KDOG, Radio Free America
The following was written after an electronic torture session. While the tone begins rather unpleasantly, you can see how I work myself back into much more pleasant and more interesting thoughts. Here I begin sounding just a bit Cho like, barely able to speak, but end up having some fun:
It's time that I did something that I've been avoiding like the plaque. This, quite frankly, is a stupid lousy world where even the so called enlightened people will think ill of you if you're not like a bunch of other people. If only I could be like other people. But hey, how easy is it when you're being bombarded with electronic harassment, illegal surveillance, chemtrails and computer hacking? That's the subject for the moment because right now it's all I have on my mind. It's all I have on my mind because it's torture, plain and simple.
First I'll tell you about torture. When I'm being tortured the first thing is that my torturers win my eternal hatred. Got that? Eternal. The next thing that happens is that I begin to hate everybody who could have stopped them and didn't. Fortunately, that doesn't last quite as long. But then I get to where I hate absolutely everybody and everything and I curse the whole universe. That doesn't last quite as long either. The reason that I know these things is because when I get pushed off the deep end I know how to swim. From freaking experience I know how to swim and only want to hurt the torturers and no one else, unlike other people who simply have no clue about such things.
Oh, I would have told everyone everything. But nobody wanted to hear because it meant that I wasn't like them. And what I was saying breaks them out of their cozy little comfort zones. Besides who listens to such a freak as me anyway? You can't see electromagnetic waves or microwaves, you can't hear the voices in my head and what they say. Probably everyone will simply think me crazy anyway. But you know, the voices in my head are very real and those technologies are documented. So what if I'm not crazy but just the voices in my head are freaking crazy? You wouldn't believe some of the conversations that we have. That's exactly why I don't tell you about them. You'd just blame me, not them.
But maybe you should know. Hey, then maybe you can say I'm wrong, but you can't say that nobody told you. Having voices in yourhead is now a known symptom of being attacked by bio electromagnetic weapons. How do you expect to never run into a victim? But I'll give you this much. The people in my head are very definitely crazy. Not only that but they want to drive me crazy. And if I talk about this stuff they want me to sound crazy. Who knows? You know, it's hard enough to find people who you can trust anyway, let alone people who invade your head so as to torture you. Well, unless you're one of those nitwits that believes that torturers don't lie. How crazy does it sound, you ask? Well, that's what I'm leading up to here.
After awhile, you know, your mind gets worked over pretty good and it's hard to remember everything that happened, but I can still recall a lot. How I was tortured by Rumsfeld, who I guess started off with one of those occult "many masks" things and tried to sound like a whole lot of different people. Even groups of military people. But then, besides The Donald Rumsfeld, the personality that's a public persona, there was Action Jackson who his other personality, the young Little Donnie said was a trickster. Those are a few of the ones that I remember from last year, anyway, though these groups get curiouser, I found out later.
Then there was Dick Cheney, who also had a group, if I remember rightly. Though, you know, I'm not sure when they were actually different people, either. What I remember most about that exchange was his Little Dicky. You see, when these psychopath MPD/DIDs become very afraid their littles appear. Dicky would become so scared that he would actually try to change sides and be helpful until he realized that he's stuck being the big Dick that he really is. No pun intended. And you know that these people are all trained the same way because they use all of the same mind control talk which I had experienced decades ago. "Trauma." "Drama." "How?" "Who?" They sound like toddlers. Including Geriatric Psychobaby.
Now, in between all of this here and there some people came and went. Dubya wanted no part of any of this, he was practically hiding under his desk. "I don't want anything to do with this alien stuff!" Gonzales didn't care for it one bit either, and reacted much the same way. General George Casey threatened to rape me and my family. In fact they were all preoccupied with rape, come to think of it, although to some unknown extent of the time they mean it as a metaphor. I guess it's implied by thecontext, usually. Bob Gates didn't have much to say. When he came along I told him that the UFO Police were going to get him if he went along with these Nazis, and he thought about it and said he'd take his chances. Thinking about it now, Casey had denied being a Nazi, but he admitted to being a racist of unknown affiliation.
There were more positive conversations. "Pace", I told the General, "I've never seen anybody grit their teeth so hard while trying to tell a lie as you did today on TV. And I never knew a Jar Head who was afraid to speak his mind before either." I think they threw him into Gulag E and held his Marines hostage in the war.
The thing is that, and OK, I may just be crazy, but I certainly don't think so, while they can make it where I have to hear them, the UFO Police make it where they have to hear me. Then it's a brawl of personalities all the way around, because I take my troops, my alter personalities everywhere with me just as they do theirs.
But then just about the turn of the year, Ol' George Herbert Walker and I were linked 24/7. Now, to be clear, they don't identify themselves as much as they try to hide behind their many masks. But they know when you know, and they know they can't hide it altogether, which is why they sometimes try to make deals and such. But no deals with Nazis from me. No way. So along comes George Herbert. For the second time, mind you. The first time last year lasted a week or two, I'd guess. You just loose track when your head becomes like Grand Central. It was all weird with a capital W. At the time they tried to convince me that George, Dick and a bunch of Nazis had committed suicide, and they did go away for a few days, before just as I thought, they appeared on television. Not that I hadn't been hopeful. Just that I know better than to believe any Nazi lies at all.
So, here comes Ol' George Herbert again the second time around. Now, when I say that we fight, I mean it gets pretty nasty. Very nasty, partly because these people are so nasty. They begin to talk about sex stuff, and all I have to do is go into their earliest sexual encounters and they fall apart, or at least are slowed down a might. And when I hit them with the hard reality of just what they're facing, they typically go into their Little personality because, I guess, they don't know where else to go. But their littles can be pretty damned scary too. These were their child selves that hated everyone.
Now, I'm not altogether lame, and so after a good while I began to psychoanalyze these people. When George Herbert would go from wheeler dealer sophisticate politician looking to get alien technology for the Nazis, I could tell that I really rang his bell when he'd go into Little mode. Or when he'd show me some disgusting sex image that he always did this rather than face a reality. The Nazis apparently use such imagery to identify one another in an in your face sort of way. But it sometimes is just second nature to George Herbert. Boy does he get clocked for that stuff. And we're all over the place with this stuff, me telling George he's like the damn devil himself. That gets him sometimes.
It wasn't until much more recently that I understood that his little helps him to live in denial. First, you have to understand that the child in George is psychopathological. He has this movie star fantasy that someday he'll grow up and get revenge on everybody. And when Ol' George comes back from little land, he's forgotten whatever it was that sent him there, like my vision of Crazy Horse on his mount stomping him into the ground. I suppose it's like any other labor, you either get more efficient or work yourself to death. And I realized that I could build a bridge between Little Land and Elderly City by referring to George as "Geriatric psychobaby." You could almost see the springs pop out of his head to be confronted with himself in this way.
Now, old George, he's been quite a study because we spend so much time together. Why, he never misses a chance to talk with me, especially when I'm taking a shower or on the toidy. And he does this weird sex stuff... oh, God. But I would keep inventing new ways to spit in his face and poke him in the eye whenever I could. All under my breath so as not to alarm the neighbors, but verbal enough that the NSA/NASA people could hear me well enough.
Last night was a good example. I had something to do today, and so I'm sure to be sleep deprived the night before. So, I put the magnets in my ears and tried for two full hours to go to sleep with psychobaby biting at my ear. Well, it sounds like biting. And I think that, oh it's just so strange, I think that when Ol' George sleeps, psychobaby keeps watch or something, cause the kid seemed only half awake himself. But you know, this was much better than when old George used to make those licking sounds in my ear. Man, did that ever set me off! That's why I have the magnets. It helps. And that's how I eventually learned that talking to him about his earliest sexual experiences was like a punch in the gut for him.
Is this a difficult subject, or what? Sometimes I don't know if I should take an aspirin for the headache or just go ahead and puke. Oh, and you haven't even hear the half of it, let me tell you.
The thing is that Ol' George seems to want me, now get this, wants me to help him out of the bind that he's in. And he certainly doesn't need me to make things worse. And then he would like to have a joint Nazi Alien program of Universal Domination and Damnation or some fool thing, which I'm sure will never, ever happen. He wants me to stop "it", whatever "it" is. He wants me to not talk to aliens. He wants me to not talk to Congress. He want's me to stop writing. "Horn-ey", he says in that infantile way which is just as pathetic as much as it is disturbing. "Pro-gram." Just you go right ahead and pitch your sale to the UFO Police, I tell him. Just what the hell makes you think that they listen to me anyway? Hell, if they did, I damn well wouldn't have to put up with you, you wrinkled ridden, diaper laden, geriatric psychobaby!
Now, can we be totally honest here? I may be crazy, but hell, I'm absolutely positive that Ol' George would come up way short of a load if you gave him the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, if he didn't come up with just altogether way too many loads, that is. His many masks turned out not to be many masks at all, well, not exactly. They turned out to be hypnotically induced program bots! Artificial intelligence. "Ven you feel zis vay, you vill here a voman's voice zay, 'drama'. And ven you feel zis vay, you vill here a strong man's voice say, 'Trauma'. So forth and so on. No, what tipped me off is that, well, Ol' George started drinkin' and doin' drugs to keep him in the fight, and wouldn't you know it, they all got just as snockered as he did! One can only imagine how the Nazis managed such a thing like that, a multiple ventriloquist act where the ventriloquist is the biggest dummy on the stage. Old Rummy, Dicky and George all come with portable self enclosed MKULTRA support networks. Don't that beat all?
These walking self support groups only speak one word at a time. Let's face it, most people would have been dead before they ever figured out this mindgame. And I don't think that they even know that these voices aren't them. These are people who make a full time practice of forgetfulness, after all, so they have long ago abandoned all reason except whatever they borrow from someone else which sounds workable for the moment. They're robots!
So, now, here we are, going round and round, and finally one day I got really mad and told the UFO Police to go live and broadcast what was happening to a fairly broad but select group of interested persons. Since two of my personalities are DJ's, we made good fun of it, you know, good fun being so rare when someone is torturing you all of the time.
"You're listening to KDOG, Radio Free America, going out around the country, around the world, and across the universe. We're here with the Hippy Guy, Nana Nahiossi is working the control room, and I'm Po Man Sings. Of course, we have George Herbert Walker Bush here in the studio with us, that part of the show is brought to you by the NSA, leaders in illegal surveillance technologies. Later on in the show, maybe George will answer the mystery for us as to why he's still here.
Now, I'd just like to take a moment and talk to you about our Justice Drive. If you work for the government and could be a whistleblower, we want you to know that the UFO Police will have your back. And your families backs. Hey. If not for the UFO Police I would have been dead long, long ago. I can't say enough good things about them. But, well, hey. Decide for yourselves. Don't take my word for it, just start thinking that you would like to talk to the UFO Police and hopefully someone will be right there. I'm sure that you'll like them a whole lot, and then you will say, just as I do, support your local UFO Police.
You're listening to KDOG, Radio Free America, the show is being brought to you by Alien Technologies, the same people who brought you radio, television, and yes, flying saucers! And we're bringing down the vast right wing conspiracy all day, every day. All day long.
Wait a minute, wait a minute. Hold everything. We have Herbert Walker on the phone and he's trying to say something. Go ahead. Just speak to the audience, George, they're listening. George, you'll have to speak louder... Ok, George, look. Radio hates dead air, just hates it. You have the listening audience waiting. You have equal time, and here is an opportunity to tell your side of the story... No? Well, ok then. How often is it, listeners, that you get to here a former Representative, former Director of the CIA, former Vice President, and former President grumble and dummy up like this on the air? No where else. Only here on KDOG.
Now that brings up what an important part that you, the listeners, are playing here. Torture here at the station has suddenly fallen to almost nil. For the moment, anyway. Let me tell you, that nobody appreciates their listeners like we do here at KDOG, Radio Free America. That, well, that just seems obvious, doesn't it?
Next up, The Hippy Guy and our own Nana Nahiossi will be bringing us some great music. Hippy Guy, what's up for the next hour?"
"Well, I'm going to put on some coffee and twist up a little medication to start my day. Then I'm going to let Nana pick out some great tunes before I come back and do one of my sets. But first, I'd like to dedicate this next song to our friend Bill Gates... The Rolling Stones with... Start Me Up!"
So, after awhile you no longer hate the universe. Then, pretty soon you no longer hate the world. Is eternal hatred really eternal? That much I have yet to discover.
Disclaimer: Are these things that happen to me real? They certainly seem that way to me, but you know, I generally defer to consensual reality while I keep all of this in mind.
Tags: MKULTRA, Torture, Mind Control, Radio, Psychology, Bush, Conspiracy
No comments:
Post a Comment