by Mark Phillips
My name is Marquart (Mark) Ewing Phillips, born May 17, 1943 in Nashville, Tennessee. I have no criminal record and I have never been adjudged insane. I am not a scholar, professional writer, or mental health physician. While I lack the official published academic credentials, I am recognized internationally by mental health and law enforcement professionals as an authority on the secret science concerning external control of the mind.
The purpose of Part I of this book is to document how this reputation was gained. This brief and highly condensed contribution is intended to provide an understanding of why, when, and where I embarked on a study of the most secret technology known to man: Trauma-based mind control. Through the publication of declassified United States Government documents, our U.S. Department of Defense (DOD) admits that this ancient wizard’s mechanism for control is so dangerous that most information pertaining to it must remain classified as TOP SECRET. As the employee of a DOD subcontractor with exposure to mind-control research, I was required to sign an oath of secrecy. To this day I am restricted by law from revealing certain specific information that directly pertained to my employment as, among other “sensitive” exposures, a U.S. DOD subcontractor in mind-control research.
This super secret technology is an evolved system of remote human physical and psychological manipulation that has only recently been officially recognized by accredited mental health physicians for what it is, absolute mind control.
My first encounter with mind-control research began in the late 1960s in Atlanta, Georgia on the Emory University campus at the Yerkes Primate Center. It was there that I learned about primate behavior modification–the basis for human mind control. Part I of this book is my attempt to impart an understanding of how this and other exposures would prepare me for the challenge of a lifetime.
What I witnessed, in terms of technology, at the Yerkes Primate Center and other government sponsored research facilities, combined with years of personal research into this science of mind manipulation, did not adequately prepare me for what I would be exposed to in 1988 through an unexpected chain of events. This exposure came in the form of personal acquaintance with the human results officially entitled by DOD as, among other cryptic file titles, MK-Ultra.(1)
I have outlined this noxious introduction in hopes that the material provided by one MK-Ultra survivor, Cathy O’Brien, will incite a legitimate federal investigation of her claims.
I was able to liberate MK-Ultra victims, Cathy O’Brien and her daughter, Kelly, from the invisible grip of this U.S. Government secret weapon of control. In the process, I also helped Cathy recover her mental and physical health. However, I have not been successful in enlisting the cooperation of my government to pursue the justice issue. There is a reason for this failure to obtain justice that you, the reader, NEED TO KNOW. I have been told repeatedly, “Justice is not obtainable, For Reasons Of National Security.”
This book is primarily the autobiography of Cathy O’Brien, who did not volunteer for service to her country, but was used her entire life against her innate, voluntary will for perpetuating criminal activity by many so-called leaders within the U.S. Government. These “treasonous leaders” did volunteer for political “service” to our country. They must be held accountable for their actions.
Together, Cathy and I have dedicated our lives to the pursuit of justice and rehabilitation for her and Kelly. All avenues for justice and rehabilitative relief have been blocked For Reasons Of National Security. The question arises, whose security? Cathy O’Brien provides the logical answer. Perhaps after reading this work, you will inspire others to read it. Collectively, as patriots, we can make a positive difference for Cathy and Kelly, our government, and humanity, by having our voices heard. In my opinion, our great United States Constitution does not need to be amended it needs to be enforced.
The grim reality we must all embrace is that there is, in human terms, no justice, and no revenge adequate to equal what these two, and many other victims of this U.S. Government secret weapon experienced. The only. remaining remnant of opportunity for justice for these survivors would be derived from a public forum expose of what they experienced. What these survivors need to witness is the mass dissemination of their story and a radical, positive change in their government’s management of secrets. This would be an acceptable, though belated, substitute for justice. Their hope lies in the belief that…
’Truth lives a wretched life, but always survives a lie.”
(1) Weinstein, Harvey M., M.D., Psychiatry and the CIA.- Victims Of Mind Control, American Psychiatric Press, 1990.
My name is Cathleen (Cathy) Ann O’Brien, born 12/4/57 in Muskegon, Michigan. I have prepared this book for your review and edification concerning a little known tool that “our” United States Government is covertly, illegally, and un-constitutionally using to implement the New World Order (One World Government). This well documented tool is a sophisticated and advanced form of behavior modification (brainwashing) most commonly known as MIND CONTROL. My first hand knowledge of this TOP SECRET U.S. Government Psychological Warfare technique is drawn from my personal experience as a White House “Presidential Model” mind-control slave.
Much of the information enclosed herein has been corroborated and validated through brave and courageous “clean” members of the law enforcement, scientific, and Intelligence communities familiar with this case. These individuals’ efforts helped me to understand and corroborate what happened after a lifetime of systematic physical and psychological torture orchestrated to modify my behavior through totally controlling my mind. Some of these courageous individuals are employed by the very system that controlled me and live in fear of losing their jobs, their families, or their lives.
They have gone as far as they dare towards publicly exposing this tool of the engineers of the New World Order–to no avail. This book is a grassroots effort to solicit and enlist the public and private support of Human Rights advocates, the recognized, respected doers in America to expose this invisible personal and social menace. This can be done by well organized, cooperative citizens with a passion for justice, who have expressed interest in restoring our Constitution and taking back America. This copy you hold is for your edification and action.
While these pages have been condensed for your quick perusal, there are literally thousands of files of documentation that support much of what I am reporting. Thanks to those dedicated individuals who found a means of manipulating the system more cleverly than the perpetrators, the documents referred to were declassified for release right at the source!
It is my patriotic respect for the principles of truth, justice, and ultimately that freedom on which America was founded that compels me to expose the world domination motivations of those in control of our government, commonly referred to as the Shadow Government. By taking back America NOW, we can maintain the integrity of our country’s history and future by detouring its destined course of being recognized world wide for the mind-control atrocities unleashed on humanity that literally begin where Adolph Hitler left off. Hitler’s version of world domination that he termed in 1939 the “New World Order” is currently being implemented through advanced technologies in, among others, genetic mind-control engineering by those in control of America.
Senator Daniel Inouye, (D. HI) commented about the operations of this secret government before a Senate Subcommittee and described it well as,
“…a shadowy government with its own Air Force, its own Navy, its own fund raising mechanism, and the ability to pursue its own ideas of ’national interest’, free from all checks and balances and free from the law itself.”
The expertise of my primary advocate and skilled deprogrammer, Mark Phillips, developed through his U.S. Defense Department knowledge of “Top Secret” mind-control research and researchers, was responsible for the restoration of my mind to normal functioning. As a result, I have recovered the memories related in this text, and having survived the ordeal, have reached this point of enormous frustration. In 1988, through a series of brilliantly orchestrated events, Mark Phillips rescued me and my 8-year-old daughter, Kelly, from out mind-controlled existence and took us to the safety of Alaska for rehabilitation. It was there that we began the tedious process of untangling my amnesiac mind to consciously recall what I was supposed to forget.
Many U.S. and foreign government secrets and personal reputations were staked on the belief that I could not be deprogrammed and rehabilitated to accurately reveal the criminal covert activities and perversions in which Kelly and I were forced to participate, particularly during the Reagan/Bush Administrations. Now that I have gained control of my own mind, I view it as my duty as a mother and American patriot to exercise my gained free will to expose the mind-control atrocities that my daughter and I endured at the hands of those in control of our government. This personal view of inside Pandora’s Box includes a keen perception of how mind control is being used to apparently implement the New World Order, and a personal knowledge of WHO some of the so-called “masterminds” are behind this world and mind dominance effort.
Most Americans old enough to remember recall exactly where they were and what they were doing when President John F. Kennedy was shot. His assassination traumatized the nation and provides an example of how the human mind photographically records events surrounding trauma. The traumas I routinely endured during my mind-controlled victimization provided me the latitude to recover my memory in the photographic detail in which it was recorded. The direct quotes I have included in the following pages depicting carefully selected events, are verbatim. I apologize for any obscenities quoted, but this was necessary to maintain the integrity of the statements and accurately reflect the character of the speaker(s).
While I am free to speak my mind, Kelly, now 15, is not so fortunate. Kelly has yet to receive rehabilitation for her shattered personality and programmed young mind. The high tech sophistication of the Project Monarch trauma-based mind-control procedures she endured, literally since birth, reportedly requires highly specialized, qualified care to aid her in eventually gaining control of her mind and life. Due to the political power of our abusers, all efforts to obtain her inalienable right to rehabilitation and seek justice have been blocked under the guise of so-called “National Security“.
As a result, Kelly remains untreated in the custody of the State of Tennessee–a victim of the system–a system controlled and manipulated by our abusive government “leaders”–a system where State Forms make no allowances to report military TOP SECRET abuses–a system which exists due to federal funding directed by Our perverse, corrupt abusers in Washington, D.C. She remains a political prisoner in the custody of the State of Tennessee to this moment, waiting and hurting!
Violations of laws and rights, Psychological Warfare intimidation tactics, threats to our lives, and various other forms of CIA Damage Containment practices thus far have remained unhindered and unchecked due to the National Security Act of 1947 AND the 1986 Reagan Amendment to same which allows those in control of our government to censor and/or cover-up anything they choose. Now, with our country free from outside threats as a result of the fall of the Soviet Union, our “free press” is reportedly no longer encumbered by censorship. This fact alone should free us to pursue justice, but it has not. Please ask why.
Hence the purpose of releasing this book at this time. After five long years of being unjustly and painfully separated from my daughter, while our abusers have had full access to her through a corrupt and manipulated system, it is my fervent hope and intent to solicit help from you in the form of advice, expertise, and public outcry concerning this very solvable problem.
I could not prevent the traumatic mind-control abuses Kelly endured due to my own victimization, yet she is depending on me now to expose the truth and enlist the help that the Juvenile Court has restrained her from seeking. I dedicate this book to Kelly, and all others like her, and to every American unaware of the mind-control atrocities prevailing in this country. What Americans don’t know is destroying them from the inside out.
Knowledge is our only defense against mind control. It is time to WAKE UP and arm ourselves with the truth, restore the constitutional values of freedom and justice for all, to retroactively enforce the 13th Amendment, and take back America!
MY INTRODUCTION TO HUMANITY
My pedophile father, Earl O’Brien, brags that he began substituting his penis for my mother’s nipple soon after I was born. My multigenerational incest-abused mother, Carol Tanis, did not protest his perverse actions due to (reportedly) having similar abuse as a child which caused her to acquire Multiple Personality Disorder.(1) My earliest recovered memory was that I could not breathe with my father’s penis jammed into my little throat. Yet I could not discern his semen from my mother’s milk. I do not recall thinking, but I am aware through education that this early sexual abuse distorted my primitive concepts of feeding, breathing, sexuality, and parental perceptions.
I recall as a toddler being unable to run (I could barely walk) to my mother for help as my instincts demanded. Through my gulping sobs, my terror rose as I tried to clear my throat of my father’s semen and draw a breath of air. My mother finally arrived at my side. Rather than comfort me, she accused me of throwing a temper tantrum and “holding my breath”. She responded only by throwing a glass of cold water in my face. I was shocked! As the water splashed my face, I knew she would not help and it was up to me to save myself. I automatically Multiple Personality Disordered. I was, of course, too young to logically understand that what my father was doing to me was wrong.
I accepted his strangling sexual abuse as a normal and natural part of my home life, and split off a personality to deal with the pain and suffocation to satisfy his perversions. Therefore as a child, I was dissociative of my father’s abuse. I was totally unable to recall his sexual abuse, even in his presence, until I saw and felt his penis. Then the terror, which was my conditioned response, triggered access to that part of my brain that previously endured the trauma. I was remembering the abuse and how to deal with it. This part of my brain developed into a personality of its own–which belonged to my father–which he rented out and later sold to the U.S. Government as will be explained and detailed in the following pages.
Other parts of my conditioned mind dealt with other abusers, abuses and circumstances. My father was (as revealed by my own investigations) apparently a multigenerational incest child from a large, poor, and horribly dysfunctional family. His mother earned a living as a prostitute for local lumbermen after his father died when he was two years old. My father’s brothers and sister were all sexually and (occult) ritually abused just as he was. They grew up to be drug addicts, prostitutes, street derelicts, and pedophiles who also sexually abused me and my brothers and sisters. I developed more personality splits to deal with the traumas of these torturous relationships.
My mother’s dysfunctional family also appears to be multigenerational, but of a slightly higher socio-economic class. Her father owned the building occupied by a Masonic Blue Lodge he led, and managed a local beer distribution business with her mother after completing his military career. Together they sexually abused my mother and her three brothers, who in turn sexually abused me.
My family often went camping on the vast wilderness acreage surrounding my grandfather’s Masonic Lodge in Newaygo, Michigan. Large bluffs referred to as “The High Banks” overlooked the White River flowing through his property, which is where we pitched our tents. My mother’s brothers, Uncle Ted and Uncle Arthur “Bomber” Tanis, often accompanied us and sexually abused my brother and me.
It was deer hunting season in or around November, 1961, when my father took the family camping on The High Banks to hunt with my uncles. That night, as my brother and I were being sexually passed around the campfire to satisfy pedophile perversions, a lost hunter stumbled into our camp. My father shot him when he attempted to run; the rifle’s blasts piercing my brain and further fragmenting my mind. I sat dazed in a dissociative trance while my mother methodically picked up the campsite and my father and uncles disposed of the body.
As my father drove us away from the crime scene, we were stopped by several hunters who had the road blocked in a desperate attempt to locate their missing companion. They described the man I saw my father kill, and said they heard gunshots. Reality intruded on my dissociative trance, and I screamed and cried hysterically until I no longer knew why I was crying.
My Uncle Ted(2) soon became a street derelict. Uncle Bomber died a few years later from alcoholism in his early forties. And my father became more financially and politically connected.
My mother’s oldest brother, Uncle Bob, was a pilot in Air Force Intelligence and often boasted that he worked for the Vatican. Uncle Bob was also a commercial pornographer, producing kiddie porn for the local Michigan Mafia, which looped back to Mafia porn king and U.S. Representative Jerry Ford.(3) I split off more personalities just to deal with my Uncle Bob, his “friends,” and the perverse business he shared with my father.
My father’s sixth grade education had earned him a job as a worm digger for local sport fishermen. By the time I was six years old, however, his pornographic exploitation of my older brother, Bill, and me had provided enough income to move us into a bigger house nestled in the Michigan sand dunes. My father was right at home there. The tourists and drug dealers who littered the eastern shore of Lake Michigan further supplemented his income by paying for perverse sex with us children. My father also became involved in illicit drug sales.
Soon after we moved, my father was reportedly caught sending kiddie porn through the U.S. mail. It was a bestiality film of me with my Uncle Sam O’Brien’s Boxer dog, Buster. My Uncle Bob, also implicated in manufacturing the porn, out of apparent desperation informed my father of a U.S. Government Defense Intelligence Agency TOP SECRET Project to which he was privy. This was Project Monarch. Project Monarch was a mind-control operation which was “recruiting” multigenerational incest abused children with Multiple Personality Disorder for its genetic mind-control studies. I was a prime “candidate,” a “chosen one”. My father seized the opportunity as it would provide him immunity from prosecution. In the midst of the pandemonium that ensued, Jerry Ford arrived at our house with the evidence in hand for a meeting with my father.
“Is Earl home?” he called to my mother, who nervously stood behind the screen door, hesitating to let him in.
“Not yet,” my mother replied, her voice shaking.(4) “He should have been home from work by now–I know he’s expecting you.”
“That’s OK”. Ford turned his attention to me. I was standing outside on the front porch, and he crouched down to my level. Patting the large, brown envelope containing the confiscated porn tucked under his arm he said, ’You like doggies, huh?”
“Buster is a nice doggy,” I replied. “He’s funny.” Not understanding why the dog had been whisked away when the porn was confiscated, I complained, “Buster’s gone.”
“Buster’s gone?” Ford asked.
“Yeah. My Uncle Sam took him away,” I told him. Ford laughed loudly at the irony of my statement. In my limited view, I thought he found it humorous that Buster was gone. My father pulled into the driveway, honking the horn of his new, tan convertible. Ford stood up. With his fly eye level to me, I noticed his penis was erect and reached for it as conditioned.
“Not now, honey, “he said. “I have business to tend…” Ford went inside with my parents to officially seal my fate.
Not long after that my father was flown to Boston for a two-week course at Harvard on how to raise me for this off-shoot of MK-Ultra Project Monarch.
When he returned from Boston, my father was smiling and pleased with his new knowledge of what he termed “reverse psychology”.
This equates to “satanic reversals,” and involves such play-on-words as puns and phrases that stuck in my mind like, “You earn your keep, and I’ll keep what you earn.” He presented me with a commemorative charm bracelet of dogs, and my mother with the news that they “would be having more children” to raise in the project. (I now have two sisters and four brothers ranging from age 16 to 37 who are still under mind control.) My mother complied with my father’s suggestions, mastering the art of language manipulation.
For example, when I could not snap my own pajama top to the bottoms in a childish effort to keep my father out of them, I asked my mother, “please snap me”. She did. She would snap her forefingers against my skin in a stinging manner. The pain I felt was psychological as this proved to me once again that she had no intention of protecting me from my father’s sexual abuse. Also in keeping with his government-provided instructions, my father began working me like the legendary Cinderella. I shoveled fireplace ashes, hauled and stacked firewood, raked leaves, shoveled snow, chopped ice, and swept-“because,” my father said, “your little hands fit so nicely around the rake, mop, shovel, and broom handles.”
By this time, my father’s sexual exploitation of me included prostitution to his friends, local mobsters and Masons, relatives, Satanists, strangers, and police officers. When I wasn’t being worked to physical exhaustion, filmed pornographically, prostituted, or engaged in incest abuse, I dissociated into books. I had learned to read at the young age of four due to my photographic memory which was a natural result of MPD/DID.
Government researchers involved in MK-Ultra Project Monarch knew about the photographic memory aspect of MPD/DID, of course, as well as other resultant “super human” characteristics. Visual acuity of an MPD/DID is 44 times greater than that of the average person. My developed unusually high pain threshold, plus compartmentalization of memory were ’necessary” for military and covert operations applications. Additionally, my sexuality was primitively twisted from infancy. This programming was appealing and useful to perverse politicians who believed they could hide their actions deep within my memory compartments, which clinicians refer to as personalities.
Immediately after my father’s return from Boston, I was routinely prostituted to then Michigan State Senator Guy VanderJagt. VanderJagt later became a U.S. Congressman and eventually chairman of the Republican National Congressional Committee that put George Bush in the office of President. I was prostituted to VanderJagt after numerous local parades which he always participated in, at the Mackinac Island Political Retreat, and in my home state of Michigan, among other places.
My Uncle Bob helped my father decorate my bedroom in red, white, and blue paneling and American flags. He provided assistance in scrambling my mind according to Project Monarch methodologies. Fairy tale themes were used to confuse fantasy with reality, particularly Disney stories and the Wizard 0f Oz, which provided the base for future programming.
I had personalities for pornography, a personality for bestiality, a personality for incest, a personality for withstanding the horrendous psychological abuse of my mother, a personality for prostitution, and the rest of “me” functioned somewhat “normally” at school. My “normal” personality provided a cover for the abuse I was enduring, but best of all it had hope–hope that there was somewhere in the world where people did not hurt each other. This same personality also attended Catechism, a weekly class at our Catholic church, St. Francis of Assisi in Muskegon, Michigan.
My Catechism teacher was a Nun, or ’Sister”. Although I could not consciously think to protect myself from abuse, I had decided that becoming a Nun would provide me with the kind of life I sought. I could not rely upon my family, the police, or politicians to protect me. The church appeared to be my answer, and I listened diligently in class and prayed religiously. I learned all about the political structure of the church, and was prepared for my first Confession.
The Catholic beliefs I was taught include the idea that man is not fit to talk to God (the Father) directly, but must have a priest intercede instead. This is the purpose of going to Confession. I was instructed to tell my sins to the priest (also referred to as Father), who would relay the message to God. He would then supposedly tell me how many “Hail Marys” and “Our Father” prayers to say as my penance, or punishment. My Catechism teacher gave the class several examples of “sins,” which included “sex outside of marriage”. When the Priest, Father James Thaylen, slid open the little screened partition in the closet sized confessional, I began as I had been instructed,
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned….” I then proceeded to tell him that I had sex with my father and brother, to which he responded that I should “say three Hail Marys and one Our Father and I would be forgiven?!”
I knew then that I had to either believe that this Confession thing was a hoax, or that God condoned sexual child abuse. That night, my father had a talk with me. Apparently he was the “Father” that the priest had interceded to. My father instructed me that “from now on,” I was to simply say “I disobeyed my parents” when I went to Confession and nothing more!
The next time I went to Confession, I did exactly as I was told. The veiled screen came off the Confessional partition between me and the priest, and a penis was stuck through the window. ’God said that your penance is to treat me as you would your father. And remember, ’whatsoever you do to the least of your brothers, that you do unto me’.” After performing oral sex on Father Thaylen, I emerged from the Confessional where all the other kids were waiting very impatiently for their turn.
My teacher scolded me for taking so long and told me to add a few extra “Our Fathers” to my penance. When I told her I already did my penance, she told me again the “order of things” to the Confessional ritual–which did not fit anything I had just experienced! Without ever consciously knowing why, I abandoned the idea of becoming a Nun as that part of me, too, split off from what was left of my “normal” base personality.
I continued to maintain an illusion of normalcy for school,(5) excelling in my studies due to my photographic memory and in spite of my chronic “daydreaming”. I had plenty of friends and played enthusiastically at recess, expending large amounts of energy in my subconscious effort to escape my own mind. And I lost myself in the books my father suggested I read: The Wizard 0f Oz, Alice In Wonderland, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Disney Classics, and Cinderella–all of which were used in conditioning my mind for what soon would become mind-control programming.(6)
My television viewing was restricted and monitored in keeping with my father’s gained knowledge. I was, however, permitted to watch the “best” of movies: The Wizard Of Oz, Disney Classics, Alice In Wonderland, and Cinderella–over and over and over again.
When I was in second grade, my Brownie Troop marched in the Memorial Day Parade in which then Michigan State Senator VanderJagt also participated. At the end of the parade, he took me into a nearby motel and had me perform oral sex on him before sending me back to where my Brownie Troop was waiting. My Brownie leader and peers thought it commendable that VanderJagt took me with him. They gathered around to hear all about it. I noticed a white splash of semen on my sash, and hurriedly explained that he had “taken me for a milkshake” as I wiped it away. Having to cover for his perversion to my Brownie Troop infringed on my school personality, and the “normal” remainder became even smaller.
With the memory of this incident compartmentalized in my mind, I made no conscious association to VanderJagt when my third grade teacher announced that we were taking a field trip to the State Capital in Lansing, Michigan where he was in session. Once at the Capital, I was ushered away from my classmates and taken to VanderJagt’s office where he was waiting along with his friend and mentor (soon to be President) Gerald Ford. VanderJagt lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties, and placed me on his desk for sex with him and Ford. Afterward they laughed as VanderJagt placed a small American flag in my rectum and instructed me to wave it. He then presented me with a Kennedy pen inscribed with the motto that would lead me for the rest of my mind-controlled existence,
“Ask not what your country can do for you, Ask what you can do for your country.”
VanderJagt then escorted me back to the balcony of the Legislature where my classmates were gathered. He put his arm around me in front of all my classmates and presented me with the American flag he had just had me wave for him and Ford with my rectum. My school personality split off again, but I still maintained the hope that somewhere, someday, I would find a place where people didn’t… what? I could not remember what I was seeking to escape.
(1) Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), now known among mental health professionals as Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is the mind’s sane defense to an insane situation. It is way of dealing with trauma that is literally too horrible to comprehend. Incestuous rape violates primitive instinct and surpasses pain tolerance. By compartmentalizing the memory of such horrendous abuse, the rest of the mind can function “normally” as though nothing had happened.
This compartmentalization is created by the brain actually shutting down neuron pathways to a specific part of the brain. These neuron pathways are triggered open again when the abuse recurs. The same part of the brain that is already conditioned to the trauma deals with it again and again as needed.
(2) Uncle Ted had also cried hysterically the night of the murder. Several years later, he almost killed himself when he drove his car into the White River near the place of the murder.
(3) Gerald Ford, aka Leslie Lynch King, Jr., served on the appropriations subcommittee for the CIA and was appointed to the Warren Commission to investigate the assassination of President John F. Kennedy while I knew him only as a porn boss!
(4) My mother often voiced complaints that she “could not see faces,” which personal experience has taught me indicated that she was suffering from on going physical and psychological traumas, and therefore was not in control of her senses.
(5) Had my teachers been educated in the obvious signs of child abuse, my “illusion of normalcy” would have been interpreted as a cry for help. Dissociative trance daydreaming, tones of helplessness and sexuality in drawings, and the electric prod marks on my face should have been recognized.
(6) These same themes were routinely used in creating Project Monarch slaves. This fact emerged through years of networking with mental health professionals.
Soon after Kelly was inducted into George Bush’s “Neighborhood” through horrific sexual abuse, Bush enforced his controls on me. Our mind-control handler, Alex Houston, had taken Kelly and me to Washington, D.C. for separately scheduled meetings with Bush. Kelly had already been escorted by agents to her rendezvous with him that morning, during which time I had been ordered to one of U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd’s offices located in the nearby FBI Hoover Building.
There, Byrd reinforced his holds on me by claiming control of the Justice Department and “proving” once again that I had “no where to run and no where to hide”. My horror reaction was compounded when Byrd looked at his pocket watch and notified me in Alice in Wonderland cryptic language, “You’re late, you’re late for a very important date, ” referring to my meeting with Bush.
I sprinted from the Hoover Building, encountering Houston who waited just outside. Houston hurried me to the Smithsonian where I waited for my escorts as instructed at the “Face Changing” exhibit. This computerized exhibit illustrates how an individual’s face can take on a radically different appearance by slightly altering any single feature.
The exhibit fascinated me as a programmed MPD since multiples often experience the unnerving phenomena of routinely not recognizing themselves in a mirror due to switching personalities. A multiple’s face often changes slightly with each switch, which “validates” the religious communities’ perceptions of so-called “demonic possession” in occultism. Logic quickly dispels this belief when it is realized that everyone’s expression changes according to emotion, by skin color and tones, blood pressure, and by tightening or relaxing specific micro muscles. An MPD’s face changes are more exaggerated when these natural conditions are combined with the results of sophisticated programming.
“Charm School” teaches subconscious control over these natural phenomena as a ready-made disguise on government slaves such as myself, as well as to enhance sex slaves’ “beauty” to their maximum potential. I was incapable of thinking or logically understanding my fascination with the display, as I stood totally enthralled, waiting for my escorts as ordered.
As the escorts approached, I was relieved to see Kelly with them. Though she was visibly tranced and traumatized, the fact that she was alive was all I was capable of grasping. When she saw the “Face Changing” exhibit, she excitedly exclaimed, “Uncle George just read me a book about this!” Before I could hear anymore, I was led away, leaving Kelly with our handler, Houston.
I was then quickly taken to Bush’s Residence Office, which here-to-fore was unfamiliar to me. Although it had slate blue, plush carpets and fine furnishings like the White House office, lattice work and smaller rooms provided a different air. I sat in a hard-back wooden chair as ordered, while Bush carefully positioned himself in front of me on a little wooden footstool. This allowed me clear visibility of the large book that he held in his lap. All illustrations faced me, while all text except the last page was printed in the holder’s direction. This book was a unique, high tech piece of art specifically designed to enforce Bush’s favorite method of programming, “You Are What You Read”. The juvenile face depicted on the front of this hardcover book gave it the appearance of a children’s storybook. It was entitled About Faces.
Bush explained the dynamics of “changing faces” and “becoming what I read”. Although I had been conditioned to this idea all of my life through Disney stories, The Wizard Of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, etc., I was not prepared for Bush’s version of “You Are What You Read” programming explanations. The illustrations themselves were elaborate, consisting of mirrors and hypnotic depictions.
He seemingly made the book come alive in my mind as he read page after poetic page of hypnotic, metaphorical language, all the while creating powerful illusions. His impersonations of the characters further enhanced the desired affect of fantasy becoming reality. This extraordinary effort to scramble reality would have worked–perfectly–had it not been for another victim and myself discussing it only a few days later. The purpose of Bush’s book was clearly explained within the first few pages, which included the following passage:
I am the Vice President when circumstance demands,
And I am your Commander, you’ll follow my commands.
The first command’s important – It is one you will heed,
When I send you a book, you are what you read.
Throughout my tenure as a Presidential Model mind-controlled slave, I was provided specific books according to Bush’s program. These books, delivered through pre-established channels such as Ken Riley, Alex Houston, and even Ronald Reagan, came complete with specific commands on how they were to be interpreted and used. Some books were used to instruct me on operations; some were an attempt to scramble my memory with fantasy; others were used to load my mind with pertinent data such as bank account passbook numbers, and so on.
I was provided a paperback book entitled Afghanistan, from which I absorbed history, current political events, and the strength of the Afghany[Afghani] Freedom Fighters. I have since learned that the book I read was never publicly released in the text it was provided me. According to instruction, the book was delivered back to Bush as quickly as I finished memorizing it. I wonder in retrospect if any part of it contained fact beyond how I was supposed to perceive it.
I read stories of espionage, including Robert Ludlum’s Bourne Identity, and William Diehl’s Chameleon. Mostly I was provided steamy sex novels for further training as well as scrambles. Kelly was conditioned to fairy tales, Steven Speilberg’s ET, NASA NSA operative George Lucas’ Star Wars, and the nightmarish Never Ending Story. Steinbeck’s classic Of Mice and Men caused Kelly constantly to quote the dependent character of Lenny for years saying, “Tell me what to do, George”. She still does this each and every time I am allowed to visit with her in the mental institution. The attending therapist overseeing the visit has yet to pick up on this programming cue, and I am forbidden by Juvenile Court order not to discuss Kelly’s past or therapy.
Bush’s most effective example of “You Are What You Read” in his book About Faces occurred during his reading of the page depicting lizard-like “aliens” from a “far-off, deep space place”. Claiming to me to be an alien himself, Bush apparently activated a hologram of the lizard-like “alien” which provided the illusion of Bush transforming like a chameleon before my eyes. In retrospect, I understand that Bush had been painstakingly careful in positioning our seats in order that the hologram’s effectiveness be maximized.
U.S. Army Lt. Col. Aquino’s occultism provided trauma sufficient to maintain my Project Monarch Mind-Controlled existence despite his inability to affect my core spirituality. Therefore, I was not routinely subjected to the other favorite “trauma of choice”–alien themes–like many slaves (including Kelly) I knew had been. The effect of Bush’s illusion hologram on such victims is binding and strong. Even Aquino envied the mind shattering effects of Bush’s alien theme visual traumas to the extent that he wrote and published his own comic book sequel to Lucas’ Star Wars.
While occultism is easily dispelled with reason and fact, Bush’s alien theme continues to be reinforced through NASA’s involvement in mind-control atrocities. Additionally, California’s 24-year incumbent Senator Alan Cranston of the Select Committee on Intelligence has perpetuated this trauma base for decades, as have others. Despite my having escaped routine “alien” theme traumas, Bush’s “You Are What You Read” hologram proved devastatingly sufficient for him to gain total control of my robotic mind from that moment on until my rescue in 1988.
By the time Bush reached the last page of his About Faces book, I was so traumatized I instantly “became what I read” when I read the last verse aloud as ordered:
I am a True Patriot living an American Dream,
I will become my role when you pull my string.
I will become my part, so I can ’be all I can be’
’Cause just like the Vice President, I am what I read.
In The Meantime
My life seemed to lead me at an accelerated pace after being subjected to Reagan and Bush. My handler, Alex Houston egotistically claimed it was his and Elemer’s (his alter-ego dummy) popularity that kept us traveling so extensively within the country music circuit. When we weren’t traveling the Caribbean and Mexico via NCL ships, or driving his cocaine loaded motor home to strategically booked shows across the U.S., we were routinely moving in and out of Washington, D.C. All along the way, my daughter and I were either prostituted, used in commercial pornography, or filmed in Michael Dante’s “Chief” bestiality pornography as ordered by Uncle Ronnie Reagan.
Occasionally our travels would take us to Michigan, where Houston made certain we stayed with my family. Trips to my father’s house were devastating but informative. My mother had developed deep, psychological scars above and beyond her own MPD condition and became an insomniac. My father by this time was routinely traveling to London, Germany, and Mexico, and taking the family to Florida’s Disney World and Washington, D.C. My older brother, Bill, still worked for and with my father, traveled with him annually to “hunt” in Cheney’s Greybull, Wyoming lodge, and maintained his wife and three children under trauma-base mind control according to my father’s instructions.
My brother, Mike, ran a video store to front some of my father’s and Uncle Bob Tanis’ lucrative porn video business. My sister, Kelli Jo, became a belly dancing contortionist excelling in “gymnastics” since she became “as flexible as Gumby” according to her prostitution programming. She worked her way through school in children’s day-care centers, admittedly spotting, for my father, abused children for potential “chosen ones” candidates. In 1990 she graduated to open a licensed day-care, “Little Learners” in Grand Haven, Michigan for my father. My brother, Tom (Beaver), is a Compu-Kids (CIA Project) programmed computer genius.
My brother Tim broke his leg (in the same place my mother had broken his leg years before) due to following my father’s sports programming above and beyond human capability. And my youngest sister, Kimmy, became hysterically obsessed with “Mr. Rogers,” expressed immense fear of her huge “electric” doll house that lit up at night to look like the White House, and was under a doctor’s care for anorexia by age seven. I look forward to the day I can help them all, and justice is served on my father.
Since I was using parts of my brain I would not have used under normal circumstances, I developed the ability to read backwards as naturally as I could read forwards. Houston tapped into this typically occult-based phenomenon as a means of “scrambling” road signs to promote amnesia of where we were traveling. He further compounded his effort by conditioning me to read phonetically and literally, and alternated his “scrambling” methods. “Zoo” became “ooz” and “ooz” translated to “oz”. Arkansas read “Our Kansas”, and Missouri became (and was!) “Misery’.
East became West, and highway 66 became 99. When I traveled, I “literally” did not consciously know if I were coming or going. If an outsider happened to ask me about where I’d traveled, I mechanically replied, “The towns all run together and look alike after awhile.” Commands delivered in the same language twisting manner were natural for me to follow. “Role with it” was easier for me to become according to Reagan’s acting definition than it was to go with the flow by “rolling with it”. Phrases like Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson’s “In a switch of an “I” (personality)/”eye” (hypnotic blink)/ “i” (the letter), complaint becomes compliant. The parts of my brain I was forced to function with were not conducive to “normal” thinking.
Nor could I have appeared “normal” to outsiders had they cared to see beyond my superficial programmed cover personality. I did have occasion to mix with “outsiders” at the local library where I took Kelly for her books on days when we were not traveling. By age 6, she tested at the 7th grade reading level. I also emerged from my closed environment to tend to Kelly’s schooling. She maintained straight As, but her poor attendance record threatened to violate state requirements.
Once when the librarian asked where Kelly would be traveling to waive library book due dates, or the teacher inquired as to Kelly’s absences, I gave the usual response of, “the towns all run together and look alike after awhile.” If they pressed for specifics, I ran through a series of religious phrases such as “praise the Lord”, to compensate for my lack of answers. People tended to overlook and accept “religious fanaticism” personality peculiarities, which combined with my “role” traveling the country music industry,- kept outsiders at a distance for years.
My “religious fanatic” cover personality was cultivated at the Brentwood, Tennessee Lord’s Chapel “nondenominational’ (Pentecostal) church, through the CIA Operative preacher “Reverend” Billy Roy Moore (who has since fled to Arkansas due to a local murder scandal).
Moore transported cocaine from the Caribbean for the CIA, at least during the Reagan Administration, under the guise of so-called “missions,”’ i.e., Christian ministries. It most likely was not the intent of the Christians dedicated to their Caribbean ministries to be used by the CIA and Moore to be used by the CIA and Moore to inadvertently mule drugs into our country.
Even CIA agents operating under “need to know” partial information were denied the full scope of what they were actually participating in. Many seemingly willing participants were manipulated, provided “justification,” and deliberately misled to believe they were serving their country, rather than destroying it from the inside out.
“Pastor” Moore combined his knowledge of Kelly’s and my programming keys, codes, and triggers with his use of metaphorical language to maintain and/or direct our mode of operation. Moore’s “following” consisted primarily of government mind-controlled slaves and handlers, including the Mandrells, Jack Greene and his slave, the Oak Ridge Boys, and others. He instructed us on how to vote, which political issues to support, and to follow other “religious” political leaders such as his and Manuel Noriega’s friend, evangelist Jimmy Swaggart. “Religious counseling” from Moore equated to maintaining mind-control programming through “God’s Orders“. And “God’s Orders” often came by telephone.
Houston constantly prostituted Kelly to anyone “in the loop” who was willing to pay. When she wasn’t being prostituted, she was being filmed pornographically. By 1984, Michael Dante routinely filmed Kelly in pornography, since kiddie porn was as lucrative as bestiality. He filmed Kelly and me in Las Vegas, Nevada and various other locations throughout the Caribbean, California, Florida, Tennessee, and in my home state of Michigan.
This created professional conflict with long time kiddie pornographers formerly associated with Houston. Houston’s close friend in Waycross, Georgia, pedophile Jimmy Walker, managed the Okefenokee Swamp Park and had participated in black budget funding operations for years on both the cocaine and pornography levels. His counterpart, Dick Flood, refused to participate in any more pornography after Dante’ came on the scene. Even the Huntsville, Alabama NASA/DIA/CIA-appointed “law enforcement” officers could rarely succeed in their bidding for Kelly’s video taped performances unless directly ordered by Senator Byrd. Dante considered himself her future owner as well as mine, and maintained control of our porn “business” ventures through serious U.S. Government and international Mafia methodisms/connections.
Jimmy Walker, the same photographer who had taken pornographic “wedding night” pictures for Larry Flynt, recently had other photographs of me published in Hustler. When Dante found out, he was furious. Larry Flynt and Dante both worked for the CIA, had Vatican and Mafia connections, and deliberately appealed to Reagan’s perversions using Project Monarch Mind-Controlled slaves. What Flynt could not “legally” publish, Dante ran through the underground. Flynt and Dante lived on opposite coasts, which, despite their similarities, still was not far enough apart to soothe their differences. Waving his hands in dramatic Italian gestures, Dante furiously spouted a string of obscenities over Flynt’s publishing photos of what he deemed “his property”. Accusing Flynt of going to extremes to gain favor/protection from the government, Dante shouted, “He’s a bigger whore than the girls he promotes! ”
Michael Dante’s pornographic filming abilities served several purposes. Aside from producing porn according to Reagan’s own (well known) perversions and instructions, Dante was present during many key international government “gatherings”. Oftentimes when I and others were prostituted to various government (New World Order) leaders, Dante had hidden cameras filming perverse sexual acts apparently for future blackmail leverage. These videos were scandalous in proportion and were usually ordered by Reagan. Dante turned the videos over to Reagan, and covertly kept copies to protect himself. Dante converted a small room of his Beverly Hills mansion into a security vault, where he kept his personal copies of the international blackmail porn tapes there.
Among these internationally scandalous tapes are numerous videos covertly produced at the supposedly secure political sex playground in northern California, Bohemian Grove. According to Houston, Dante’s high tech undetectable cameras used fiber optics, and fish-eye lens were in each of the elite club’s numerous sexual perversion theme rooms. My knowledge of these cameras was due to the strategically compromising positions of the political perpetrators I was prostituted to in the various kinky theme rooms.
I was programmed and equipped to function in all rooms at Bohemian Grove in order to compromise specific government targets according to their personal perversions. “Anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone” was my mode of operation at the Grove. I do not purport to understand the full function of this political cesspool playground as my perception was limited to my own realm of experience. My perception is that Bohemian Grove serves those ushering in the New World Order through mind control, and consists primarily of the highest Mafia and U.S.
Government officials. I do not use the term “highest” loosely, as copious quantibles of drugs were consumed there. Project Monarch Mind-Control slaves were routinely abused there to fulfill the primary purpose of the club: purveying perversion. Bohemian Grove is reportedly intended to be used recreationally, providing a supposedly secure environment for politically affluent individuals to “party” without restraint. The only business conducted there pertained to implementing the New World Order, through the proliferation of mind-control atrocities, giving the place an air of “Masonic Secrecy“. The only room where business discussions were permitted was the small, dark lounge affectionately and appropriately referred to as the Underground.(2)
Sex slaves were not routinely permitted in the Underground for security reasons, leaving the lounge’s small stage as the only source of “entertainment”. This entertainment ranged from would-be talents such as Lee Atwater, Bill Clinton, and George Bush to CIA Operative entertainers such as Boxcar Willie and Lee Greenwood. On one occasion I was instructed to meet with former President Gerald Ford in the Underground where Lee Atwater was picking and singing. As I walked through the smoke-filled room to Ford’s table, Atwater interrupted his song to cryptically acknowledge my unwelcome presence by singing choruses of “Over the Rainbow” and Byrd’s song for me “Country Roads” while emphasizing the lines of “Almost heaven, West Virginia”.
My purpose at the Grove was sexual in nature, and therefore my perceptions were limited to a sex slave’s viewpoint. As an effective means of control to ensure undetected proliferation of their perverse indulgences, slaves such as myself were subjected to ritualistic trauma. I knew each breath I took could be my last, as the threat of death lurked in every shadow. Slaves of advancing age or with failing programming were sacrificially murdered “at random” in the wooded grounds of Bohemian Grove, and I felt it was “simply a matter of time until it would be me”. Rituals were held at a giant, concrete owl monument on the banks of, ironically enough, the Russian (rushin’) River. These occultist sex rituals stemmed from the scientific belief that mind-controlled slaves required severe trauma to ensure compartmentalization of the memory, and not from any spiritual motivation.
My own threat of death was instilled when I witnessed the sacrificial death of a young, dark-haired victim at which time I was instructed to perform sexually “as though my life depended upon it”. I was told, “…the next sacrifice victim could be you. Anytime when you least expect it, the owl will consume you. Prepare yourself, and stay prepared.” Being “prepared” equated to being totally suggestible, i.e., “on my toes” awaiting their command.
After returning to Tennessee, Houston attempted to distort my Bohemian Grove experience by instructing me to “prepare myself for imminent death”. He ordered me into a bathtub of cold water, placed ice cubes in my vagina, then transferred me to his bed. There he tied a coroner’s type tag on my toe, and hypnotically deepened my trance to the point where my heart and breathing were nearly stopped. Then he gratified himself on my cold, still body through faux necrophilia–reportedly one of his favorite perversions.
Houston had “perfected” his perversion to the extent that he handed the keys to my death-state programming to Lt. Col. Michael Aquino for use in Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations. My death-state also further equipped me in my role of “anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone” to be accessed at Bohemian Grove.
The club offered a “Necrophilia” theme room to its members. I was so heavily drugged and programmed when used in the “necrophilia” room, that the threat of actually “slipping through death’s door” and being sacrificed “before I knew it” did not affect me. My whole existence was balanced precariously on the edge of death as a matter of routine anyway. My robotic state did not permit me the “luxury” of self-preservation, and I could only do exactly what I was told to do. My necrophilia room experience was only for the purpose of providing Dante a compromising film of a targeted member anyway.
Other perversion theme rooms at the Bohemian Club included what I heard Ford refer to as the “Dark Room”. When he not so cleverly said, “Let’s go to the Dark Room and see what develops,” I understood from experience that he was interested in indulging in his perverse obsession for pornography. In the Dark Room, members had sex with the same mind-controlled slave they were viewing in porn on a big screen television.
There was a triangular glass display centered in a main throughway where I was locked in with various trained animals, including snakes. Members walking by watched elicit sex acts of bestiality, women with women, mothers with daughters, kids with kids, or any other unlimited perverse visual display.
I was once brutally assaulted by Dick Cheney in the Leather Room, which was designed like a dark, black leather-lined train berth. As I crawled through the leather flaps covering the narrow entrance, I heard Cheney play on the word “berth/birth” as the soft blackness engulfed me. With the small opening covered, the blinding darkness enhanced the sense of touch and provided an option of anonymity. Cheney jokingly claimed that I “blew his cover” when I recognized his all-too-familiar voice and abnormally large penis size.
There was a room of shackles and tortures, black lights and strobes, an opium den, ritualistic sex altars, a chapel, group orgy rooms including poster beds, water beds, and “kitten” houses. I was used as a “rag doll” in the “toy store,” and as a urinal in the “golden arches” room.
From the owl’s roost to the necrophilia room, no memory of sexual abuse is as horrifying as the conversations overheard in the Underground pertaining to implementing the New World Order. I learned that perpetrators believed that controlling the masses through propaganda mind manipulation did not guarantee there would be a world left to dominate due to environmental and overpopulation problems. The solution being debated was not pollution/population control, but mass genocide of “selected undesirables.”
1.- Moore often operated under the cloak of World Vision.
2.- The wooded sign was carved to read: U.N.DERGROUND
Trance Formation of America
On May 7, 1966 a 9 year old child named Cathy O’Brien was subjected to an occult ritual she called “The Rite to Remain Silent” in alleged preparation for her future interdimensional expeditions.
“I work for the Vatican, and now, so do you,” [Michigan State Senator, Guy] VanderJagt told me. “You have just entered into a covenant with the holy Catholic church. You must never break that covenant.”
Still capable of questioning at that time, I asked, “What is a covenant?” VanderJagt answered,
“A covenant is a promise to keep secrets, the secret that the church knew all along. The Pope has all the secrets locked away at the Vatican. Your Uncle Bob and I have been to the Vatican. It is time you entered into the holy covenant and learned the secrets of the church that were written long before Christ even came into being. The Dominican monks kept the covenant that Noah carried into the new world. They kept the secret with them. It was written on parchment and kept in a secret place in the Vatican. They took a Vow of Silence to never reveal its location, or its content. You must enter into the covenant. You must carry the secret to your grave. Keep it secret from your mom, dad, everybody.”
VanderJagt proceeded to fill my suggestible young mind with biblical interpretation that laid the groundwork for future “inter/inner dimensional” programming themes utilized by Project Monarch programmers to control the compartmentalization of memory synonymous with MPD/DID.
“Christ saw them all,” VanderJagt was telling me. “They are dimensions, places you can see on your way to death. That’s why they’re called die-mentions. You must remember that Christ died and came back to tell us everything he saw while he was on his way to heaven. He was gone three days, but it was much longer than that where he was because time isn’t the same in other dimensions. Purgatory is one other dimension. Hell is one. And there are lots of others in between. Oz is another dimension.
The sky is not the limit to all the worlds out there waiting to be explored. You can travel in and out of all these dimensions, learning the secrets of the universe. You have been chosen to explore these other worlds for the church. Listen in the stillness and you will hear his voice guiding you on your missions. The rosy cross is like Dorothy’s ruby slippers. Never take your rosy cross off, Cathy, when traveling other dimensions and you will always be able to return home.”
Father Don [apparently from Muskegon’s St. Francis of Assisi Church] joined VanderJagt in a ritual which bathed me in the blood of a slaughtered lamb, and subsequently, through this hideous blood trauma, locked their stated perceptions and a basis for mind-control programming deep in my mind. This basis for programming was anchored in the Vow of Silence which the Jesuit monks take “not only to keep secrets, but so they can still their mind and hear their inner guidance.” Certain that the “Rite to Remain Silent” which they had performed would ensure that I keep their secrets, Father Don and Guy VanderJagt subjected me to their pedophile perversions. The two joked that I had become “a good Cathy-lick”.
Cox was ordered out of Johnston’s office, and he turned his full attention to me. When alone with the Senator [U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd, D. West Virginia], Johnston [U.S. Senator J. Bennett Johnston, D. Louisiana previously of Shreveport General Dynamics R & D, now apparently affiliated with USPECC, on the Reston, VA Columbia Gas board of Directors and CEO of the Washington-based Johnston and Associates] manipulated my mind, and ultimately my beliefs and perceptions, for future programming.
He referred to a picture of himself shaking hands with unknown Navy brass as he dramatically told me,
“I was there that fateful day in 1943 when a hole was ripped in the fabric of time through what later became known as the Philadelphia Experiment. All those fine boys vanished along with their ship in a bizarre twist of events that parallels the Atlantis disappearances. A vortex was created in an effort to slip dimensions and become invisible to the enemy. It was a success beyond the highest expectations and launched us all info universal travel. It is no wonder at all that we have had a man on the moon.
Traveling to distant planets and galaxies is Mickey Mouse stuff in comparison to the high tech wizardry of trans-dimensional travel. Trans-dimensional travel circumvents all measures of time, including distance and speed. When the fabric of time was torn, we opened ourselves up to intergalactic travel — both in and out of this dimension — and in and out of the future, as well as the past. We can alter the course of history by traveling back in time to alter events, or we can blast off into the future and gain wisdom and knowledge of events yet to come. We can control the future by controlling the past.
At present, this is a relatively easy task according to the theory of relativity and abilities gained through the Philadelphia Experiment. I came back an ET (extraterrestrial) myself. And our ship returned to this Earth as a spaceship. I gained the keys to the universe on that fateful day, and I carry them with me now, sharing only a Key or two at a time with those who are Chosen. You are a Chosen One (Johnston was deliberately interfacing with Rite to Remain Silent conditioning), and therefore must learn the ins and outs of interplanetary travel.
Your mission is trans-dimensional. You can span infinite dimensions by learning from me. Take it from me, you’re going places, kiddo. And I’ll teach you to get there by riding the light. I’ll teach you the groundwork, and you do the light work. The key to the universe lies in the speed of light. The only way to travel is by beam of light. You will learn to go to the light…Your mission is to learn how to Tinker with time. I’m going to take you on that journey myself. Come with me now. It’s time we were leaving this plane and boarding another.”
Johnston took me the short distance from his General Dynamics Corporation provided office to the Barksdale Air Force Base airfield. He was apparently well known at Barksdale, and a small cargo plane was ready to take us to our destination — Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma.
E.T. Phone Rome
Anyone attending the Bohemian Grove on a regular basis was referred to by those in the know as a “Grover”. One such Grover was Ronald Reagan’s then Secretary of Education, Bill Bennett. Bill Bennett, who later became “Drug Czar” during the Bush Administration, wrote the so-called Book of Virtues and was/is? vying for the office of President. Bennett is apparently very close to his brother and fellow Grover, Bob Bennett. Although Bob Bennett holds the position of Legal Counsel to President Clinton, it is apparent that the brothers recognize no party lines.
It was clear to me that there were no partisan differences amongst those ushering in the New World Order, any more than there was loyalty to our Constitution. The close relationship I witnessed between the Bennett brothers, like the marriage between Clinton’s and Bush’s 1992 campaign managers James Carville and Mary Matlin, should raise questions as to their agenda.
When Bill and Bob Bennett together sexually assaulted my [very young] daughter, Kelly, and me at the Bohemian Grove in 1986, I had already known Bill Bennett as a mind-control programmer for some time. Bennett anchored his Jesuit/Vatican based programming of me in my Catholic conditioning initially instilled via the Rite to Remain Silent. Through further manipulation of my “inner-dimensional” perceptions, Bennett believed he had forever compartmentalized his personal secrets of perverse sex with his brother, Bob, and my then six-year-old daughter. Bennett also had manipulated my mind in accordance with Vatican “Orders” via Byrd’s Jesuit College programming center in West Virginia. He used his role as Jesuit programmer for the purposes of carrying out his efforts as Education Secretary to implement Education 2000.
In order to program my mind for my role in bringing Education 2000 into the “Volunteer State” of Tennessee’s school system, Bennett used sophisticated mind manipulation to set the stage — the same kind of mind manipulation propaganda executed on national and international scale. Bennett’s penchant for manipulating minds is apparently rooted in his knowledge of Catholic/Jesuit mind-control techniques.
When I met Bennett at a White House cocktail party in 1984, I was wearing the rosy cross necklace that Guy VanderJagt and Father Don had presented to me during my first communion, to signify the mode of program I was operating under at the time. Byrd had ordered that I wear it for the occasion.
Byrd was already talking with Bennett when a White House butler led me in to see Byrd. Byrd was saying,
“I was just talking about you with my friend, Secretary of Education William Bennett.”
“Bill,” Bennett corrected, sweeping his lecherous gaze over me as though I were merchandise. “How do you do?”
“As I am told, thank you,” I said as I extended my hand as trained.
Bennett clumsily fingered the rosy cross necklace, blowing his alcoholic breath in my face as he said, “Your necklace is as beautiful as you are, and no doubt, as significant in purpose. Where did this come from and what does it mean to you?”
“From my first communion,” I responded. “Guy (Byrd interrupted to clarify ’VanderJagt’) gave it to me to consummate my holy communion.”
Byrd corrected me, “Commemorate your holy communion.” “She doesn’t need a translator, Bobby,” Bennett laughed. “I’m hearing her loud and clear.”
Byrd left me with Bennett, who went into a long winded recitation on an interpretation of the Bible deliberately intended to further distort my Catholic instilled perceptions.
“Christ was an alien in this land,” he was saying in accordance with his learned Jesuit mind manipulation techniques. “Once he landed in Earth’s plane, it was plain to see he was a leader in inter-dimensional travel. We (Jesuits/aliens) followed his lead since he was the first to slip into Earth’s dimension. In Christ’s transformation from porpoise to purpose, he lost his will to Earth’s demands. He lost his porpoise, so to speak.”
Totally “trance-fixed,” I listened as Bennett rattled on and on.
“When Christ emerged from the deep to inhale of Earth’s atmosphere, time began ticking. It was not recognized or acknowledged until Christ’s passing, however. We began marking time with his death. BC — AD — or is that AC-DC?” Referring to high voltage used to compartmentalize memory, he continued, “No, AC in DC stops time. At any rate, we followed his lead. He referred to you as sheep. He knew you needed to be led. He led us. He led you. He led us to you. We’re here to lead you. The transformation is perfected now, updated with the latest in alien technologies whereby we no longer have to follow Christ’s course to the grave. We can transcend dimensions free of the confines of Earth’s gravitational pull. The time is now, and we are here to lead you. We know your mind. That’s how we make you mind. Make you mine. Make you a mind. Make you mine. Journey with me now….”
Bennett manipulated my perceptions until, at last, he informed me,
“You and I will be working closely together on a global education project.” Sweeping his hand around the crowded room, he continued, “This atmosphere is not conducive to the kind of work we need to be doing. Something else just came up that demands immediate attention. Let’s complete tonight’s business with pleasure, beat it out of this dimension, suspend your suspended animation, and get with the program.”
In one of many White House bedrooms available for such purposes, Bennett led me into bed,
“I told you we were going to beat it out of this dimension, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. A little Byrd told me you like a whip. Since I am not the Senate kind, I’ll just represent the majority by giving you what you need most.”
Bennett apparently found perverse pleasure in whipping me. With my wrists bruised and my body stinging with pain, Bennett lit up a cigarette and cryptically asked, “Was that your first cum-union with an alien?”
He threw me my clothes, and ordered, “Make yourself presentable. Make sure your wrists are covered. I’m not waiting around for you, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Bennett left. After awhile I was escorted back to Byrd, with whom I spent a brutal, short night. On the way to his room, Byrd told me,
“You’ve got work to do come morning with Mr. Bennett. Working for him is like working for me. We are working in conjunction with the state Governors in an effort to implement the Global 2000 Report education formula for the future. I am excited at the prospect of meddling in the future through what I accomplish today. Since I hold this country’s purse strings, it is up to me to delegate as much funding as is necessary to implement the educational program. I’ve withheld funding and withheld funding to the point where the individual states must rely on federal funding to get them out of hot water financially. I am ready to do just that so long as they follow my guidelines. Mr. Bennett is working out the details of this plan, and will be sharing much of that with you. I need you to do what you do best by enlisting the full cooperation of state government at the upcoming Governor’s Convention. I have never demanded Conventional sex of you before, but this time is different. Persuade these Governors at their weakest moment — bring them to their knees while you are on yours, and convince them that global education is the gateway to the future if there is to be any future at all.”
Early the next morning, deep underground in the NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center mind-control lab near D.C., Bill Bennett began preparing me for the program. NASA uses various “CIA designer drugs” to chemically alter the brain and create exactly the mindset required at the time. Huntsville, Alabama’s NASA drug of choice, “Train-quility,” created a feeling of absolute, peaceful compliance and a sensation of walking on air. The drug administered this time was sufficiently similar to Tranquility to create total compliance. The beating I had endured the night before had rendered me helpless, anyway, and I could barely crawl up onto the cold, metal lab table as the drug took effect.
In the darkness surrounding me, I could hear Bill Bennett talking, “This is my brother, Bob. He and I work as one unit. We are alien to this dimension — two beings from another plane.”
The high-tech light display swirling around me convinced me I was transforming dimensions with them. A laser of light hit the black wall in front of me, which seemed to explode into a panoramic view of a White House cocktail party — as though I had transformed dimensions and stood amongst them. Not recognizing anyone, I frantically asked, “Who are these people?”
“They’re not people, and this isn’t a spaceship,” Bennett said. As he spoke, the holographic scene changed ever so slightly until the people appeared to be lizard-like aliens. “Welcome to the second level of the underground. This level is a mere/ (mirror) reflection of the first, an alien dimension. We are from a transdimensional plane that spans and encompasses all dimensions.”
“Infinite dimensions,” Bob injected. “Infinite dimensions spanned simultaneously.”
Bill said, “No limitations”.
Bob softly sang, “Let freedom ring”.
“There truly is no where to run and no where to hide from us. We’re who is looking from behind the Eye in the Sky,” Bill continued.
“We’re watching you,” Bob said. He sang a line from the popular rock song “I’ll Be Watching You”.
“I have taken you through my dimension as a means of establishing stronger holds on your mind than the Earth’s plane permits,” Bill Bennett was saying. “Being alien, I simply make my thoughts your thoughts by projecting them into your mind. My thoughts are your thoughts.”
The brief message Bennett programmed me with pertaining to Education 2000 was to be directed to state Governors at the upcoming convention while delivering a packet of information:
“The children. We must consider the children. Think for a moment beyond tomorrow. Our children are the future. Their future lies in education. We can control the future today by regulating education. Our thoughts and plans for the future — put in their text. A text they can understand. Children’s textbooks. The highest levels of government, the most brilliant minds on the face of this Earth would like input into the future by way of the children. You, as Governor, are in a position to provide that link. Global Education 2000 is ready for implementation. Look into it. Look into it and see the future.”