Experiences As A Targeted Individual

My experiences as a targeted individual are far too numerous to list, but I will cite a few examples here to give people a better idea of the nature of the experience.

Stalked inside stores/malls. November 19, 2017: I was in the Ross Store at 95-221 Kipapa Dr, Mililani, HI 96789, and I experienced no less than 5 employees following me in the store, and coming right up to me and saying “Hello” right in my face and three of them deliberately bumped into me. This started as soon as I entered the store and continued until I left the store. April 6, 2018: I was shopping in a Longs Drugs (CVS) at 4211 Waialae Ave., Honolulu, HI when two employees started followed me just at the end of the aisle I was in or on the next aisle over and were shouting back and forth to each other about shoplifters in the store and that ‘this one was one of the bad ones.’ April 26, 2018: While I was in the Kahala Mall in Honolulu between 12:30 and 1:30pm, I was followed by two security guards, a male and a female.  The male kept staring at me throughout the entire time they were stalking me.  At, 1:14pm, while I was seated in a common area of the mall, I finally took out my cell phone and took a video of them walking around me and him staring again and again.

Followed by black helicopters. Several times I would be driving in traffic and a black helicopter came right on top of me, hovering as I stopped at a traffic light, moving with me as I moved down the road, even waiting as I went in and out of a building.

Had my apartment broken into. In the early days of experiencing this, while I lived in the Hillsborough Apts. in Mission, KS, the service and grounds men would arrive on their golf cart to my apartment each and every time I would leave my door.  They would be walking toward the front door of my apartment as I was pulling out.  Sometimes I would wait to see where they were going and they would always stop and stand to the side of my door or at my neighbor’s door until I left.  When I would get back, there would always be the smell of cigarette smoke in my apartment as one of the men smoked. Once, after I installed an alarm in my apartment, the staff broke into my apartment and then had the office staff call me on my cell phone saying that there was a flood in the apt above mine and they needed to stop damage in my apt. so they entered without my permission.  They wanted me to give them the code to turn off the alarm as it was too loud.  I refused to do so and headed back immediately from about 10 minutes away.  When I got there, they were gone and the alarm had stopped. Often, I would find small things missing from my apartment—such as small semi precious stones, books, and decorative items.

These experiences reflect a phenomenon called ‘Organized Gang Stalking’. Individually, these experiences could be written off as incidental. But the persistence and sinister quality of these experiences has left no doubt in my mind that powerful forces are systematically trying to destabilize me and cause me to live in a constant state of fear and anxiety. Here’s information from a group called Organized Stalking Informers:

Organized Gang Stalking is a hate crime erected in a system. Different individuals are used and manipulated in order to produce a specific action. But all those involved are not necessarily aware that they are being manipulated. In fact, most are not aware of the lies that are actually the base of the Organized Gang Stalking, everything is done to ostracize and destroy targeted individual victims.

To do this, the perpetrators use several techniques for manipulating individuals and public opinion. Due to false evidence to support their lies, innocent targeted individual Victims are perceived as outcasts of society.

Have you been approached by someone who has asked you to not associate with a certain individual whom they quietly pointed out to you? Warned you about an alleged criminal past or deviant activity and predisposition of the individual?

Perpetrators of Gang Stalking recruit and manipulate any number of other unsuspecting citizens to assist them in targeting a lone, unsuspecting individual, in an overall ceaseless effort of directed psychological torture.

If you have been asked to “do good” for the community, realize instead that there is a high possibility you been deceived and sucked into a cult-like group from where only illegal activity affecting innocent people results. You have basically been lied to about the target and whatever atrocity they’ve been falsely accused of, such is the power of suggestion.

Gang Stalking is used to paint the target (individual) in a criminal light through the spreading of vicious rumors, with common fake allegations being that the target is a wife beater, an abuser, a child molester (this is a favorite used against women too and not only men), a prostitute, drug-user, a racist, an impostor at their place of worship, is mentally unstable, acts weird, or is a thief.

Directed Energy Weapons

However, of all the devices and methods I’ve experienced as a targeted individual, directed energy weapons are the most horrific and jarring. It is like someone raping your mind—and no one believes you.  No one else can hear the noises or voices being beamed inside your head.

We each have a unique brainwave frequency. With directed energy weapons technology, your brainwaves are locked onto and a frequency is beamed to your skull by way of satellite.  Somewhere in the world, someone is sitting at a laptop controlling a satellite that sends certain frequencies to your skull.  These frequencies are heard by you inside your head–but, by no one else. This frequency can be a voice speaking to you, noises that are very loud and sudden, or anything that may cause you anxiety.  They can also cause you to go unconscious, as has happened to me a few times.

As a medical intuitive, I’ve come into contact with other targeted individuals. One of my clients was a single woman who was gang-raped while in the military, and after reporting the offense through the proper channels, her torture began.  Directed energy weapons were used on her and organized terrorism followed.

The following are my personal experiences of directed energy weapons:

I first began to notice the effects of these weapons when I lived in the Hillsborough Apts., in Mission, KS in 2004.  I would hear what sounded like someone walking around in the apartment above me following me everywhere I went in my apartment.  It sounded like soft footsteps on the carpet in the apt above me.  It freaked me out and caused me to feel unsafe in my own home. When I told one of my friends, an older man known in the Kansas City community as Red Crow, he could not understand it and did not believe me. Later, after listening to Dr. John Hall on Coast to Coast, I understood that this was something that was regularly done with this technology. There was nobody above me actually walking on the floor; this noise was being simulated in my head by some outside force. This noise continued the entire time I lived there until I moved out a year later.

Another memorable example of experiencing this was when I was staying at my Mother’s home in Farmington, MO in late 2010 and early 2011. I would hear loud clicking and banging noises in my head during the middle of the night. Sometimes the sound was like someone clicking a retractable ink pen on and off, over and over, and at other times it sounded like constant banging on a table with a device. At times, I could hear muffled voices in the background. I did mention these experiences and others like them to my mom, but she refused to believe me. This was so common an occurrence that I practically gave up sharing my experiences with people.

Impact of the Attacks

As a direct result of these experiences, and my various attempts to deal with them, including sharing my experiences with others who I thought I could trust, I have been rejected by my family, rejected by friends, clients have been frightened away, and I have been brought to financial ruin.

I spent many years trying to understand what was happening.  I did some research. The idea that some individuals are targeted to be used as lab rats to experiment with this technology resonated with the arbitrariness of some of my experiences.

I was able to get together with people who were experiencing the same thing. While listening to everyone else’s personal stories brought a bit more clarity, and confirmed what I already knew intuitively—that I wasn’t just imagining things—a lasting solution did not come from this collaboration. In fact, I felt more powerless and victimized than ever.

My Turning Point

In leaving the group, I realized that I would have to look for the solution within myself. This was a daunting task, but it helped that I had been practicing meditation for over 20 years and had a fairly clear sense of myself.

Through my spiritual understanding and my work as a Medical Intuitive, I believe that my soul chose this experience. And the more I thought about that, the more I realized that if my soul chose this experience, then I must have also believed that I had the ability to transmute it as well.

That knowledge led to my turning point.

I decided to do whatever I could to empower myself, to come to a place of transmuting this experience of torture and isolation.

First, I had to find a way to raise my frequency—in spite of the torture I was experiencing. I had listened to Gregg Braden’s Beyond Zero Point where he recounts a passage from the Dead Sea Scrolls, teaching us that during our deepest, darkest hours, we would come to know our greatest strength by reaching deep down inside ourselves to access what previously we did not know was there.

I held onto that possibility like a life raft.

I began forcing myself to raise my own frequency by using the teachings of Neville, the great mystic, that ‘feeling is the secret.’  I would cause myself to experience the feeling of being ‘overjoyed.’  Crazy, right?

Generating Joy

This is obviously but one way of raising internal vibration, and each person will have to find a way that works for them. What I did was focus on a feeling—a  feeling of being ‘overjoyed’—the way I would feel if all of these wonderful things were happening to me. It is very hard to focus on this type of experience while also being targeted, but each of us has the capacity to do it. I start to imagine that right here and now, where I am in the moment, I have just received the most incredible news that brings me freedom and extreme happiness. I start to just allow myself to feel the way I would feel if I were completely overjoyed that “all of these wonderful things are happening to me now!”  I do not let myself try to figure out HOW this could be – I just imagine that indeed all of these wonderful things are happening to me NOW! I got this idea from one of Neville’s books called “The Law and The Promise” in the chapter entitled Moods.

At first, it was so difficult to generate joy for myself. I had experienced torture, isolation, and poverty for so long, and to such extremes, that I could not remember what joy felt like. When I could finally cause myself to bring it forth, I could only maintain it for a couple of seconds.  Still, I practiced from time-to-time throughout the day. Slowly, I began to hold the frequency for longer and longer periods.

Eventually, I could feel the feeling of being ‘overjoyed’ wash over me in waves – for up to a minute at a time. At this point, I began to experience the effects of the direct energy weapons less and less.

(editor’s note: it has been stated by whistleblower/scientific genius Pete Peterson in disclosures to researcher David Wilcock that ‘if your brainwaves were reliably operating above a certain speed, or frequency, <these weapons> won’t work on you. This again underlines the extreme importance of remaining calm, free of negative emotions, meditative and peaceful. This causes your brainwaves to smooth out on the EKG, which actually generates a higher frequency.’)

Manifesting From The Heart

Secondly, I discovered the importance of learning to manifest from the heart space instead of the head.  I was shown this through my clients, but it was brought home through the book “Living In The Heart” by Drunvalo Melchizedek.

Our heart has its own field with an energy of Oneness or Unity—unlike the polarity that exists in the field in and around the rest of our being.  In the space of oneness—the sacred space of the heart—we can manifest a different reality for ourselves.  When we manifest in our mind, we are creating in “polarity” so we create what we desire and also the opposite of what we desire.  When we move our awareness inside our heart space to pray or meditate, we are manifesting in pure love, and only what we desire is created.

Targeted Individuals Unite

If targeted individuals can raise their frequency even for a few minutes each day, I feel we can turn the tide on the power and secrecy of this, and bring it out to the world to be exposed, eliminated, and healed.

I believe there is a reason that so many tens of thousands of people from all over the world are experiencing this.  That reason may be two-fold. First, if only a few people were to bring this up, they may be dismissed as being crazy, but if tens of thousands from around the world were to all describe the same thing, then it cannot be ignored or dismissed. So, there had to be many, many of us who would agree to experience this and speak our truth. Secondly, I feel those of us who are going through this have a greater power to transmute this by moving our frequency out of fear and into joy. When tens of thousands of people all shift their frequency to that degree, the entire population will be affected.

If you are a Targeted Individual, let’s all come together, not to commiserate our victimhood, but to take back our power and have a positive impact. The hardest thing you will ever do may be to consistently raise your frequency out of fear and into a place of love and appreciation; but this is what we MUST do to transmute this experience for ourselves and for humanity. I believe each of our souls chose this experience for us to turn the tide.

I have not researched this myself, but merely copied from “Citizens Against Harmful Technology,” but it seems to contain an extensive summary of basic information on this subject, including information from the US Congressional Office of Technology Assessment, with patent numbers and actions taken by Congress to try to protect subjects.

Hi Friends and Followers,

Just wanted to remind you all of the new videos I posted last month – on mind control and targeting I’ve personally experienced in the last decades.

I might not be posting again for awhile (life’s getting busy), so I hope you’ll take the time to watch these, either by clicking specific videos or using my playlists below.

Targeted Individual experience:
– Targeted Individual Social Sabotage: https://youtu.be/h89pFkVCnGU
– 7 Days of Targeting: https://youtu.be/_StvLwf2vI4
– MK/Targeting treatment different in different locations: https://youtu.be/mUB4ZC9cFRY
– Why Me?:  https://youtu.be/Ax8d2xB6Sf8
– Ironic Smiles (a poem about recognizing targeters/controllers/handlers:  https://youtu.be/X4i__AMoTxE
– Hit out on me? https://youtu.be/ON8aMHQPABY
– Highway Crash Report:  https://youtu.be/9MHAO0GqPhM
– A most disturbing discovery about Targeting:  Operation TIPS, Terrorism Liaison Officers, and Targeted Individuals

Implants:
– Implant in my G-spot (yes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3RhPLxGPNf0
– In my heart:  https://youtu.be/UpTrCntYWiU
– Implant on my Scapula: https://youtu.be/FykaX6T6dqw
– Implant in my Ear: https://youtu.be/ldkCOVtIMTs
and Name that technology: What’s in my ear?:  https://youtu.be/zJnrBan_T-M

Mind Control Alters come out in public:
– Alter moves on program to steal, horrifying me: https://youtu.be/fG3axJD7tzg
– Martial arts alter comes out to help: https://youtu.be/DDpkMYR8s5Y
– Alter comes out to discredit: https://youtu.be/s4yUhRbncT4

Mind Control Subject on Kavanaugh, RF meter, new videos, fraternity rape, new implant, harassment: https://youtu.be/BFBS1xMJYFk

Suspicious people in my life:
– Housesitter Sabotage of a Targeted Individual: https://youtu.be/pi8yS0pvj84
– 3 Doctors in my last small town:  https://youtu.be/4m4O074VDVY

Suspicious events:
– Woke with broken toe:  https://youtu.be/x-3-rqGnw-A
– Finding Someone’s Drivers license in my Purse:  https://youtu.be/3a-8GHpKXWE
– Victim of Psy Op:  https://youtu.be/ea_aWFjZENQ

My efforts to be a truth teller (1- and 2-minute clips from a longer ramble):
– Telling the Truth 1:  https://youtu.be/9sabbUgCFBo
– Telling the Truth 2 – with amnestic alters:  https://youtu.be/9sabbUgCFBo

My channel: (https://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo)
My playlists: My Story from the Beginning,
Newest: My Story,
Mind Control Harassment,
Mind Control Healing,
MK & “Aliens”,
Targeted Individual,
multiple personality.

Thank you, Everyone.  I really appreciate your views and comments.

Peace and blessings on us all.

Jean

Hi Everyone,

As you may know, I lost my home a little over two years ago, basically because I was constantly terrorized and incapacitated, so that I couldn’t make a living to keep paying the mortgage.

So I sold my beautiful home, and planned to move to a simple home in a wonderful location – but when I arrived, it wasn’t available and wouldn’t be for any time in the foreseeable future!  And it’s still not.

I left the greatest part of my belongings in storage, bought a truck and trailer, and went traveling, looking for some place that “called,” not finding it, trying to be of service wherever I went, and discovering some wonderful possibilities, such as the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous (RTR), where nomads meet each winter and find friends to travel with.  I wasn’t feeling trusting yet and chose to simply observe, then went on my own solo way.

Before I found the RTR, I experienced a very suspicious series of events that leads me to believe my truck and/or trailer were remote controlled, and they were totaled on the highway one year ago.  I’m still recovering from a concussion and whiplash.  I describe it in one of my new videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MHAO0GqPhM&index=38&list=PLPo7-F8Erey7-17KcMf-oaqGLEQ5uaMiA.

When I could drive again and got a loan while waiting for the insurance company to do their thing, I replaced the truck and trailer with a truck and small camper.

Last July, I suddenly wanted to find one place to sit and be still “for awhile, or a few months, or maybe forever,” and with borrowed money I purchased a larger trailer that I intend to never move, but just park in a sweet little country trailer park.  I still have my small camper which I can load any time I want onto the back of my truck and go camping – or to the RTR.

Now that I have this extra space (my trailer is 37′ long and has three sliders, giving me 387 sf!), I’ve retrieved many of my possessions from storage and am enjoying having the room to comfortably cook different things, my old library to consult, and enough space to have friends visit easily.

Most important to you:  I’ve regained enough mental focus to begin recording my stories on video, in short segments, most 4- to 8-minutes long. 

It’s been ten years since I published my memoir, and I could certainly write another with as many amazing stories as the first, but I haven’t yet had dependable energy that lets me believe I could write, edit, publish and market the project, so instead I’m recording short videos whenever I have the time and uploading them.  It’s much more efficient and hopeful than tackling a huge book project.

Being targeted regularly sometimes zaps me for 15 days each month.  The time that’s left I need to shop, cook, clean, pay bills, and usually I stay just enough behind to be always on the edge of depression and anxiety – but only on the edge.  I can usually build myself up and be happy to get everything done, or almost, and be good company when I visit family and friends.

And when I’m hit, I’m learning to take it easy, not fight it, not try to push myself, but even be grateful for the time to be still and not feel guilty!

And when I realize this is rare time, given my hyper-productivity training by my super-perfectionist workaholic German parents (God bless them), this rare time, I often receive such important lessons from my spirit Help that I wonder if it was THEM making me slow down!  Not saying so, but I’m considering this possibility.  It’s a lot less terrifying than the usual assumptions, right?

I’m pleased with the videos so far, and have created one playlist of EVERYTHING I’ve videotaped since 2010 (41 videos) in approximate order (let me know if there’s something obviously out of order, and I’ll fix it).

When I finished creating the playlist, I sat back, thinking I’d speed watch, stopping and jumping ahead, just to get an overall impression, thinking I’d be bored to watch them all again, but I found myself bingeing! – watching one after the other and frankly feeling quite impressed that I’ve told so many stories I think need to be told.  (It was late, so I stopped, and that’s why I’ll accept comments if you find any order problems.)

Some are short, tightly edited, like the first.  Others are slow – a result of my concussion and even being depressed – and I wonder if people will be impatient with them.  Let me know.  In any case, I think it’s good that the roller coaster of my life is recorded in this way.

I cover a lot of subjects:  my implants, times I’ve been controlled during the day, various kinds of harassment, hopeful days, breakdowns, and more.

One more thing:

My numbers on YouTube have been seriously messed with.  This first video went viral in late 2010 and had over 12,000 views.  Then the numbers began to run backward!  Now they’re down in the hundreds, but running forward again.  Watch them, if you would.

Thank you for being here.

Blessings on you ~

I will be closing this site soonish.  Have been advised that publishing anonymously will be so much safer for me.

If you like what you read here, copy it now before it’s gone.

Much, though, will be republished elsewhere anonymously.  If you want to follow me wherever I end up, under whatever name (I haven’t decided yet), all I can suggest is that you take note of some of my key words or phases and search for them whenever this disappears.

Thanks all for your support.

Adios ~

Just for the record:  2016 Anomaly Highlights

January:  Woke at 1:45 am with a tone in one ear and my heart rapid.  injection bruise on outside left thigh.  Tired but worked anyway.  discovered vaginal irritation – for no reason.  no energy; sat all day.  low energy, then returned.  5 days affected.

February:  Wasted day:  Movies.  Heard weird noise like old fashioned phone, only lower pitch, over movie soundtrack, came through Smart TV.  Also sitting in sunroom, noticed bright light from house on hill, seeming to aim into sunroom and hit me in forehead, causing pineal gland to ache.  Had to go inside.  woke with ears ringing loud, had been hot and cold in bed, feeling “hit bottom” again.  Photo’d bruise and puncture (where?).  disabled for third day, depressed, heart ache, want to die, herpes outbreak.  Few times in last 3 days, feelings of confusion, not knowing who or where I am.  experienced disabling fear about – what I couldn’t remember afterward.  Back wrenched for unknown reason.  Psychic message:  I’m already “in” the system I’m resisting.  “Resistance is futile.”  Phone rang, picked up, weird recording as if I’d made the call; given numbers.  Few weird phone experiences this week.  UFO?  Slow, 3 lights, low hummmm, NE to SW.  2 weird sounds in house – one Peaches also heard, in art room, then again in that area heard from bathroom.  Slept only 2 hours last night and woke at 10:45 pm!  Felt severely poisoned, exhausted.  10 days.

March:  message again:  I’m already “in” the Controlled System” ie “Resistance is Futile.”  scary.  tense, anxious, stoned all day.  still sick – 3 days.  2 scoop marks on spine, high near neck, photo’d.  (Spring Equinox) Looked SO BAD, took photo of self looking horrible.  severely depressed 5 days.  Bad anxiety – impulsively bought trailer had to return (lost$400).  only slept 2 hours.  only slept 6 hours, awoken in night by electronic tone.  12 days.

April:  woke at 2:30 am with energy for whole day – until 11:30 pm!  unusual energy.  up at 5:30 after only 6 hrs sleep.  woke tired, low energy, struggled all day – after 2 relaxing days.  Woke at 11 after 1 hour sleep!  Then woke at 3 am, hearing 4-5 ascending tones, very precise.  Slept again til 7 – woke exhausted.  “Dark one” writing night before.  Woke exhausted.  “Crying One” trying to get out.  Lost energy at 2 pm.  had vision of red and black chromosomes like snakes held together in their centers, writhing inside me, “cleaning up” – but I feared it was something else.  Did extreme twisting again.  9 days.

May:  weird altered state of listening to someone, agreeing, then awaking, not remembering!  low energy.  woke 2:30 am.  no energy, can’t work.  Disabled with Heavy sadness.  Urges to sob.  Can’t work or call Mom (tube all day).  Woke after 2 hrs sleep – nothing on my mind.  Electronic waking?  Unable to work.  Sobbing all day.  low energy, sobbing a lot.  energy zapped, did nothing all day.  8 days.

June:  hard day, felt like crying often.  had flash of alter switches.  Stoned – but did someone taint my mj w lsd?  Did stupid things.  Very confused.  But provoking awareness and healing – so okay?  couldn’t work all day.  very tired, napped often.  couple days of computer refusing to open x12, then suddenly worked.  Healing!  2 halves of body are equal!  woke w 2 lumps on thumb.  low energy, nothing done.  good energy, but losing track of time.  9 days.

July:  Nausea, olfactory hallucinations, and terrifying premonition of evil in future in Silver City AND in Stronghold.  missing time while up to pee, 12:15 – 12:40 am.  Then, 11 pm, up with too much energy to sleep.  2 days.

August:  Listening to BrainWave, it changed music while listening to it; wasted by 2 pm; Woke after 9 pm with sensation of emerging from an electronic/other oppression, face-first.  Woke in night as though emerging again from a frozen survival state.  BrainWave app changed settings while listening to it.  tired five days, did little, lots of movie watching.  soles of feet sore, tired, found door lock off and doors unlocked.  BrainWave app turned itself on when I didn’t touch it.  ODD:  channeled a curry recipe!!  Computer seems to be remotely controlled.  Sick, heart troubles.  sick, lethargy, faint, low blood pressure/Cardiio.  fever.  extremely ill.  very ill, could barely move to pack things.  feel like major psy op x 13.  hacking, coughing, still exhausted, napped.  14 days.

September:  vaginal and anal irritation, like raped in night.  burning fever, like on too hot hot pad.  “slept” 10 hours.  woke with spastic muscle in pudendum!  herpes around anus.  deposit on trailer – acted like a MK subject, trusting.  5 days + most of month enraged, recovering from psy op last month.

October:  10 pm:  transmission: man talking to me, can’t remember content.  Conscious at 10:05 w heart racing.  twice more.  woken by bang on the trailer roof twice, 4 and 4:15 am.  heard drone (apparently) fly near, vibration in chest felt terrible, anxiety.  two cars spying on me, parking immediately next to my vehicle with whole lot available.  two trucks watching me, slow drive-bys.  slept 7-7=12 hrs!  found injection bruise on right front thigh, high.  crazy, loud traffic next to trailer with cans thrown at trailer.  remote control of my computer, disallowing Bluetooth.  1 am:  BAD night sweat, waking me, three nights in a row.  last “fix” at RVC.  Passcode book disappeared, as well as thumb drive.  Also clock alarm set to midnight again.  Alarm went off at midnight again.  compelled to nap, then woken in strange altered state by phone call from Dar.  Rest of day wasted, felt like I had water in my ear.  17 days.

November:  very loud engine/humming sound from overhead, back and forth, 8:48 and 9:07.  White dog arrived and seemed controlled to sit at my feet and/or at our front door; threatening Peaches, would not leave, acting like a controlled dog.  Woke in night at 1 am.  Back to consciousness at 4:30 – 3.5 hrs missing time?  found 5 financial sites hacked.  spent day doing defense.  Citibank passcode worked, didn’t, fixed, didn’t, fixed.  4 days.

December:  something knocked repeatedly on my bedroom window, 6-7 times, twice.  I ignored, almost forgot, altered state.  buzzed by two huge helicopters with terrible vibe.  tired and groggy all next day.  8:10 pm?  went into trance, received instructions can’t remember, woke 8:24 pm.  Driving home from luncheon with parents, missed 10 miles and turn-off on 202.  driving, noticed my vulva is swollen – wondered if raped in night.  heard noise outside by truck, but immobilized and couldn’t look.  10 pm, start to brush teeth, went into trance, woke up, finished brushing, found time was 11:11, and door was unlocked.  1 hour missing time.  Altered states while listening to Corey Goode talk about his life being used by good aliens and also monitored by govt.  8 days.

Total days disturbed:  128 days

Average days/month:  11 days/month

Physical anomalies:

injection bruise x2

vaginal irritation x3, anal irritation, and spastic muscle in pudendum

heart problems x 2

sick to stomach with numb shoulder

ringing ears

bruise and puncture, photographed

back wrenched

felt poisoned, tense, anxious

2 scoop marks on spine

2 lumps on thumb

soles of feet sore

Count # of disabled days:

Conscious of waking from altered state: 6

listening to someone, agreeing, then awaking, not remembering

after altered state, feels like water in ear for 3 days

while listening to MK subject testimony

Immobilized after event:  2

knocking on window but unable to look

noise of truck being messed with outside but couldn’t look

Weird waking w tones or electronics:  11

Disabled:  27

Missing time:  4

1 hour, 11 minutes missing time in middle of brushing teeth

Perceptual Anomalies:

Waking with tone/s in ear/s:

strange noise in house x2, once heard also by Peaches

bright light from hillside that hurt head

Forgetting where I am

Disabling fear about something I couldn’t remember

Message: “Resistance is futile” x2

UFO?

Electronic awakening x3

“Dark One” writing

“Crying One” trying to get out

vision of black and red chromosomes writing inside, “cleaning up”

flash of alter switches

felt on LSD, very confused

olfactory hallucination

major psy op with 13+ components, another 25 components

transmission of man talking to me, can’t remember content

heard drone (apparently) fly overhead, hover, vibration in chest, bad anxiety

2 cars spying on me in wilderness, parking immediately next to me

2 trucks driving slowly by me in dispersed camping

woken by bang on trailer roof twice 4 and 4:15 am,

Machinery Anomalies:

Weird recording on phone as if I’d made the call

Other weird phone experiences in one week

Days of computer refusing to open x 12

Portable door lock missing for days, then returned

BrainWave changed music while listening

BrainWave changed settings while listening

Found door lock off and doors unlocked

BrainWave turned itself on

Computer seeming remotely controlled, again

Loud engine heard overhead back and forth in night

Four financial sites hacked

Buzzed by two helicopters at night, tired and groggy all next day

Traffic with thrown cans constant all night in town

This “video” is for anyone who feels they need some gaps filled in in their understanding of MKULTRA-type mind control.

It’s actually an audio recording with text and photos as visuals – something to listen to while, perhaps, doing some other task – if you’re a busy person like me.

Very worthwhile overview!  Thank you, Fiona.  And thank you, Follower, who wrote with this link.

When I purchased my used (7-year-old) travel trailer from RV City, the Owner and Sales Manager told me,“Everything has been gone over, and everything is in working order.”  However:

1) They hadn’t even emptied the sewage tank – which was 2/3 full!  (Insulting to discover on my first “dry camping” trip.)

2) Sewage and other tank sensors didn’t work

3) Stereo had a terrible hum when trying to play a CD, DVD, or USB

4) Hot water was impossible because a valve connecting the hot and cold water lines for draining had been left open

5) Shower had no water pressure, so water just ran down the hose

6) Range pan still had the previous owner’s food in it

7) Clothes bar was hung with screws too short (and no anchors) so that it fell down on first trip; when repaired, it was put up crooked

8) Kitchen cabinet door hinge was not attached fully and broke

9) One arm of the awning had a broken piece (potentially dangerous)

10) Sewer cap was so old it fell off during the first trip

11) Bumper caps were so old one fell off, and the sewer hose inside was lost

12) Breaker/fuse box door latch broken, so door fell open constantly

13) Battery was 5 years old, very weak, and had to be replaced

14) Straps on the battery boxes were both frayed beyond hilarity, and one had been cut so short it could not be reconnected once it was removed.

15) I had to ask repeatedly before I was given a generic manual on the trailer

16) Mattress was so bad that I (a small person) could feel the slats beneath

17) Tires were 9 years old – age at which they should be replaced, and they were mismatched

18) Roof seals were old, severely cracked, and needed to be redone

19) Toilet lost water pressure and wouldn’t flush

20) Wall at the head of the bed feels like it’ll fall when leaned against

21) Both propane lines look old, and one sprung a leak, but can’t be replaced because the hardware has been tightened so hard that the nuts flatten rather than move

22) Propane regulator leaks from one side to the other.

When I made my very first call to discuss the first 17 problems I’d found, I was treated to condescending dismissals, argument, and sarcastic questions.

When I brought in my trailer (twice) under their 15-day warranty, they saved toilet repairs for last, both times, requiring me to return – and because of the distance, each trip cost hundreds of dollars.  It took three trips back to get most of the repairs made. Many were not.

Two problems I discovered after the 15 days they refused to address without payment, saying they’d “gone above and beyond” already for me.

I reported all these issues to the Better Business Bureau, which gave them two opportunities to respond.  Both times, they and their PR folks were unable to defend a single one of my points.  (It should hit the Tucson Better Business Bureau site soon if it hasn’t already.)

Tell me this is all just an accident – that this trailer, with only a few systems, would have so many things wrong with it.  I assume it’s another harassment, part of being a “targeted individual,” draining away all my time and money for months (and it’s not over), pushing me for my whistle-blowing crimes, and insulting me by not even emptying (or maybe filling?) the sewage tank.

While waiting for my hitch to be put on, out of the blue, the owner and business manager asked me if I was a vegetarian (I used to be), with a face that said he hoped his humor didn’t show.  I was dressed in my most conservative clothes, so I wondered whether he already knew all about me because he’d been working with my controllers.

You think I’m too fixated on targeting?  Did I mention RV City sits right outside Fort Huachuca, the primary center of American military intelligence?  (They’re hugely involved in mind control.)  It only makes sense that the 30-year owner would be friends with those guys.

So why did I buy there?  I knew it was a high possibility he could be in league with the kontrollers.  I was not in a good state of mind, extremely not, actually, and people were telling me not to be so paranoid, so I tried.  I went in there, and trusted people I should not have.

This trailer was exactly the highest price I was willing to pay and had all the elements I was looking for.   And I hadn’t found anything close in two weeks of looking, and this one had all my requirements.  So I assume the kontrollers put it together just for me, and used all the crappiest components they could find.

While waiting for my trailer hitch to be installed, I interrupted the technician to get something out of my truck with an apology.  He responded, “Oh, no problem.  You’re fun.”  But I’d not been fun.  I’d been sitting alone in the waiting room for hours and had hardly talked to him.  I wondered even then if he was in on the joke.

I guess I needed a lesson to quit trying to please my friends by “being positive.”  Life goes better when I acknowledge my reality.

Next:  How The Solar Store in Tucson wired my trailer for my new photovoltaic panels.  Summary:  After almost two months, and three trips involving five days, I’m still waiting for the system to be made functional.  It’s all the more shocking because the owner is a former colleague on the activist/progressive business front in Tucson.  Was she told something terrible about me and has also joined in my harassment?  

Sorry about this one too:

I don’t keep up with all the news i this subject – don’t have the energy – so I just learned that Ted Gunderson was poisoned two years ago.

So sorry to pass this along, but it’s well documented:

I have been extremely ambivalent about talking publicly about MY mind control.  I came to understand it in 2002, and only gained control of my fear by documenting my actual experiences daily and comparing them to the documentation of researchers, therapists and other mind control subjects which has been gathered for decades – confirming that I have, indeed, been the victim of this crime for my entire life. 

I have not reported it to police because they are often in on it, and my first attempt to report a stalker at my home in 2000 was met with ridicule and absolute denial by the local sheriff despite physical evidence.  I have reported my mysterious wounds to at least a half-dozen medical personnel, presenting both photographs and my own body for their inspection, and they – who have the legal professional duty to report crimes like this to the police – also seem afraid, and none has ever mentioned the possibility that this should be reported.

The interior of my punctured and lacerated vagina, which made one woman gynecologist cry 

I have had my home broken into, a portable door lock broken the second day it was used.  I have woken with Taser burns on my arms, burns other places on my body, injection bruises (twice a week for over a year), “donut” bruises, biopsy scoop marks, vaginal lacerations and punctures, other sexual irritations indicating rape, apparent “implants,” and much more (photos elsewhere on this site). 

After Tasering, drugging, or something.  Face muscles nearly immobilized, left eye turned inward.

These physical wounds are almost always accompanied by extreme exhaustion and disability that can last from 1 to 13 days.  And the frequency was increasing until very recently.  Occasionally I’ve been apparently left alone for a few months, but for most of the last six years (since I produced a video about my mind control), I’ve been harassed in the night (and sometimes the day) and made amnesic about it almost every month, usually multiple times every month, resulting the past year in about 15 days per month with symptoms – until this month.  Maybe I’m just getting a break?  Maybe it’s over?  I never know.

There seems to be a pattern of choosing people for mind control from certain families.  My family lineage includes Masons, Mormons, military, and people associated with the government – common among MK subjects, though we’re not exclusive.  I had two years of amnesia from age 6 to 8, like many other MK subjects report, and my family moved into a large custom home shortly after my amnesia ended, and many subjects report their parents were rewarded with big homes for having enrolled their children in a program promised to make them “special.”

The purposes of MK are pretty much what you see in futuristic sci-fi:  super soldiers and sex slaves, spies and couriers.  The evidence of my life is that I was trained and used for sex slavery, spying, and maybe more.  Once, when faced with a crazy man trying to break through my front door, I found myself responding as though I had the skill to kill someone with a knife in a single movement; I described all my actions and thoughts to a double-black belt, and he said I sounded like one who knew exactly how to kill.  And once when falling, I found myself performing a perfect tuck and roll and came up running as though I’d been trained in martial arts.  I have amnesia for many summer vacations, and many other amnesic episodes, so I suspect this is when some of my training occurred beyond those initial two years.

What I’ve described is often called MKULTRA, but I’ve often written that everyone in America is subject to “MK Lite” – via television, movies, education, “news,” and other entertainments.  I know a woman who was MK’d in the military, another MK’d since childhood to be a super soldier, and I know of women and men who’ve spoken out and been apparently murdered, though sometimes it was made to look like suicide. 

This is a very frightening arena to find myself in, especially as an activist who’s made it her life work to speak out against injustice.  I just never knew I’d ever need to speak out for myself, and this has been by far the hardest, and I’ve done the poorest job on this.  Because of fear.  Fear that I could be murdered.  And fear that they’ll increase the punishment next time they come for me.  Already, they’ve made it impossible for me work, not only by disabling me so regularly, but by sabotaging me socially with lies spread about I don’t know what – something that makes large groups of friendly acquaintances suddenly shun me and destroy my chances of working for a living.  It’s for this reason I was forced to sell my home and drastically downsize my entire life to live in 120 square feet that is all I can afford now.  And many MK subjects report the same forcing into poverty so our choices, and ability to protect ourselves, are drastically limited.

So why am I speaking out again now?  Because people have questioned my interest in the Trump women’s sexualized photographs now circulating on the Internet.  Friends have suggested the photos are irrelevant, but I suggest that they are very relevant to a huge, hidden, organized crime residing in our nation’s capitol, which some people are naively hoping Trump will clean up, but I sense he’ll only expand it, and his women are the first step in normalizing the signs and signals that might otherwise alert us.

Our nation’s capitol is rife with mind control and sexual slavery right now.  The “Senate page scandal” of the 80s revealed one small aspect of a huge criminal network.  Then the door quietly closed, and everyone was left to believe the problem was cleaned up, but it is NOT.  It continues to this day with many sexual slaves on duty against their will, entertaining, spying, blackmailing, destroying people’s lives, sometimes murdering.  You wonder why our Congress makes such bad decisions?  You think they’re stupid?  I absolutely believe they are simply crushed between calculated rocks and hard places, doing what they need to do so they and their families will not be destroyed.

I did not vote for Trump, but I agree with his sentiment that we need to drain the swamp.  But I think it’s a much bigger job than Trump can do, and I don’t believe Trump even would if he understood.  But maybe he understands completely and is just playing a new game on the populace.  He requires all the women around him, even secretaries, be “beautiful” to his standard.  Most frightening, the Trump women all look and speak like sexualized mind control subjects – and I think I’m one who knows.

My sincere concern is that he and his women are helping the average American to accept these sexualized images of silenced women as a worthy goal to aspire to.  It’s as if the criminal MK operations of our nation, heretofore secret, are being given a “lite” preview to the nation in the limelight of a “popular” man, these images of female sex and silence presented as normal or acceptable.

Few people recognize mind control.  But I have lived a very unusual life, have lived and suffered with mind control, have done who-knows-what in amnesic states, but also risked my life occasionally to write and video blog about what I do know – and these women are the most blatant silent and sexualized women ever paraded before the American people in politics. 

These women MIGHT have thought their sexual posing was their choice, but we don’t know that.  We might choose to give them credit for making their own choices, and say their choices are not relevant to politics, but I believe these women are not acting of their own free will (whether MKULTRA or MK Lite), and their presence in the political arena today bodes ill for the future of women in our world.

It’s more than a national embarrassment.  It’s a picture of women I pray, pray, pray does not get normalized.  I posted photos of them on FB to remind people that this is debasing to women and there’s something here to think about.

I welcome your feedback.

Tom Montalk describes the different experiences of alien and occult interference in one’s life.  For some, it can be both.

https://www.thecosmicswitchboard.com/2016/08/12/montalk-interview/

Here’s the comment I wrote for this:

Excellent interview, James. Really appreciate your spare style and insightful questions.

Tom Montalk’s presentation is excellent too, also spare, clear, with examples that ring true with my experience. It’s a pleasure to find something new, not making me “wonder if,” but describing my own life in clear, succinct, and interesting terms. Thank you. You’ve done us all a favor.

You also give me hope. Your presentation helped me understand my situation more clearly, and that’s always good, generally. And you confirmed my attitude of ignoring certain experiences while responding to others strategically. I can take heart that I have developed some skills, and I see more clearly where I need strengthening. I’ll be telling my readers about this interview.

I just read the most perfect and succinct description of how I relate to the world.

By Story, from:
https://wherespiritstops.
wordpress.com/2016/
08/13/being-a-shaman/

I am a spirit-seer; I cross between realities to learn the unknowable and befriend wondrous beings, for even the most powerful benefit from my humble blessings. I transcend time and space to see that which cannot be seen, and find my way through the darkest of places. I dance between contradictions and surrender myself to paradoxes. I know the physical and the imaginary are of equal value. I commune with the universe and feel the infinite connections running through it.

I am everything and nothing; simultaneously infinitely meaningful and infinitely meaningless. I give and take; I bless and am blessed. And in the end I am simply human, trying to live up to my potential.

I’m not a big fan of this radio style, but this is a good interview with good information about this subset of mind control harassment.

I’ve been experiencing this for a long time.  If anyone else has, you’re welcome to contact me for advice.

Be strong.

For a lot of years, I’ve been grateful to discover books and movies that convey any sense of the strangeness of my life.  I found small bits in Whitley Strieber’s Communion and other stories, The Secret School, in particular.  Even Men in Black had elements that affirmed some of my weird life experiences.  A couple of years ago, one of my college students told me about the Bourne Identity, and I was more deeply moved again, perhaps with hope that one day people will be able to look at the reality that some of us are early experiments, were severely messed with, are still being messed with, and it’s a torment, sometimes life threatening, giving me at least one heart attack, and years of panic attacks, grief and despair over my past, and my present, and my future.

For fourteen years, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions:  gratitude for finally understanding my life and knowing I have the spiritual resources to continue the crippling life I’ve been given with love and purpose, determination to speak my truth, despite physical and emotional sickness from the controllers’ pushback, usually in the form of electronic harassment and social sabotage, and fear that the bruises and burns on my body, and sexual wounds, means that something else is going on that I’m amnesic for, and for which my roller coaster continues:  panic, depression, hopelessness, isolation, rest, stillness, recovery, determination to take care of feeding myself and paying the bills while healing, with hope, and back to gratitude – for how long, I wonder, till I’m “hit” again.

I’m surprised to see these words I’ve written.  They’re totally true, but the picture seems pathetic when I imagine someone else reading them, like I’m a bug in a can, pushing itself for days against the metal side, determined but futile until it dies:  continued hope where there seems to be no reason.  But I have reasons.

For one, I might be wrong about my interpretation of all this.  Second, maybe there’s a spiritual way to rise above it, maybe even it could be the tool of my consciousness transformation.  Finally, there seem to be beings on some dimension, maybe my spiritual helpers, or maybe my controllers using technology that only feels “spiritual,” who sometimes heal me in seconds with a download of energy from who knows where.  I can go from too sick to lift a glass to my mouth to standing, stretching, happy, launching into my most productive state in a matter of five seconds.

Other times it feels like less of a healing and more of a lifting of oppression – electronically.  One night, I fell heavily into bed after many days of being too tired to feed myself properly, and crashed immediately.  One hour later, I woke up with a start, and a feeling of amazement and gratitude – and the distinct sense that someone had turned a dial and relieved me of some vibration that had been targeting and oppressing me for days.  Like a heavy weight had been lifted off me while I slept, and the relief was welcome but so surprising it woke me out of a deepest sleep.

Those of us who’ve angered the Powers that Be, I believe, are probably semi-retired from our MK work when we get my age, except for upkeep and maintenance, but we’ve also been turned over to others who need guinea pigs for various sorts of testing, which explains the wide range of wounds I’ve recorded over the years.  I’ve woken with a fully-healed surgical scar, unusually fine and straight, on my neck, which years later a nurse would assume was a scar from thyroid surgery, which I haven’t had, to my knowledge.  Countless other healed white scars have appeared on my hands for years – something other targeted individuals have also recorded.  I’ve woken with Taser burns, other third-degree burns, donut-shaped bruises, injection bruises (or so they appeared, twice a week for over a year), biopsy scoop marks, puncture wounds, deep lacerations inside my vagina, and more – all recorded and photographed – including the interior ones, thanks to a professional photographer lover.  And these wounds attend days or weeks of severe exhaustion and disability, which when I recover burden me to catch up with everything I didn’t do for those days or weeks – before I can even think about whether to try to make a living again.

These past five years have been the worst, and each year has been more intense than the last – interfering seriously with all my attempts to make a living – which is why I’m leaving my home and community, to go where I hope to live cheaply on my Social Security, all I have.  Some people theorize that we’re more than just guinea pigs, that our unwilling enrollment is part of a larger program with the purpose of punishing us in many, many ways for our political work, depressing our energy, and discrediting us and all we might have to say.  Yes, silencing political dissidents – though I thought I was just exercising my American Right of Free Speech, to make my country proud.  I guess that was all a big lie.

So I’m watching a lot of Limitless these days, satisfied to see a slight semblance of my life concerns dramatized for all the world to see:  the government controlling one’s life, threatening one’s life, even though it’s sometimes amazing “fun.”  I related to the main character’s fast brain, the conversations he has with various parts of himself, and the overwhelming distraction that can be as well as a wealth of information, full perspective, and creative solutions – when things are going well.  The imagined good purpose in being a pioneer in supposedly America’s and the Earth’s future.  Family members not believing or understanding, and distrusting whatever the character/I say.  The danger, the wounds, the constant spiritual challenge, strange people suddenly entering your life with the power to drag you in regardless of your desire.

Lately, I’ve been talking to the walls, telling the people I presume are listening in to my home (there are clear and abundant signs they are listening) that I’m trying hard to lighten up on my assumption that they are evil, Satanic, pedophile perverts (an idea most of us accept at some point, though it’s almost too terrifying to live with) and see if instead I can imagine my tormenters as really just working for a non-human Creator who doesn’t realize his efforts to control the minds of his people with root-chakra shock and related techniques is so traumatic that he’s destroying our potential, or nearly, at least for me.  And I wonder if I should simply be communicating my needs better, as if the non-human controller can’t read my distress and despair otherwise.  So I’ve been talking with a little less anger and fewer F-word denunciations.

To my surprise, two of the last three nights I was treated to a download of healing energy.  I actually woke in the night after only one hour sleep with the shocking realization that I felt good – so good, so surprisingly good, that it woke me up after only one hour of sleep. 

Maybe I shouldn’t publish this; maybe it was someone taking sympathy, and that person might get in trouble for the kindness given me.  Or maybe it’s my controllers making sure I’m healthy enough to keep living for their secret purposes.  I don’t know.

It’s a bitch to live your life and just never know the source of the weird shit that keeps happening behind the scenes, but with results left as wounds and scars on my body, telling me that something is definitely happening.  And that’s where my life is far less blessed than Finch’s in Limitless.  But I’ll keep watching.  It’s something to make me feel less alone in this F-ing weirdness.

And now and then I recognize some ability I have, like brainstorming with a crew of very talented parts inside myself, that might have been nurtured and developed as part of my MK training, and I feel a tiny bit hopeful.  It may be rather late in life (age 64) to think I might be any more significant use to myself or others, at least from this pit I’ve sunk into these recent years, but we gotta take hope where we can get it.  Right?

Alright, now, back to the world, grateful and happy to be able to function!  I can do it pretty well between their “hits,” given appropriate recovery time.  I’m grateful to be in recovery space again.  Getting things done, taking care of life successfully, and watching Limitless when I need a break.  Crazy world….

I am mostly unfamiliar with the trucking industry, but as a mind control subject, I know how “easily” this $150 Billion industry ifunctions – and what the result is:

http://www.dailykos.com/story/

2016/6/29/1543694/-Truckers-unite-to-identify-and-rescue-victims-of-sex-trafficking

It’s satisfying to hear the FBI agent talk about how wrong this is, but the reality is they are going after only the “lower class” pimps and customers – and I pray they’ll one day go after the “high class” mind control pimps (psychiatrists, psychologists, politicians, etc) and help free their slaves as well.

The phone number in the text accompanying the video is incomplete; it is 1-888-373-7888.

Their site:  https://traffickingresourcecenter.org/

I just discovered this from July 2015 – a woman who tells a story with many, many similarities to mine which I’ve never heard before.  Still listening, but had to type this quick note to you….

“In all, the agency [CIA] conducted 149 separate mind-control experiments, and as many as 25 involved unwitting subjects.  At least one participant died, others went mad, and still others suffered psychological damage after participating in the project, known as MK Ultra.  The C.I.A. … deliberately destroyed most of the MKUltra records in 1973.”  ~~  New York Times article on CIA’s secret behavior modification program

Of course, this is old news – July 1977 – published in the New York Times – http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9900EEDD153DE034BC4951DFB166838C669EDE
– recently revisited by my colleague Fred Burks, of PEERS.

His excellent website – and specifically a page devoted to America’s pursuit of mind control – is here:  http://www.wanttoknow.info/mk/behavior-modification-news-articles, with numerous articles from mainstream American publications revealing what Americans would rather pretend doesn’t exist.  Thanks, Fred!

Hi All,
I want to describe my experience with brain entrainment – which I called “training wheels” for developing greater consciousness of my mental processes.
First, I liked the BrainWave app, found it very soothing and hopefully protective.  On evening three, however, while sitting in bed at night, I had the distinct impression that the steady entrainment frequency (which I was using for a vague sense of “protection”) could also be used to slip programming into me by matching the frequency as a carrier wave – and might be doing it right then – there seemed to be some sort of interference coming through!
Immediately, I removed my ear buds and replaced the entrainment frequency app with simple calming music of my choice, figuring that it would be harder for anyone to hide programming inside the ever changing music.  Then I began using music for a big portion of each day after that – which is something I haven’t done much of throughout my life.  (Most of my life, I’ve valued silence and the thoughts of my own mind which I haven’t wanted distracted or overridden by others’ ideas and sounds.)
The new habit of listening to music during the day – music chosen to make me calm and happy – caused me to realize that sometimes my own thoughts – especially when I focus on the mind control – can become toxic!  My Own Thoughts weren’t the pure source I’d always thought they were.  And music, carefully chosen, could put me on a better path – or at least I was willing to try it.  And surprise, surprise, I found myself maintaining a better mood and attitude!
Now, I apologize if this is a no-brainer for some of you who’ve always used music that way, but it’s new for me, and it caused me to realize that entrainment might be thought of as more than just the adaptation of the brain to a particular frequency, but also the adaptation of the brain to a general idea, which it can then magnify, repeat, resonate with, and even amplify.  And if the general trend is negative, it can be interrupted better with music than with my own best intentions.  Surprising discovery
So the exercise of trying out the BrainWave brain entrainment app allowed me to think about, feel, and experience, the dramatic effects of a frequency calming my mind, and a frequency threatening my mind (it seemed), and then I could also consider the experience of entraining to an idea with just with my own mental habits, which might be problematic, even with our best intentions, probably due to mind control, but also possibly just a human fact.
For the last few days, I haven’t used the app, but I feel far more aware now of the state of my mind and my ability to change it with either intention or technology.
I hope this encourages readers to consider their own mental patterns, disciplines, and ways to moderate and protect their mental states.  While technology may seem like a sort of dependence, it was a good awakening experience, helping me toward natural processes, with new awareness of technological and non-technological possibilities.

I realized a year or two ago that my site here and on YouTube both reflect the parts of me that are most angry and afraid and identify as activists; whereas the parts of me that go on with life, keep contributing, making art, being a friend, etc. aren’t as interested in writing about the good parts of my life – they just want to live and catch up on missed time – so my websites don’t reflect the whole of me, only the negative sides.

So, this is my first success in sitting down with my happy alter out to give balance to my story.  Posted just yesterday.

Now, today I feel pretty bad again – for the firs time in a while – having a hard time expanding my lungs to take deeper breaths, so I’m breathing shallowly and don’t have much energy.  And in a half hour I’ll arrive for my first day at work on a new job.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Breath.  It’ll all be okay.

I hope every reader here will visit and follow my sister site about natural and spiritual healing from mind control and other traumas.  I’m feeling a shift in which I will write less and less here, and more and more there.

Here is my most recent post on MK Garden Healing / Garden Healing Church:

https://gardenhealingchurch.org/2016/

04/14/beautiful-on-living-with-pain/

Here’s the second two two-page spreads of this recommended book:

This book by Dr. John Hall, M.D., is very satisfying well-documented.  I’m only one-third of the way through, but already, I’ve felt compelled to scan a few pages to share with a few folks and my readers here.

You’ll see on page 45 references to a Department of Justice published survey in which they found complaints “legitimate enough to be included” resulted in an estimate that 3.4 million people in 2008 were victims of stalking, and another 2.4 million were victims of harassment.  Of those 5.8 million, 6% of them (348,000 people) suffered electronic monitoring, and 130,000 reported losing their jobs because of it.

On page 44 Hall comments on medical doctors and their probably-false but consistent conclusions of “delusion” – even though their industry is well-documented to have been at the forefront of and still involved with engineering this technology.

On page 46, a  Centers for Disease Control study found that single individuals are more often attacked that those living as a couple, while the American Journal of Preventative Medicine found women by far the most targeted (7 out of 9).  On page 47, surveys found a high percentage included sexual assaults.

Page 46:  Several studies found that law enforcement is useless and might make things worse.

Pages 49-51:  The FBI / COINTELPRO history of organized stalking began in our very own government’s intelligence agencies, and the Senate investigation in 1976 unearthed it but apparently couldn’t stop it.

Here are a few pages.

I recommend the book, obviously, and suggest you ALWAYS avoid Amazon for your book purchases, and begin instead with addall.com, which includes Amazon, but allows you to compare prices of independent booksellers.

I recommend the book, obviously, and suggest you ALWAYS avoid Amazon for your book purchases, and begin instead with addall.com, which includes Amazon, but allows you to compare prices of independent booksellers.

I’ll have to post the second two pages separately, as this post keeps dropping one when I try to add another.  ???

I’ve been a victim of “gang stalking” since at least 2002, when I did media work for the historic “Judi Bari v FBI” trial (about a car-bomb assassination attempt – feds guilty).  Or it was the year that the stalking amped up.  It would become so intense, it would eventually drive me from my home.  Too bad, because word is that moving doesn’t stop it.

Victims of gang stalking are called “Targeted Individuals” or “TI’s,” and they become targets in a wide variety of ways.  Some are randomly selected, selected for convenience, but most TI’s have insulted the status quo in some way – or they are mind control subjects or subjects of other military/intelligence experiments.

Targets experience all sorts of physical and emotional harassment.  Lies spread in one’s community is common, as I wrote about in my blog, “Disinformation.”  Clever discrediting, strangers acting hostilely and bizarrely in public toward the victim, timed synchronistically, compounding the impact, orchestrations that are hard to believe – thankfully, these have been minor for me.  Worst is the electronic and medical harassment that leaves one with ears ringing, Taser burns, and more.

It’s an ugly, Top Secret project, supported with the most advanced technology, used to punish political dissidents or anyone whom someone in authority takes a hating to.  It’s used to groom society, punish those on the edges.  It’s experimental.  It’s brain warfare.  It’s too much money and too little accountability.  It’s human nature at it’s worst.  And it’s real.  Thousands of people are reporting the same sort of bizarre events, technological experiences, delivered in very similar ways.

My gang stalking has been a little different than most commonly reported, in some ways more refined than much of what I read (but not always), and I think that might be due to the sort of mind control program I was enrolled in as a child.  I believe my Eisenhower lineage has afforded me a bit of protection within a very dangerous project I never wittingly or willingly chose.

In recent years, I’ve been mind controlled, while fully conscious of what was happening, but unable to stop it, to let a man destroy my computer.  I’ve been controlled to have sex with a man who revolted me (thankfully, only once while conscious).  I’ve woken up with all the signs of having been gang raped.  I’ve gone to sleep fine, then woken with third-degree Taser burns, injection bruises, biopsy

Oddly-painless but deep scoops into multiple layers of skin appeared overnight

scoop marks, “donut bruises,” wrenched back and other pains for no reason, and absolute exhaustion also for no reason.

I’ve been woken by tones in my head, I’ve fallen asleep with tones.  My house has been bombarded by extremely loud ultra-low frequencies.  And my portable door lock was broken the first night I installed it for protection.  I’ve had videos transmitted to my head, once two videos transmitted on top of each other – very interesting.

Most of the time, the gang seems to know my schedule and they time “hits” mostly when it won’t ruin my life, but once a series over a course of 4 months did change my life.  And it followed another series of events that happened when I went to the Lama Foundation Community outside Taos for a Permaculture Design course in the summer of 2013.  It seems someone didn’t want me to do this work.

Those two series of events – at and after Lama – which I’ll describe in a moment – would be typical gang stalking.  But one event at Lama went far beyond.  It seemed to mimic an ET abduction.

Now, I know that a few people who’ve long talked about aliens have begun to say it’s all disinformation, meant to discredit.  I don’t think so.  I know that a lot of sincere people, like myself, have been subject to experiences, all sharing similar themes, that have been interpreted as alien contact.  Still, I’d write them off as high-tech illusions in a minute, except that these experiences have been described since the beginning of time and across every culture on the planet.  Contemporary America’s scorn of “aliens” is unique in the history of the planet.  So, unless we want to call everything an illusion, as in the Matrix or some Hindu thought, I believe aliens are real and not just illusion.

I had my first totally-classic stop on the highway by an incredible brilliant white light back in 2000, and things picked up slowly after that.  I also began having shamanic experiences, and was happy and honored to be experiencing the numinous dimensions of our cosmos.  Frightening parts I tried to learn from, as part of the initiation.  Indeed, I soon learned that an African shaman described aliens identical to the classic ones described today – though I’ve never seen that type as I remember – but it gave me comfort that I was in a long-established, understood (outside America) realm of humanity interacting with other dimensions.

After I did six weeks of media work at the “Judi Bari v FBI” trial, my admittedly-unusual life has never been the same.  I believe the feds put me on a shit list.

My treatment quickly became so terrifying that suicide was in my journals and thoughts every day for the six months following the trial, less often after that, but the idea never left me until last summer when I finally realized I’m philosophically opposed to it for one simple reason:  I might not fully understand what’s going on (after all, there’s much going on in other realms that we can’t see), and it might not be as bad as it seems.

So, for the last year, when I’ve been the most harassed, I’ve only wished to die, prayed to die, thought I was going to die, had heart problems, had at least one heart attack, and wondered if the gang would eventually kill me.  But I never any more think about killing myself.

Some activists on the subject say the Gang hopes to drive us to kill ourselves or kill someone else, and only rarely do they kill a Target – but they make it look like a suicide if they do.  (So don’t be fooled.)

In the spring of 2013, I completed 6 months of work I’d done to qualify for a small grant to start a business.  I really needed to do something new, get away from the computer which I’d worked on since 1986.  I’d been studying, teaching and practicing Permaculture since 1989, and I wondered why’d I’d been afraid of it before.  It seemed too “good” for me, too wonderful to replant my life into Nature; I’d been sacrificing all my life, and now I was going to give myself something Good.  A new late-life career, and perfect one.  I sent in a check for a major chunk of my money and drove away to attend my second Permaculture Design Course being offered at the Lama Foundation community.  I was in love already with the vision, the strangers I’d soon meet who’d love design the way I do, who like their hands on living things, who can imagine a new way of living on Earth.

The first night after dinner, we were notified that we were expected to help in the kitchen at least once during our 10 days, and I decided to get it out of the way immediately and worked that night.  I was astounded to witness how filthy the kitchen was.  It didn’t look like anyone there had any concept about state laws governing commercial kitchens.  The large wooden cutting board had remnants of vegetables embedded in pizza sauce that looked to be a few days old, and everything sat on a layer of grease that could be scraped up in large strips if one was inclined.  I leaned into it.

Some time later, many of us became ill with a Norovirus, and we all soon learned that the entire regular kitchen staff was sick with the virus and one of them had gone to the hospital.  The kitchen crew we’d met were all stand-in’s, and no one had thought to clean the kitchen – and then they asked us to do it.

One of our group went to the hospital.  One went home.  And a few of us passed out in our tents, in and out of consciousness for a few days.  Most shocking was that we seemed to have been forgotten.  Those who didn’t get sick didn’t realize how very sick we were.  Thankfully, someone brought a 5-gallon container of water for three of us to share.  One person came and asked if any of us would like food, but when I said yes, a banana, he forgot and never returned; later I learned he’d gotten sick.

Our fevers, as we baked in our tents mid-day, would wake us up, we’d crawl out and get chilled, and that would wake us enough to stagger over to see if the others were okay, and one trip out that day would be all we’d accomplish.  By day three we were walking again, sitting far from the others, in case we were still contagious, sipping soup and marveling at what we’d been through.

Between the kitchen work and the virus hitting, something else happened, but I don’t think it was related to the illness, because I’m the only person – I think – that it happened to.  I woke in the middle of the night and tried to move my arms to get an elbow beneath me so I could reach with my other arm for water, but something prevented me from even moving my elbow.  I woke more fully in alarm, discovering that my sleeping bag was somehow wrapped around me extremely tight.  I thought I must have somehow lain on a  doubled-over piece of the bag, so I tried to roll off of it, but when I rolled back and forth, the entire bag was wrapped tightly around me.  Eventually, I rolled more and wiggled enough to get an arm out, and then the other, and discovered I was truly wrapped inside the bag, like someone had rolled me up in it.

Suppressing my alarm, I reached for my water, but it wasn’t there.  Nothing was there.  Not my journal, not my purse, nothing.  Where was my stuff?!  I wasn’t sideways in the tent.  I was one-eighty.  I turned and crawled to the other end, where I found my water and all my things.  What had happened?  I couldn’t have wrapped myself up like that.  And how did I turn around one-eighty?

I’d had a number of alien experiences over the years, had heard the tales of people waking up in their yards or down the street, or in some night shirt they never saw before, so it wasn’t a difficult leap to conclude that this was another alien bungle, an escalation of weirdness on top of an awful lot of weirdness already.  I slaked my thirst and fell back to sleep.

In the morning, I wondered if I could have done that to myself.  If so, it would be a first and highly strange.  I decided I wasn’t going to say anything about this to anyone.  No, this was my new Permaculture life.  I was leaving the crazy shit behind.  (Yeah, I thought I was going to be an activist on the alien issue once, but I’d tired of that pretty quickly.  No one wants to hear.  And sometimes the craziness seemed to go away for long periods of time – not to say it had gone away, but I was trying to make it go away by ignoring it.)  But here it was.  Again.  Shit.  Invading my dream.  I would pray on the way to breakfast, and get myself back into equanimity.

At breakfast, someone leaned forward and asked the group, “Hey, did anyone else hear the humming in the sky over the trees last night?”  I gulped and my head popped up, and so did a few others.  Two people reacted excitedly, and after them I said that I had too.  No more than that.  No one asked if anyone had any weird experiences, and I said nothing – until near the end of the course, and then just to three people when we carpooled to lunch one free day; they were all very “into” the subject.  It gave me an outlet for a little storytelling, and made me feel not so alone in a crazy reality.

When the Noro virus hit after that, I never felt good again while at the course.  After recovering, I sat in the back of the room for a few days, then rejoined the group in my old place and tried to concentrate on the instruction.  But I was tired, very tired.  The schedule of instruction, demonstrations, work, and movies at night filled every day, and I still needed to catch up on my sleep, and wasn’t sleeping that well, this 61-year old body on thin pads – not as fun as it was decades ago.

When others of our group got sick, and resentment grew for this “spiritual community” that chose not to tell us that an illness had made 30 people sick just before we arrived, and then sent their guests in, unawares, to clean the locus of the disease, we asked to hold a circle.  The community representatives quickly copped to their guilt in pretty, practiced phrases around the circle, but seemed far more skilled at PR in cliches than actually caring about the people who were so severely affected.  (I’d trained in all the communications skills modalities that they were emulating, and I used them too, mellow as any meditator, but I also called them on some of their word gamesmanship – politely of course.)  For the rest of our stay, a few of us found ourselves the subject of sudden silence when we’d come around a corner or enter a room.

Besides the many days of pain and suffering, the toll it took on our health, and now this emotional insult on top, we’d all paid (I forget exactly) over $1,000 for 14 days’ teaching, and we’d each lost at least three days.  And we hadn’t been able to eat any of the food (for which we’d pre-paid separately) for those three days, and could only eat small amounts of food for the next few.  Those of us who got sickest thought it only made sense to ask for a refund of at least a portion of our food, but the community was indignant and refused.  They even implied that we were slacking by not taking another tour in the kitchen.

One night, in a gesture of appeasement, they offered two of us a bed in the guest yurt – for free – so we could sleep more comfortably.  I thanked them and accepted.  That night, shortly after I’d retired, they fired up the hot tubs right outside the yurt and had a loud party with lots of whooping and laughter.

Since I’d moved all my things into the yurt, and the campground was a half-mile forest-walk away in the dark, I didn’t want to move, so at 10 pm I walked out and down the trail and around the yurt to let them know that someone was sleeping there.  They apologized, promised to end the party, and then promptly began again as soon as I lay down my head.  I enduring it for another half-hour, practiced breathing and praying, then talking to myself.  I finally got up again to let them know, again, politely, that their noise was still keeping me from sleeping.  They apologized again, made promises again, and then after I’d lain down, they returned to partying.  Around midnight, as I was putting on my coat and leaving the yurt, someone spoke softly and everyone became quiet for the night.

I stood there wondering at the mindset of these people who’ve inherited, or taken over, a spiritual community – one I’d had such high expectations of, one that a friend of mine had done the first Permaculture design for decades ago, and other friends visit every year and wax poetic about.  What had happened?  I’ve come to accept that everything is infiltrated by the Dark.  And spiritual communities, perhaps, especially.  It only take a few people to drive the good ones away.

The next morning, I decided not to be cowed and asked for a meeting again with the stand-in director.  Younger than me by thirty years, she sat upright, as in meditation, a mild smile on her lips.  I told her about my experience in the yurt with the party, pretending it was simply youthful exuberance, a mistake, but I let her know I was still sleep-deprived and hurt by the inconsideration.  She told me the party was a highly unusual one, that the tubs were “always” treated as sacred space, and usually there’s no speaking at all, and only whispering if speech is necessary.  “I don’t know what happened last night,” she told me with innocent eyes and a Mona Lisa smile.  Then she “reminded” me what was the cost for the yurt per night and suggested that I square up.

Our eyes were locked in mutual Buddhist loving stares, and I said, “No.  I’m not paying for my nights in the yurt.”  She politely presented reasons why I should pay, and I politely reminded her the yurt was an offered gift and compensation for not being able to eat for three days because of their virus.  She seemed to have enjoyed her game and “allowed” me to use the yurt for the next few nights for free, but I’d stay only one more.

At home, I had another shock, a personal one I’ll skip.  As soon as I could, I launched my workshops and hoped to begin picking up design work.  Five days before my first workshop, I was hit and could barely get out of bed.  For the next few days, I couldn’t concentrate to plan my workshop and had to do it in the last two days.  I was rattled by the timing, and my workshop was not very good.  The next month, the same thing happened, same timing, hit five days before my workshop, and unable to concentrate to teach.  It happened every month from August through November, always just before an advertised workshop.  I took a break in December, and in January acknowledged I was afraid to announce anything.  My partner said he’d cover the bills for awhile, and told me to take a break.  And I never taught Permaculture again.

The gang stalking, as I said, amplified long before, in 2002, and it seems like it’s gotten far worse in the last few years.  But maybe it only changes.  I think they use some of us to test their electronic weaponry, see if they can scramble our brains just a little, keep us functioning, looking mostly normal, but not be able to concentrate.  Sometimes, they try out weapons that bruise and burn us.  Sometimes they seem to take biopsies which leave us with “scoop marks” or divots in our skin.  I’ve even woken with a healed scar on my neck that a medical professional assumed was from thyroid surgery.  I wonder.  And then there’s the injection bruises – I began to watch for those and for a long period of time found two each week, like clockwork, most with accompanying exhaustion to some degree.

I seem to be used as a guinea pig for a lot of electronics lately, hearing tones a lot, having strange tones come out of my TV, and hearing strange things on the phone, liked a human voice speeded up on my answering machine, and taped recordings giving directions to “re-record.”

I woke once with a tunnel in my skin on my left scapula where I’d long believed a malfunctioning implant had been because it always itched terribly and I’d developed a strange, 4″ wide bruise that radiated off to one side and had been there for over a year, which no doctor could say what it was.  The same morning the tunnel appeared, letting me assume they’re removed it, a new hypersensitive spot was tingling higher on my shoulder and continues to this day, years later.  Indeed, the year-old bruise did fade over the course of the next month.

Everything in the world today is “infiltrated” with people who’ll do things like this to some people.  Some say the actors are demonic, others alien, agents of Archons – all sorts of theories or language is used to talk about this phenomenon.  But most people understand it’s managed by someone inside government intelligence agencies.  And their Gang members are everywhere, even in spiritual communities, somehow recruited into this work.

Victims are everywhere too.  Suffering silently, because no one wants to believe this.  I know it’s hard to believe, sometimes even when it happens to you.  But it keeps happening, and goes on for years, and decades.  Then you finally discover there’s a name for it!  And  there are many people scattered around the nation who tell you you’re not the only one, you’re not crazy, and it’s also happening to them.  Bitter comfort.

And then we’re told the rules:  Don’t tell the police.  Don’t tell your doctor.  (I erred there – my propensity for telling the truth.)  If you tell, others warn, they’ll call you crazy and lock you up.  I’ve been called delusional – but only by one doctor who is probably involved.  Thank God that many other doctors around the nation, who know me personally or have read my accounts in full, concur that I’m suffering from something very real, and it’s not in my mind.

One good thing about it, at least for me:  It makes me look beyond this plane and align myself with energies of the cosmos, rather than Earth.  And it usually only affects me for maybe a quarter of my time, so with the rest of my life I can pull myself together and do my best to keep contributing to a better world.

Who read this book?  The Majus, by John Fowles.

I read it back in the late 80s, I think, and it totally freaked me out.  It was a creepy, terrifying “thriller,” set on an idyllic island, experienced by a couple expecting to have a luxurious vacation in nature.

Instead, they are terrorized in bizarre ways, with circumstances that surprise, never hurt, imply extreme danger, hint at numbers of people who are never see; they are separated from each other, and the quiet horror goes on and on and on and on… until the end, when they are miraculously led out.

Written in 1985.  Sounds like gang stalking.  I hated it and couldn’t understand why anyone would write something so sick.  Maybe he wrote it because he knew it was being planned.

This guy surprised me quite a few times by talking about things I’ve never heard anyone else talk about – but I’ve experienced.  He’s fearless.

Now, after 18:00, he lost me once, with an explanation that included a mention of being locked up for a mental illness.  Aye!

I know that can happen to the best of us, but coming right when I was having a hard time following – was sorta funny.

We all know that the best disinformation is embedded in truth, of course, so we must always judge every part of everything we’re told, as well as everything we think.

And just before 34:00 he begins about the Nazi agenda of eugenics.  Says it very well, but I don’t want to believe it exactly that way.  I do believe a sorting (“harvest”?) is coming up, though.  This helps us consider how serious this is, but ultimately, this materialistic, political, exo-political view is only part of the multi-dimensional/spiritual picture.

Focusing too much on the enemy may be a type of psychic entrainment, so it may behoove us to pretend not to notice or care.  Hmmmm….

Enjoy.  Educate!

From John Hall’s book, about electronic harassment of targeted individuals:

Two startling facts are apparent when one reviews the literature on schizophrenia and its associated auditory hallucinations [AH].  The same holds true for AH secondary to psychosis (non-schizophrenic) and delusional disorder.

    It is almost as if it is pre-assumed that hearing voices at all, regardless of their content, is a symptom of mental illness.  … Secondarily, there is absolutely no mention in any of the psychiatric studies of the possibility  that technology exists to place voices in one’s head.  One would assume that, with psychiatrists at the helm of the early mind control studies, there would be at least a suggestion that we now have the technology to reproduce the symptoms of schizophrenia.

    Thousands of people are currently voicing just that complaint.  Individuals, many of them professionals with no history of mental illness, are complaining of hearing voices.  The number of these complaints far exceeds the published percentages of schizophrenia and delusional disorder as a percentage of the total population.

    It is my opinion that many of the people complaining of auditory harassment may indeed be victims of harassment technology and not a mental disease.  I find it highly unlikely that large groups of schizophrenics voicing similar complaints would be corresponding with each other over the internet looking for answer to their dilemma.

    However, that is exactly what is happening!  [editorial correction:  large groups of people, not schizophrenics, are voicing complaints.]

    So, does the technology exist to place voices in one’s head or surroundings that only they can hear, mimicking the symptoms of mental illness?  The literature indeed does illustrate the fact that such technology exists.

    So why does the psychiatric community refuse to consider technologic harassment as an etiology of auditory hallucinations…?

I just happened to buy this book, Guinea Pigs:  Technologies of Control and had it delivered last week.…

and today Eve Lorgen sent this link in her email newsletter – an interview with the author, John Hall, M.D.

The first five minutes is a wonderfully succinct introduction – much appreciated.

Within the first 15:00, he describes electronic protection I’d never heard of!  Yeah!  I’m going to go look for it next.

At 16:00, he talks about the threat of mental illness diagnosis, and how the medical industry helps cover their tracks by slapping us with false diagnoses.  I know.

Okay, on with the show.  This is a good one.

Most days, I wake up feeling fine, like this.  And I go about my day, being productive, visiting with friends, taking care of the house and the garden, writing, and thinking, “I could get a job.”

Some days, though, I wake up feeling like Hell, like last week when I could only assume “They” had taken me in the night for some use I can only guess at and either drugged or electroshocked me to assure my amnesia – and, no, I don’t drink alcohol anymore, so this is no hangover that I created.

Unfortunately this was a day that I’d promised to work with a friend on a natural plaster sculpture I was helping her create.  I called to tell her I felt like hell and took the picture so she’d know I was serious.

I usually feel poisoned for at least a day after something like this, though the longest was thirteen days.

During these events, I can hardly keep myself fed much less do anything else – and these events usually happen at least twice a month, and they’ve been getting more and more frequent in the last five years.

And now that I’ve kicked out my housemate/handler (three months ago), I have no one to cook for me when I’m like this, and my finances don’t even come close to being enough for me to keep my house.

“donut bruise” – one of two in two weeks

Friends and family encourage me that I can work, but my last semester teaching English at the university, I had a hard time like this once and went to class with a What-the-Hell attitude and told my students I was a mind control subject, and sometimes they fuck with me like this!

Freaked out the kids, and I decided I didn’t trust myself to teach anymore.  And I haven’t – though I love teaching, and when I’m well, I know I’m a good teacher.

I’ve been praying and brainstorming how I can make a living when I have no idea when these events will happen to me – this week?  next week?

In any case, I work as fast as I can when I feel well, because I never know when I’ll be hit and unable, for a day or days, to shop, cook, water, take care of finances, anything.  My finances seem as though they’ll hit the wall very soon, so I’m paying for utilities and everything now with credit cards.

mystery burn on back of neck

And no one wants to acknowledge it – especially not family.

Very lonely.

Very cruel, and very ignorant, I think.

American ignorance:  This sort of thing does NOT happen in America – even though it’s very well documented, it just doesn’t.  So buck up.

Okay, I’m getting back to productive work now, and I’ll probably be cheerful and friendly at the coop today, or whenever I next go out.  [Happy-face Smile!]

After all, it is a beautiful spring day.
The spring’s first roses are at the front gate, and the salvia is blooming at the front door.

Did I choose my birthdate and time to come into this life on Earth?  Or did someone or something else?  Or was it an accident, without meaning except whatever I or someone else assign it?

The date was July 7, 1952 − 52 adding up to 7, July the 7th month, making three 7’s if you like number games as I do.  Maybe it’s meaningless.  It was also a full moon.  And a Monday.  And it was smack in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child, ruled by the Moon.  I didn’t realize all these moons and sevens until I was in my 50s, dabbling in astrology for about a month before tiring of it.  A moon phase chart on a NASA or Navy website shows that the Moon was precisely “full” at 4:33 that morning, and I was born at 4:25, just 8 minutes earlier.  With 1,440 minutes in a day, eight minutes is about 5/1,000ths of that, 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection, pretty dang close.  (And I wonder if the full moon times on that site are when the Moon is most perfectly opposite the Sun relative to Earth, or if it’s when it appears that way from Earth, which is actually 8 minutes later, since that’s the time it takes for the Sun’s light to strike the Earth – in which case I was born with even more eerie precision during the absolute fullness – for whatever that’s worth.  Of course, there were children born all over the planet at that time, so I know it doesn’t make me special.  But it’s interesting.

Not long after that discovery, I learned that July and August that year were the two highest months of UFO activity ever recorded in world history; it was 5 days after my birth that UFO’s cruised over the White House and made that cover of LIFE Magazine a classic.  When I learned of this, not long after I learned of the 3 sevens and 3 moons, my friends and I locked eyes together and said, “Oooo-eeee-ooooh.”

My father’s father was a veterinarian when my father grew up in Hollywood, California.  My grandfather took care of the pets of many of the stars, and was the veterinarian of Rin Tin Tin.  And people like Jack Webb (Sgt. Joe Friday [“Just the facts, Ma’am”] on Dragnet) was a fine cartoonist before he became an actor, and was a regular guest at my father’s home, leaving behind a few large, colored cartoons about times in my father’s family’s home, especially around the pool table.  The family home had a large atrium in the center looking up to a second-story balustrade that circled the atrium with access to the many bedrooms.  When my father was in high school, he bought a car identical to the school principal’s, one of the nicest cars in town.  My grandfather was a 33rd degree Mason.

My mother’s mother had been an itinerant farm worker alongside her itinerant construction worker husband during the Great Depression.  When he was killed in a construction accident, she had two young daughters, age 8 and 9 to raise.  With help from her Mormon family, she rented an ice cream kiosk on the streets of Phoenix and later Riverside, California, and then Van Nuys, California.  Her great success in this business was attributed to her baking:  she woke early every morning to bake pies and fresh bread, then offered, besides just ice cream, pie and sandwiches on fresh bread – which sold out every day.  Soon she was offered another business proposition.  Local bankers had an empty building and a vision they asked her to fulfill:  To create a restaurant with indoor and outdoor dining, a conference room, and a walk-up window for selling pies.  For the next 25 years, she managed almost the same staff from the day she opened until the day she closed, and I remember the line out the door at lunchtime, and the line down the sidewalk for the pies. 

Dig the men all seated and the women all standing to serve.

Her restaurant was the meeting place for the Chamber of Commerce and all the movers and shakers.  I remember a man, Mr. Hyman, who came every single day at lunch – very interesting, because that’s a time few restaurant owners leave if they can avoid it – but he came every day, and she would break off her words mid-sentence as soon as he appeared in the door, and immediately rise to go take a walk with him.  One day while visiting on vacation, my mother hauled me up quickly to walk with my grandmother to meet him, but he was totally uninterested and simply walked away with my grandmother.  “Every day,” my mother told me, “he walks with her, and she has never told anyone what he says.  I assume it’s about business, but he sure has a brusque manner, and they never miss a day.”  Today I believe that my grandmother might have been a very early mind control subject – yes, mind control was being practiced even before the late 40’s – but I’m getting ahead of my story.

My first memory is of our apartment in student housing on the campus of UC Davis.  The memory I should never have told anyone, as it is of my mother expressing extreme frustration, throwing down her spatula beside the stove and walking out the door with the words, “I’m leaving and I’m not coming back!”  Lots of young mothers, isolated in America’s nuclear family, were frustrated and would become addicted to Valium, soap operas, and such.  I remember my mother taking lots of naps and my being responsible for keeping younger siblings out of trouble.  Quite the job for a five year old, and I grew up with an authoritative speaking voice and strong sense of responsibility.  The evening I couldn’t stop my sister from jumping off the bathtub edge into the tub, slipping, of course, and hitting her eyebrow on the metal soap dish protruding from the wall, from which she arose screaming with blood pouring down her face, I was terrified that I was going to be serious trouble.  I remember no trouble to me personally, though my sister was taken to the hospital for stitches, but I remember the terror of thinking I’d face it for having failed terribly at my duty.  I was ever after vigilant about fulfilling my duties completely, still today part of my neuroses.  A decade or so ago, I learned that UC Davis was one of the sites of CIA experiments in mind control, under the guise of Human Ecology – where I lived the first 14 months of my life.

From the time I was old enough to say my name, I’ve been asked if I was related to “the President.”  When I was a child, he was The President, but even afterward, he was still “The President” when the name Eisenhower was mentioned.  I used to say Yes, and people would ask what the relation was, and when I said he was my father’s second cousin, people would clearly show their disappointment that second cousin wasn’t all that close.  So I learned to say, “Not close,” and they’d ask, “How close?” or “Do you know the relation?” and I’d answer, “He’s my father’s second cousin,” and they’d respond with delight, “Oh, that’s close!”  Whatever.  One day someone told me that Ike and Mamie “always” visit Scottsdale, where we lived from the time I was 9 till 18, and they were visiting that very weekend, so this person wanted to know if our families ever got together.  It was a shock to realize that this somewhat close relation had never, to my knowledge, ever acknowledged us; I tried not to be hurt by this information, justifying that a President must limit how many people can get close to him.

Every child thinks that their life is normal, so I never questioned that, at age 5, I had to have my straight hair permed like Shirley Temple’s, and my nails filed into perfect arcs – long enough to “see them on the other side!” the other little girls on the preschool playground noticed.  I thought that was the only way I was different until the day a little boy jumped up in preschool at the announcement that we’d have tomato juice at break time:  “I don’t like tomato juice!” he shouted, gleeful at the attention he’d attracted.  With those words, my whole worldview was struck by lightning, and I fully expected God or at least the teachers to respond to this child who had an opinion contrary to whatever the adults had decided.  I’d never known a child could assert himself about things like this.  I stared, frozen, waiting for the terrible reaction I was certain must come, but there was none.  This stuck in my memory as one of the most shocking events of my young life – at least those I remember.

There’s a lot I remember of my childhood – hundreds of events, I estimate, from my early years:  caring for siblings, learning to embroider and crochet before kindergarten, learning to read, relatives visiting, holidays, different homes, yards, driveways, flower beds, preschool events, neighbors, entertaining myself alone, the escapades and fights of my siblings, watching and envying the children who walked to school outside our picture window, and finally a dozen or more memories of kindergarten, where all the work was easy, even though I was one of the youngest in class, and I was asked by the teacher to help the other children who were slower, and I enjoyed that.

After kindergarten, I remember almost nothing until 3rd grade.  And one of those memories is weird – about painting a tree blown over at 45 degrees, edged with black, with black storm clouds, black wind and black leaves blowing by.  I suspect it’s related to a train trip I took with my mother at about that age.  It  was just we two, leaving my father alone with three children between 0 and 3 – I can’t explain that, unless it was a very special event which no one has ever talked about.  I asked my mother recently why we took that train trip and where; she answered as if lying: her voice went high as if it was totally insignificant that we went to see my aunt in New Mexico.  Why, she never said.  By then I’d learned not to ask too many questions about my childhood, because most of the time, I’d be asked in return, “Why do you ask?” I gathered that it was something my mother didn’t want to talk about.  (My father almost never spoke to me that I recall, except to say “Smile!” while taking holiday photos.)  I felt fortunate to glean as much as I did.

Other disturbing things I recall might be related to my two years of amnesia, or maybe they’re not:  nightmares and weird sexual dreams, even at a very young age.  One nightmare had my father dressed all in black with a black top hat, sitting atop a black carriage, whipping the black horses as we bounced along in the night, pulling behind us a circus caravan of train cars filled with wild animals.  He whipped the horses to go faster and faster, even though the road was bumpy and it was night.  Suddenly, the cars all bounced apart and some tipped over, and I found myself alone in the dark woods, in danger of being eaten alive.  Another memorable dream was of Porky Pig on stage at the end of the cartoon, and just before the curtain closed, he pulled down his pants and showed his female naked pudendum – and I was mortified and woke in a panic.

One day, I found myself in the back seat of a sedan between two men, with two more in front, all in khaki uniforms with short military haircuts, which I stared at for awhile.  The car had a “two-tone aqua-marine” interior (why do I even remember that phrase?), and I was nearly out of my body with emotions I could not name, but I tried and said things to myself like, “They lied.  It wasn’t what they told me.”  But I wasn’t just confused; I was enraged, almost out of my body, with a sense of betrayal, for which I had no words.  Someone had given me a wind-up toy, a pressed-tin beagle dog, painted brown, black, and white, with sad eyes, and a crank on the side and a music box inside that played, “How Much is that Doggie in the Window?”  When the men dropped me off in front of my home, it was another disorienting experience.  I’d never been dropped off there; until then, friends and family had always come in the driveway, and we all entered the kitchen door.  But here I was, being dropped off alone at the front.  It felt surreal to climb out the car alone with my dog while one man held open the door; then I stepped up onto the curb, then into the squishy grass of the easement, then to the sturdy sidewalk again and up the front walk to open the front door.  Later my mother would say this never happened.  “I’ve always said you have a vivid imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memory,” she would say – a few key times in my life.  I never heard her say it of my siblings.  But she would say it to me at strange times, even when I had evidence, and even when the thing I remembered seemed insignificant, or easily provable, so that I didn’t know why she would choose to assert that I was wrong.

One of those times was when I remembered the student housing apartment at UC Davis.  I had drawn a floor plan, and told her there was a clouded glass window next to the front door, right opposite the tiny kitchen.  Between the kitchen and the living room, the line between the linoleum and carpet was at an angle, and a red chair stood at an angle against the nearest wall, leaving a crevice on one side where a small child could squeeze in.  I got this far in my description when I saw my mother’s face had fallen into an expression of distress, when she stubbornly and with finality said, “You couldn’t remember that – you were only 14 months old when we moved from there.”  She hadn’t said the apartment wasn’t like that, only that I couldn’t remember.  “But, Mom,” I responded, “you just pointed to my floor plan and implied I’d drawn it correctly.”  With that, her face trembled, and she looked into the space above my head and rose from the table and stood looking out the window.  Then, in a sing-song voice she said words that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck:  “I’ve always said you had a vivid imagination, and you mixed up your dreams with memories.”  That sing-song voice, I realized, I heard only a few times in my life, and always in a situation like this, and those same words.

When I was seven, right in the middle of my two years of amnesia, I remember driving to Van Nuys with the entire family and being left “for awhile” with my grandmother and aunt, even though they both worked full-time in the restaurant.  I “helped” my aunt, and watched her type up the daily specials, four groupings of words, all centered in one quarter of the page, each line centered according to a formula she explained to me, of counting the letters in a line and backspacing from a particular point half that number (I loved it!).  She used a brown typewriter ribbon and two sheets of brown carbon paper to get three copies of each page of four, which she cut into twelve quarters before starting on another twelve – and did that every day.  I’d only seen black ribbon and black carbon paper before, and I asked about the brown, to which my aunt responded proudly that they always did things special at the restaurant.  Indeed they did.  It was known for home-cooked food, “not just whatever can be thrown on a grill” as my mother put it, with a tone of pride.  My favorite lunch was the “finger sandwiches” with fruit salad.  The staff made egg salad, tuna salad and chicken salad sandwiches, on fresh-baked white bread, trimmed off the crust, and cut them into thirds, serving one of each on a large plate.  On the side was the beautifully dramatic fruit salad – fresh fruit tossed with whipped cream, heaped fluffy and high on the plate with a wedge of pineapple standing up from the center like a feather on a fancy lady’s hat.  It was the most elegant meal, and I was always proud to order it.

I watched my aunt change out the bar of soap that went into the grinding dispenser in the restroom.  I was very happy attending my aunt that summer and intrigued by all the inventions of the world and all the things there were to learn, liking counting letters to center typing.  I also learned that summer how to use the cash register and make change, so when the restaurant wasn’t busy, my aunt stood beside me while I punched the beautiful cash register keys:  each with a clear bold number on top inside a silver circle frame, ten in a column, from 9 down to 0, repeated in five perfect columns, the dollars in brown and the cents in cream, for tallying numbers from $.01 to $999.99, easy to understand.  It was easy to punch in the customer’s totals from their receipt, punch in the tax, hit Total, and announce the amount almost as quickly as the adult could.  I also learned to make change: starting with the total, take pennies to add up to the nearest number that ends with a five or zero, add nickels or dimes to get to the nearest quarter, and add quarters to get to the nearest dollar, and add dollars to get to whatever bills they’d given me.  Then repeat the counting in the customer’s hand.  Customers never failed to exclaim their surprise and ask me how old I was.  “Seven,” I said proudly.

I have no memory of my family returning to get me that summer.  Maybe I was returned by the men in the sedan.  Or may it was later when I remember waking up at home, absolutely thrilled, and feeling as though I’d been sleeping “for a very long time!” – which is exactly what I told my mother when I ran to her in the kitchen.  “I’m awake!  I’m awake!  And I’ve been asleep for a long, long time!”  I saw the look on her face, and felt she was as surprised and happy as I was, but I could also see she was startled by my exclamation, and immediately denied it.  I saw again the thing I was trained to ignore, and I said nothing about it: her lying.  “No, you were only asleep for the night,” she said, but she said it with “that voice” I knew, and she wasn’t looking at me.  I didn’t understand it, but at least I was home again.

Within a few months, we’d move from our tiny pink stucco bungalow into a large custom home in an exclusive neighborhood where Stuart Udall, Secretary of the Interior of the United States, and a Mormon, had a “second home,” on a lot that abutted our lot, or very nearly.  His cousin, Addison Udall, was my pediatrician.  They would both come to our Christmas party that year, and when I told my doctor at the party that my father gave me “my boosters” (very unlikely, so the question remains: what was he giving me?), the doctor and my father exchanged silent glances I’ve never forgotten, my doctor’s surprise, my father’s dread, my doctor’s evil stare toward my father.  I could be reading something into this entirely wrong, but I think that moment abruptly changed our family life.  By the end of the school year, when we’d been in the house less than eight months, and I know my mother loved it, we’d sell it and move to Paradise Valley, Arizona, by way of Phoenix, which seemed like the worst place in the world to live.

2015 was a big year for someone (CIA?  FBI?  other mind controllers?) leaving marks on my body while they do who-knows-what.  I assume I’m being used as a guinea pig for drugs, electronic weapons and stun/amnesia devices, and who knows what else.

Not “just” bruises and constant injection bruises, but scoops, gouges, punctures, and burns, not to mention amnesia/missing time and absolute exhaustion.  Here are photos of some of my year:

[skipping many bruises and other marks that probably look unimpressive, but were still mysterious and suspicious, especially in conjunction with other mysteries]

On June 25, I woke with my third “donut” bruise (the others in 2014) – this time just above the back of my knee:

On June 30, 2015, I woke with this burn on the back of my neck.

Two days later, it looked like this:

In November, I woke with these two dots under my jaw.  (I also woke with two dots on my neck in February, but didn’t get a good photo.)  These double puncture/dots have become common now.

In just the second half of 2015, I also experienced 39 days of mysterious absolute exhaustion, usually combined with bruises and cuts, twice with the certainty that “something happened to me last night,” a puncture wound to my left thigh, many unexplained bruises, cuts, gouges, vaginal and anal irritation, and other unexplained skin damage, hypersensitivity, itching, numbness (all unexplained by my known activities), and many days of heart palpitations and high pulse rate, and a heart attack in August.

I don’t know how to stop them.  I’ve tried to stop posting, as I thought there was a correlation, but I’m not sure, so I’m still posting….

“We believed that the record, incomplete as it was, was as complete as it was going to be.  Then one individual, through a Freedom of Information request, accomplished what two U.S. Senate committees could not.  He spurred the agency into finding additional records pertaining to the CIA’s program of experimentation with human subjects.  These new records were discovered by the agency in march.  Their existence was not make known to the Congress until July.

“The records reveal a far more extensive series of experiments than had previously been thought.  Eighty-six universities or institutions were involved.  New instances of unethical behavior were revealed.  The intelligence community of this Nation, which requires a shroud of secrecy in order to operate, has a very sacred trust from the American people.  The CIA’s program of human experimentation of the fifties and sixties violated that trust.  It was violated again on the day the bulk of the agency’s records were destroyed in 1973.  It is violated each time a responsible official refuses to recollect the details of the program.  The best safeguard against abuses in the future is a complete public accounting of the abuses of the past.”

— from the MKULTRA Hearings and Documents, PROJECT MKULTRA, THE CIA’S PROGRAM OF RESEARCH IN BEHAVIORAL MODIFICATION, testimony, Wednesday, August 3, 1977, to the U.S. Senate, Select Committee on Intelligence and Subcommittee on Health and Scientific Research of the Committee on Human Resources

We’re still waiting for a complete accounting.