I was brought into the “program,” known alternatively as MK-ULTRA and PROJECT MONARCH, in 1974 or 1975. I was a five-year-old in a Montessori kindergarten, near New York City, and I had been already identified as a genius. The teachers told my parents I could get a doctorate by age sixteen, but my parents wanted me to have a normal childhood.
Among other things, the school had a one-way-glass window overlooking the single classroom. From the observation area, people could watch us, but we, the children, could only see our reflections. I remember pressing my face to the mirror, trying to see what was on the other side. If I cupped my hands around my eyes, to shield the light, I could see a little into the observation room, but probably all the other students never knew we were being watched.
One day, I was taken aside to meet a male visitor in the other room, and I was told he was an important person. He showed me how to masturbate, putting his hand above mine as he made me stroke the tip of my penis. Later he played me “Fool on the Hill,” by the Beatles, on a record-player, telling me that I was different from other people, like him, and like the fool in the song. I became very upset by what I then perceived as the disturbing ideas and music, especially “nobody likes him” combined with my abuser’s statement that I was the fool. (And for years, I just didn’t like the song). There was also a typical MK-ULTRA discourse, with us going back and forth about who was the fool in the song. In retrospect, I am certain that this programmer, who sexually abused me, also hypnotized me so that I forgot what he did. It took me forty years to recover the memories. Even then, they were “nested” in a typical hypnotic technique, so that I remembered our discussion about “Fool on the Hill” years before I recovered the memories of sexual abuse.
Two years after my abuse, and this encounter with my programmer, when I was seven years old, in 1977, I began to masturbate. I had no memory of sexual abuse, or even idea of sex, but I handled my penis in the inept way I had been shown, reaching orgasm without ejaculation. I did this on a regular basis until I reached sexual maturity at age eleven, and I continued thereafter. I have never had a wet dream, or nocturnal emission, in my life, due to my addiction to masturbation.
When I turned eleven, in the summer of 1980, I travelled to England with my family, and there was a further encounter, among others, with other MK-ULTRA controllers from the Tavistock Institute. Among other fragmentary memories, including the sexual abuse of friends and family members, I remember a female voice saying, “We’ve got to give him something” and a male voice asking, “What do you like, boy?” I had seen exactly one Playboy magazine at the time, so I mentioned Terry Nihen, who had a phone cord across her privates in her pictorial.
My controllers cued onto bondage, and they began to put pornography in my way. On the way to France, I remember seeing a pulp fiction paperback, whose cover caught my eye. It was about a sex criminal who held a woman captive in her bedroom all night, as he had his way with her, and I became incredibly turned on at the sight of it. Then, in France, there was a postcard of a naked woman in a fishing net. When I returned to America, there was a Penthouse magazine pictorial of Diane Jamison, a black-haired beauty, with a strap on her privates, easy to grab, which presented itself through a schoolmate. He gave it to me, but I later threw it away. Then, the same magazine came back, less than a year later, through the next door neighbor, another boy, and I bought it from him. Absolutely no other pornography presented itself in this time, but two copies of the exact same Penthouse magazine, with its bondage suggestion, found their way into my hands.
What are the odds of that? Let’s say there were roughly two back years of Penthouse and Playboy magazines knocking about, which might have found their way into a teenager’s hands. That is 2 (magazines) x 12 (centerfolds), which equals 24. So the odds of running into Diane Jamison, with her bondage-looking jockstrap, are 1 in 24. No big deal. I had to find some picture of a naked woman. But the odds of me running into her, and only her, twice in less than two years, are 1/24 times 1/24. That is 1 in 576.
Aside from being naked, in light bondage gear, Diane Jamison had dark brown hair and blue eyes, and MK-ULTRA had been pushing Wonder Woman for some time—who likewise carries a lasso and has black hair and blue eyes. They tell me she was invented by a psychologist….
My neighbor down the street, another genius, a girl my age, a friend and schoolmate, used to watch “Wonder Woman” on t.v. all the time. She wanted to watch it with me, but I refused, thinking of it as a “girl show.” Of course, she had brown hair, too, and I remember one instance where she and I played “doctor” together. Despite the enemy’s plan, I never hurt her, or any other woman, but I tended to be rough and tumble, and my playmate tended to cry a lot. They were setting us up for sexual assault.
Still, even in hypnotic sleep, I resisted rape, but I continued to find myself drawn to women with black or dark brown hair and blue eyes. There were two other beautiful Playboy playmates, who still hold allure for me—Alana Soares, Miss March 1983, and Patty Duffek, Miss May 1984. And, of course, my mother had black hair, and the neighbor mother, whose son sold me the copy of Penthouse, was a sexy woman with black hair and blue eyes. That is a rare combination.
All the while, my father worked for E.I. DuPont de Nemours, and his boss was a man who graduated from the Wharton Business School—both centers of mind control. In 1986, my dad was doing business in Zimbabwe, among other places, and he brought a purportedly Rhodesian man to our house for lunch. This scum identified himself as “Rick Creole,” and he claimed to have been a colonel in the Rhodesian Bush War. He was traveling with his blonde-haired and blue-eyed wife, very beautiful, and two children, allegedly his. One was a fourteen-year-old girl, also very beautiful. Although it was August, the teenage girl was supposedly down with the flu, so she sat in a daze on our sofa the whole day, never saying a word. In retrospect, I am sure that she was being hypnotized and sexually abused by the scum who called himself her father. He almost certainly sold her into slavery later on his trip to the United States.
During his visit, Rick Creole “fixed” my father’s drink, putting him out, and he put a lighter drug in the ice tea pitcher from which we all drank. He injected me with a drug I believe to have been sodium pentathol, and he hypnotized me. He had me masturbate to my pictures of Patty Duffek, telling me that she was Wonder Woman, and I should fantasize about raping her. I remembered none of this until thirty years later—remembering, if at all, only nested exterior memories of the Creoles’ visit to our house.
For about ten years, I continued to think of Rick Creole as a family friend, and I kept his telephone number. There were some hypnotic sessions on the telephone; but, to make a long story short, I kept him and the rape fantasies at bay for another ten years. Even when people are “asleep,” if they have a strong sense of self, they can fight evil hypnotic suggestions.
With the help of his blonde accomplice, Margaret, Rick Creole hit me hard again from 1996 to 1998, giving me hypnotic suggestions that I would only have sex with imaginary women and that I would rape Wonder Woman. And, in 1998, I finally went on the internet, at age 29, and immediately I found myself drawn to pornography about raping Wonder Woman and Lara Croft, whom I had never heard of until that time.
At the same time, I briefly dated a woman with black hair and blue eyes, whom I met when she knocked on the door of my house. That fall, my date went to a costume party dressed as Lara Croft, although she had originally planned to go as Wonder Woman. I am sure that she was also mind-controlled under MK-ULTRA or PROJECT MONARCH. We went out briefly, our programmers tried to introduce tension between us, and I remember kissing her but with my body frozen. Later I understood that I had been given a hypnotic command to rape her, which I refused. That’s why my body froze when we made out, above the neck.
For years afterward, I indulged in rape fantasies, and I masturbated to pornography on the internet. I never looked at anything illegal. On the contrary, my focus was on comic strips involving the rape of superheroines, especially Wonder Woman and Lara Croft. No one was getting hurt, and I went deeper into these fantasies, fueled by marijuana and alcohol. Over time, my hypnotic programmers and self-styled “controllers” pushed me into actual pornographic videos, of rougher and rougher sex, to which I masturbated.
Meanwhile, I continued to receive obscene suggestions regarding actual women, whom I encountered in my everyday life. I was “asleep” or unaware of the voice-to-skull, or V2K, transmissions, so I just became increasingly uncomfortable having any sexual desire toward a flesh-and-blood woman. My sexual desire went to fantasy rape on the internet, but I felt awkward or just empty with respect to actual women. I would not, and I will not, commit rape—nor will I allow a rapist hypnotic controller to interfere with my normal interactions and relationships with women. Today, now that I am awake, that means something different; but, when I was asleep, it turned into no sexual intercourse for years. There are many intelligent people who are involuntarily chaste, and they are all unwitting victims of “the program.”
A couple years ago, shortly before I awoke, my self-styled controller or programmer told me, “It’s about breeding. People like you teach your children to fight. We can’t have that.” That says it all.
Since then, I have woken up. I have recovered forty years of repressed memories of mind control, and sexual abuse, and I have begun to fight.
They continue to push me hard with V2K toward pornography and rape fantasies, still hoping, unrealistically, that I will actually rape someone. And they continually interfere with my relationships with actual women. Every woman I have ever dated has been raped by them, and they have used drugs, electroshock, and hypnosis–not to mention trauma–to repress these women’s memories of abuse.
I will never give in, and I will fight them until the day I die. I will never rape anyone, I would fight to the death to defend any woman, and I will continue to seek normal and healthy relationships with members of the opposite sex. I am forty-eight years old, strong, fit, healthy, intelligent, fun, and kind. I have been lucky to have six sexual partners and one healthy daughter. (She has been sexually abused under PROJECT MONARCH, but she has no memory due to trauma, drugs, and electroshock). I have never been married, but I am still determined to find a serious girlfriend or a wife. The enemy, for sick reasons of their own, is determined to stop me.
I can tell you that pornography is not good. They use it, and they study our online habits. Masturbation isn’t good either. They want us to be isolated, to jerk off on the internet, and to avoid relationships with others. Alternatively, they want to use pornographic fantasies to poison people’s sexual relationships. They seek to introduce sexual perversion in healthy people, and they want to stop healthy people from raising healthy children. They want to blackmail victims and to bring people into sexual slavery.
This is our enemy. They are the Illuminati, and they use the CIA, MI5, BND, Swiss “Intelligence” and Mossad.
The program used to be called MK-ULTRA, but now it’s PROJECT MONARCH.
Fight it with everything you have. Avoid pornography, or anything sexual on the internet. Recognize perversion and selfishness as qualities the enemy introduces. Most of all, seek healthy relationships.
Get out there and date–or if you have a loved one, stay loyal. These scum hate that!