Home * About * Subscribe by Kindle
Writers of the Apocalypse * My Music

Monday, November 7, 2011

milab, section 5

Tell me, what is Section 5? Not in a sci-fi sense, but that other sense: the one where people blame HARRP for everything and insist every UFO is extra-terrestrial in origin. That sense which means common sense was thrown out the window and the point to the quest - to use scientific reason - has been replaced with religious propaganda. I'm not sure what set it off, but last night was a night thinking of you my old master. I don't think of you often, and when I do it's as if I'm surrounded by your scent. It hangs inside my nasal cavity and my face with an orange color, almost palpable but completely unreal. I get jumpy, and as I try to sleep I find myself constantly watching the bedroom door in the dark afraid you'll walk through it. Conflicting emotions collide with me: the one side eager to go back to that pit and work for a while, and the other wholly terrified of you. But I'm truly not sure why I'm afraid, because the associated memories are mere impressions I write about during the day. I become fearful just thinking of the memory of the memories: these things that have made others cry. But master, I am told I must love you and bow my knee to you in a red fit of loyalty. It's an urge, it's a program, but my waking mind knows this is fabricated. It's not like giving birth, where the time to push is natural and happens without thought. This is an outside will: it has color, feeling, weight, and it's set subliminally to make you think it's instinct. Well, instinct has no flavor. So the memories play on my boredom, and the intelligent part of me reminds, "You lost interest when I lost my youth." That was longer ago than many people think. Therein do I spent my war-induced night alone. I struggle to admit it somedays, as if I'm never supposed to. Maybe it's a lie, but its a lie I've struggled with for almost forty years - before I knew the source of the scent. I almost fall asleep but wake up every hour, thinking you are in the room. I cannot rest when you are nearby. It's not safe. While the other part of me is afraid to rest lest she miss anything. Master, my master, there are those who said you were cruel. I never found you to be that way. You may call it acclimation if you wish, but this is just how you were. I could smell how the others were to you in your mind: this is your culture. We only blame things we do not understand nor agree with. If everyone decided your way was acceptable, the mood would change. O master, I'm thankful to you as well for allowing me to be close, to learn, to go where others never could. While they stank in cages I roamed free and brought them their supper. Their hay. Because you favored me for whatever reason. Or maybe I was just lucky. There is my loyalty - a loyalty born of a black princess, but it was there all along. I cannot remember if ever I ran from you. It seems to me I was sent somewhere else for the next phase, and all thoughts of rebellion are for the books I write and never reality. I want to remember you better, wondering if these implanted thoughts would change. Or would she change the implanted thoughts. A couple of weeks ago I had a dream where I rode with others in little railcart that were familiar to me until we reached the hospital complex, where my handler was waiting. He took me to the side with some others where we tested new inventions that are about to come out. The invention I tested was a special pair of glasses. He listened when I complained to him on what I was doing, because I'm more accustomed to creating the stuff not testing it like some half-useful cow. He placated me by saying okay, and then called me his gem. I was special, I was amazing, I was his gem and the most important person on the team. I asked him why, because I didn't Work there. He said, "Welcome to Section 5." The amusing thing is through the entire dream I knew I was going to work, but because I work in comics I thought that's what I was going to handle. What a conflict inside of me when it turned out to be engineering. I knew it. I handled it. But I was still disappointed.

Friday, September 30, 2011

milab, alien, fort polk

Yesterday morning I woke up from a dream in which an alien had come down to take over the world, and I was all set to stop him. It wasn't a violent dream. In fact I handled the alien like I handle my husband: I simply reached up and took his glasses off. (My husband is all but blind.) And then we got into an argument over the evil powers that are taking over the country, and the alien accused me of wanting to surmise the order. I defended the situation and said that yes, I was aware of what was going on but people needed to realize that the situation could "still be stopped legally". It was just a dream, I'm sure of it. I'd got up with my husband when he went to jump and went back to bed. You know how dreams are: you pretty much make up what's happening as you go along and even will make up information. But even so, I woke up genuinely frightened of what I may have told the handlers - what were they thinking, and was I in trouble. It wasn't a nightmare fright when you wake up. It was the other kind of fear. Sometimes I think that the things around me are all in my head, and I'm trying to feel special about myself in some way. But if I'm making it up, why worry so much?

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

MILAB, Fort Polk

Well there was something going on at the building but I can't remember what it was. I talked to a person - a woman. I think my new handler now that we're at Fort Polk is a female, and to be honest I think I like her. She talks to me like a real person, and although I know this tactic from being with counselors etc for my son she's at least personable. She seems more set on observing my behavior than anything; watching the culmination of the experiment I expect. She's shorter than me, but yes. Last night it was her again in my "dream" - and I knew it was a dream so maybe dream it was. And I can't remember what was going on at the building, but I do recall my voice was the kind of voice I have when I'm directing things around the house or a gather. I decided I had to go somewhere, or maybe I wanted to talk a walk. So I left the concrete building and walked down the dirty road. The trees around me were pine, and set like a tree farm. Considering this area here is almost all tree farm, if it was a real dream I can see it being influenced by that. But anyway, the road turned to the left and there was a bump up as if going over a railroad track to a cemetery. It was well kept but tiny and rather weird there in the middle of the trees. About seven to ten young boys were there, climbing trees and doing excited boy things. I don't think they saw it as a cemetery. There was a man there observing them. I said something to him because I knew he was in charge of them, and he gave me a reason for their behavior. They ran off to my right down another road that was there. I followed. At the end of that road was a ten foot high chain link fence and signs that read, "Authorized personnel only." There was a gate house by the fence, all closed up. I went up to it while the boys ran inside and I chose not to disobey the sign so turned around. The woman had said something to me once by then but can't remember. She only came into my field of notice if she needed to. As I walked back the guard house was to my right side, and then I noticed that by the guard house was one of the little helicopters. It was an older model, painted all black and disabled the way the military does to exhibit something. It probably could seat 2 or 3 people. I looked up at it's underbelly only because I was noticing it was there. The usual wish I have to learn to fly one wasn't there. I recognized the model but only in a "I've seen this" sort of way. I noticed the helicopter had a very bumper sticker, and I found that odd so I read it. I can't remember what it said although I read it to myself several times. I remember thinking, "Oh, well it's another of those propaganda slogans" but it was funny to me anyway. The thing about the bumper sticker is that it wasn't standard sized. It was a very long bumper sticker to fit the long sentence. As if someone didn't understand bumper stickers have a standard size. I woke up in bed with no one there, and I freaked. It was because my husband was taking Stardrops to school but even though part of me knew that, I still was kind of weirded out. I know I also had a dream within a dream at one point, but can't remember that either aside from it being a repeating dream that I seem to have had in many other dreams: a bird that comes at me to attack me, and me having to squish its head to get it to leave me alone with my boot. To be precise, this last time: my army boot.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

MILAB at Fort Polk

Several weeks ago there was an exercise where I ran with my daughter into what I considered to be a swamp with a house in the middle, but now in the waking world I realize it was laid out like a certain spot in Area 51. My handler was there, and there was a tiny shoppette, and lots of military men in stereotypical backwoods redneck outfits (save 3 who wore dress blues) observing. I decided I'd lost my daughter, and that little prick of a handler started saying things to me like, "Yeah, it's not fun losing your family and not knowing where anyone else is, huh?" Basically, threatening my family. So I treated him proper Red style and turned my back on him, turned to the man in dress blues by me and poured my heart out to him. I haven't seen the little prick since. From that time to now in the waking world, our little family have been transferred from Fort Campbell to Fort Polk. We've been here about 12 days. On the 2nd night here, I was taken out of the hotel for another exercise. A short blonde woman was handling me that night. She asked, "Do you want to remember what happens tonight?" Like a fucking idiot I replied, "Only if you do nothing to hurt me." And as I began waking up the next morning I remember being very frustrated in my inner thoughts: I didn't remember a damn thing.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

milab mission

Hello, Eve! I'm posting so much on your Facebook page, I figured I should just go ahead and take the time to write to you. I've just returned from the beach and am not ready to return to the work grind right now anyway. Thinking of a shower first. It's been soooo long we've totally lost track of what we were talking about, so I'll just start fresh - that guy on your Facebook aside. Although I do find it disturbing how defensive people get of their personal conspiracy beliefs. Might as well raise a chapel to them and be done with. During and right after the Bin Laden mission was going on, I was fortunately in a position to hear some interesting things. It goes beyond that he hid behind a woman when his guards failed him and he was about to die. Or that my husband gave his entire box of 500 cigars to the boys who were still out in the field fighting when one of the higher officers was returning the field. (There were a lot more wounded out there than has been reported.) We were also shut down here at home. The phones wouldn't work right, my husband was blocked from contacting us here, and it trickled to me that one way they'd tracked down the location in Pakistan was by using people to follow his couriers home when they did things like fly in airports to various locations like Africa. It was a very difficult time for me because a lot that I had been forced to endure was finally coming full circle, including the vision of the mission I'd desperately tried to get word to Stargate about. It wasn't as hard as those in the field (some of which brought home actual footage we had briefly before the drive mysteriously died), but it was still an emotional upheaval. I could never have turned to you or anyone else because I wasn't allowed to even had I been able. And I'm having to bite my lip on your Facebook right now; so much I could say. So much I'm not allowed to say, except to you and maybe Bartley later. Maybe. So much intelligence I saw was accurate, including his location in Pakistan. So I'm telling you as one of the psychics that probably was one the job: I don't believe Alex Jones. Rating aren't that important, to belittle the loss of life our men went through on this mission. And it belittles me, too. It's bad enough that when it was over, Obama HAD to put in an appearance at Fort Campbell. He HAD to make it so my husband still couldn't come home to see me. So I complained on the telephone that it was bad enough he'd messed up my birthday and I'd sacrificed so much, but now he was taking credit for everyone else's hard work while keeping the families from being reunited. And what does he do in his speech? He claimed he remembered everyone there. (He'd never even been near that area, who was there for him to remember exactly?) And he thanked the families for their "intangible sacrifice", citing ruined birthdays as one such thing. .... I am still livid. I want a damn personal thank you. I want a medal for being dragged out of my bed at 2 am and put into a drugged stupor, for having to put up with this immature little bastard, and then not even being given a pat on the back that what I saw led us to the man they were after. And back pay. Humph. Anyway, something humorous happened the last time I went to "work." I was picked up with a bunch of people - I think they were people from around my neighborhood area because they looked and dressed like the class of people that live here. But I was taken aside by two men and told to "wait here" in the white waiting room that's near the office with the big windows that's near the underground rock train terminal. Unfortunately they had me in a small child frame of mind. "Wait here" doesn't mean anything to me in that state, so as soon as they were gone I walked out of the room to explore. I walked down the hallway (it's one of the older facilities with the low ceilings, heat, and pipes in the ceiling) until I got to a t-section. There was a muscular young Caucasian man in solid greens and the older hat walking down the hall. He had his sleeves rolled up in that 1950's fashion. (I've begun to notice the 1950's and 60's way of dressing and being prevails in this realm a lot.) I about-faced immediately to go back the way I had come because I did NOT want to be caught. I was almost back to the waiting room when a black woman in solid greens stepped out of the door to the terminal. She saw me and I saw her. I read her mind immediately: she thought I was one of her group. I was surprised to see a minority anything here in power, much less a Black woman. Her hair was in the sock bun military women wore, but she'd been on the job long enough her bun was starting to become unraveled. Her skin was a beautiful cocoa brown. She could also have been South American, Cuban... anything dark like that. So while I studied the grey hairs unraveling on her left temple, she spoke to me in three complete sentences that were laden with command and key words. I knew what she was doing. I courteously listened as she did this. She basically told me that I was supposed to be on a mission to go to space and fight, and that I needed to follow her in to rejoin the crowd. It wasn't my mission. I knew it wasn't my mission... but I miss space... so I followed her in. As I entered I could hear the end of the fight pep talk and the people shouting, "Go USA! Go USA!" and they lined up: they were all Caucasians, mostly women and a couple of children. I got at the end of the line. And then... not sure, but my cat came up to me. I picked him up and remember how heavy he was. And he leapt from my arms and I followed him and that's how I got separated from the group again; the vision of one of my other cats on the rocky ground mewing in pain. I tried to call for help but there was something in my mouth like a mouth guard or something, and I couldn't do it. I looked up and everyone had already boarded and left There were two guards at the terminal doors (they're big like large elevator doors.) who couldn't hear me cry. I was pretty upset when I opened my eyes in the bed. That's not the first time I've decided to act on my own and something came up to get me from it. I truly think I went somewhere that night. I find it interesting my kitties are used to get me to behave. And it's just funny. "I'm bored. I want to go to space. Well now. HERE'S an opportunity!" :-) Anyway, I hope you've been doing well over there. Not much else has happened for me lately. I think I'm bored. Yours, Blue

Saturday, May 7, 2011


We were magical creatures; I and those I was with. They weren't anyone I know in real life. And I was a queen, their queen, while at the same time there was a blonde queen. I, the dark one. She, the fair. There were rules, and orders, and a need to stay out of sight. And I, finding a hollow tree embedded in rock we could live and hide in. We were pregnant, both we queens, and I was in slow labor. I'm not sure about her. It was her they worried about the most. My daughter was there; she was the princess. She was going to school, but as our identities were hidden while we remained in exile no one knew what they had in their possession. And I felt that was best. But at the end of the dream, the fair one's feelings broke and she ran away. She ran so fast. I couldn't stand being left behind no more than I could stand being shut up, hidden, in that tree while soldiers looked for us day after day. So I ran after her. I'm a slow runner, and she left me behind. But I had an advantage. I knew the way, I knew the path she would take. When I lost sight of her cloak, I kept going. I would turn a corner and she would be there, resting against a tree, hiding behind a rock. So I kept running. We ran across a field to the wall edge of the thick black forest. I woke up before I reached those sheltering trees and freedom. Later there was a repeat dream about dragons in the sky, a long bridge over whatever, and dragons catching on fire while birds attacked them. Have had the dream before. Took pictures with my camera.

Friday, April 8, 2011

training exercise

It wasn't much of a training exercise, and the images are jumbled and vague. I know it was happening in a wide grassy area with a ravine nearby, kind of like the area in Garden of the Gods or something. There was a dark-haired person I was talking to there, but I can't remember what we were talking about. Nothing important, I suspect, as we stood in the crevice away from the grass. And at some point there was a young woman wearing solid fatigues, very old-fashioned but the cloth was new, in a hat that I spoke briefly with. I was told she was a "P-- Corporal". Principle Corporal maybe. Can only guess. Then I was on the grass, walking to somewhere. I looked up and ahead of me a little to my right. There was a guy there, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He had a toy rifle; I think it was a nerf gun or some plastic craptastic thing. He pointed at me. Inside of me the information that he was Vietnam (or some country like that) filtered into my head. He was shooting. I knew he was shooting. But there was no sound, no movement from his body, nothing. Just the knoweldge he was firing a volley of automatic rounds at me. Suddenly out of nowhere four people came and stood in front of me. They were all women. One of the ones in the middle was the Corporal, whose name was Alexander or Alexia or something. She wasn't wearing her hat anymore. I can still remember her face and the cut of her short blonde hair. She told me to stay down as she stepped up, and I did. She was taking most of the "bullets" and fell to the ground while the others just stood there. Then the others stepped away and the guy was still firing, or perhaps he had left. I crawled up behind the corporal as she slumped and braced her back with my body as I wrapped my arms around her. "Hang in there," I said. "Steady now, don't fall." And while I held her I couldn't understand this scenario. It made no sense to me. Her body wasn't jerking from the bullet impacts. There was no ricochet, no sound, no blood. And then she was on the ground, dead somehow, and I got up and her body was gone. Someone said that her disappearance meant she "was a goner" but it might have been my mind making the puns that I do. I cried bitterly over my "savior". I was already depressed when I went to bed. I mean, come on. So I wanted to walk away from the... field?... and be alone. I knew there were trees on the edge, I would sit there and be by myself. I started to walk and suddenly I was surrounded on either side by two women. One wore a white lab coat. They asked me where I was going and were working to distract me and keep me there, and I knew it. I know that at one point the subject of free time came up and I complained bitterly to them. "I don't know how you people find the time to do things for yourself," I said. "I don't even have the time to find anymore." The one in the lab coat smiled knowingly. I noted that to myself. And then.. I was looking at my feet as they were around me. I noticed that one's hair was somehow at her feet and funny looking, brown and in tiny braids. More like twine used on packages, really. I was thinking, "What weird fucking hair." I finally said, "Look. I just want to be alone for a while." I was getting exasperated at them. And they said/did something. Suddenly I was in a bunker, or rather. I was assuming it was a bunker while at the same time knowing I was in a little trailer. There were two beds in there, and I was lying on one of them in "stand by mode". The other bed was on the other side of the small box and I knew there was a young man on it. I was nekked, the way I was when I went to sleep, and wearing my large blue bathrobe. I automatically adjusted it to cover my breasts. The lad, who turned out to be my young male handler, said, "Good. I want to see breasts, but not *yours*." His emotion of disgust hit me, too. But I was on standby mode and only able to register things. Then he came over to me - he was in dress greens - and adjusted the bottom of my robe to cover other parts of me. I thought to myself, "I guess I wasn't covered good enough." I know that at some point after the Corporal died, I was back at the crevice only it was now filled with water. There was a strong current int he water that tried to sweep two girls away - one I was told was my daughter but was too old and too blond. So my "daughter" ran on the water to get back on shore. And said to me, "Look! I'm walking on water!!" When I woke up the first thing I considered was that knowing smile. It says to me, "You have more free time than you think you do." Another testimony to their ignorance. No. I don't. As for that young handler: he really has NO business handling. It's like a man who despises horses taking care of an entire stable. He needs to be placed elsewhere. As a matter of responsibility.

Friday, April 1, 2011


I went to sleep early last night because I'm angry: angry at one for being stupid about their position, angry at the other for having ties to the situation causing the problem, and angry at my handlers for putting the buttons in me in the first place. Just angry at the whole kit 'n kaboodle. "You have to go to work tonight." "Fuck them, and fuck you. Everybody in my head, we are no longer cooperating unless some of the bullshit is alleviated." It was 1800 hours, and I went to bed. 2100 hours or so I get a txt on my phone, alleviating some of the problem. The texter in question would not normally have been privy to the information needed. I read the txt, responded, got up and worked. Midnight and even though I'd had a long nap I'm fighting sleep. ... but you're not going to like me. It was a rough night. My tooth hurt. There's something in my memory about a wild car ride, but I can't tell when the dream happened. Or what happened. My alarm went off at 4:30 and I went to turn it off... and it shut itself off mid-tone. I thought it strange that it did it like that and went back to sleep quite naturally. I didn't hear the other two alarms. The phone was right next to my ear, and I'm tuned to my alarms. So that should be considered weird. My right arm hurts in the upper muscle with that ache you get after a booster shot. That very specific ache.

Monday, March 21, 2011


Tonight I had a dream about a family with two children. Bits of what was happening to them came to me here and there. I have a faint memory of watching a man sit in a chair, burning alive. I was watching from the ceiling. And he just sat there. He'd set himself on fire with his mind somehow. The room was pretty barren and the chair had straps on it I *think*; it looked sort of like an electric chair. When the setting switched, there were these two boys - or perhaps a brother and sister - that were bike riding down a bike trail in the woods. There was a sign that said something like restricted area or something. I was standing there and saw them pop out racing; maybe running from something. There was a man in uniform standing there as if he'd expected them to come out there who told them, "We told you not to come this way" or something like that. I remember a flash of his dress blues out of the corner of my left eye. Then this dark-haired woman with her hair in layers came out of the trail on her bike. The children were stopped just a ways up the path and waiting. She looked at the man and did something with her eyes. The man began to vibrate so much you could see it, and it was killing him. So, she was using a sound weapon with her mind. I remember thinking, "What am I watching?" Then I remembered the man in the chair and I said, "Oh. I'm watching Firestarter." The mother killed the man and then told the children to ride, ride as far as they could. I could feel her grief. She was going to stay and face the music and let them kill her while her children get away. And the the setting switched. I was in the desert; there were a few ex-soldiers there. It was almost post-apocalyptic, like Mad Max or something, and there was one soldier with shaved hair. But I knew he would be blond. The boy came up to him; the boy was much older. I can't remember what was being talked about. I just knew that this man was the only one capable of raising the children well.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011


So let me tell you this thing, because when I get to it my thoughts jump. I can think of it alone or when not trying to communicate, but otherwise it's a necessary secret. To hell with these secrets. Maybe I'm one of the bad guys, so what if I am? So what if I'm not? I was told enough times all these years that I'm a bad guy. I'm sure such a revelation isn't going to effect the outcome of anything. If I truly am one of the bad guys, people figure it out on their own and go away on their own accord. Would I rather just talk, then, and treat things as if I were with my own. And if my own are there, they will stay. The chair was invented out of a necessary need to remember. It was a fixation at first. I think I was 15, when I was obsessed the most with memory recall, reincarnation, and the tricks of soul containment. I conceived of the idea of "finding" the chair one night as I lay down to go to sleep - that's when I did most of my thinking. Still is. I decided in my world of inner fantasy that the "mother ship (the one in the mountain)" would have a chair to bring forth memories. It would have to have this, because that's one way to figure out what soul you have in that body you've discovered. It's a way of making sure of who is whom. So I decided finding that machine would be the answer to my problems. I'd find it, I'd have the quick track to remembering everything and getting the story in order, and in this way I could capture others, scan them, and find my "army" again. So I'd think of this chair often. I'd picture it's design in my head, how it would work, where the electrodes would connect; the works. But later in life, perhaps a year or two later, I for some reason came to the conclusion that the chair was simply going to have to be invented. There was no getting around it because in my mind the mother ship had went from this fantastic box full of ancient artifacts to an empty shell that had been stripped of everything. I can't quite remember what I was thinking at the time. So my dream time went from worrying about finding a chair into worrying about how to improve memory recall; to resurface the souls buried within. It was always very important to me, the art of it. I guess that's why I've pondered and worked at it for so very long. And then I stopped thinking about it on the surface as much. There have been times through the years I thought about it, but over time you know how it goes. And after a while you write things off as dreams and silly fantasy. I knew I went to "work" a couple of weeks ago, so for shits and giggles I had Choshu remote view to it and tell me what happened. She was a little astounded a bit: White and Stupid came for me, and then we teleported to our vehicle. There was not walking outside. She described out how I rose out of bed to meet them: she's never seen me do that before, but I'm familiar with the way of it. I've freaked people out with it a few times. :-P And then she said we went to the West Coast, to one of the underground labs, and there I played with my chair. Because that chair was that alter's life work, and she was very fixated on the situation. She also described how I and the man at the lab who met us (White and Stupid left us to our own devices apparently) talked like long-time co-workers as I walked down. And I said,"Oh, that old thing," as I remembered about it. Oh yeah. Forgot. And then two days later I came across a reference by some of the MILABs who also remember the thing, only being in it. Can't say I remember ever using it on myself, or really it aside from the conception all those years ago. But eh. I suppose. When I'd first thought of this thing, I had no intention of using it to jumble memories. It could be used as an eradication of course: to forget everything forever would be a capital punishment. But never did it occur to me over here that it could be used to confuse and inject. But I suppose that would only make sense.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

missing time and oher stuff

It fucking happened again last niiiight! This time I was talking to my husband on the phone until the phone battery died. So I put it on the charger. I genuinely can't remember if he called me back or not. It seems like maybe he called me back on the house phone, which I had beside me in the bed, and maybe he didn't. But that's how things were when I went to sleep. I wake up this morning, and the cell phone is in the bed with me turned off and the house phone is sitting on the vanity where the cell phone was. I turned the cell phone on: fully charged. This isn't like me! If I got up to turn off an alarm, I would remember it. I've always remembered it. This is getting too weird!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


It should be made to note that my husband called me after midnight on schedule. At about 02:30 hours I went upstairs to talk to him in the bedroom. I left the kitchen light on. I was already feeling creeped out by that point because the house had that "they're here" feeling. I never feel safe when that happens. This is why I consciously made a decision to leave the kitchen light on; as a night light. While talking to him in the bedroom I decided I wanted to go back downstairs for something. I opened the bedroom door to leave, and stopped. All of the lights were turned off. Stardrops was sleeping. I was the only one up. And I got creeped out even more. And maybe even a little frightened. When I hung up with him after 4 in the morning, I put the phone with the earbud still in it on the dresser. When I woke up in the morning, I felt nauseous and acid-mouthed. As I stood up to get moving for the day I noticed one of my cell phone charms was stuck to my nightgown. The phone was missing on the dresser. I had been sleeping on it. This is the 2nd time in the past 2 weeks I've woke up with my cell phone not in the way I put it when I went to sleep. I had a dream about a high electric fence, a place I'd been to before. Driving a car to leave something; some area where there were lots of people. And a crawldaddy. And clear water in a creek by the fence: perfectly clear water. And a shrine to "steffie" that looked very Hindu. At first I was going to rescue the dolls on the shrine because I thought they were abandoned until I noticed the shrine, so I began straightening it out as it was obviously a mess from a recent rain storm. The Indian family that owned it came walking up to help me. The crawldaddy I let go in the creek which was full of giant minnows. I bade it to live a full and happy life. Somehow there was another fish involved: a big ugly one in the tank I had the crawldaddy in. If I had decided to keep the crawldaddy the fish would have ate it, and that's one reason why I chose the creek. The crawldaddy wasn't mud colored because it had not been raised in muddy water. It was a light pale brown, almost flesh colored. I remember noticing that and how odd it was to me.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


I have another sinus infection, and I guess I overdosed a little bit on medicine. I was so desperate to make the burning go away and get some sleep. I finally fell asleep at about 6 in the morning. I walked the house of my mind. I know it's the inner house of my mind now, where I never knew it before. It was just as grey and empty as ever. And dark, because there is no lighting aside from what filters in from the day. I think it was Saraen that was with me, and some guy she had. I told them not to go to the second floor. Always if I go to the second floor, I experience terror even though I've never been attacked or seen anything there. It's just that's where the feelings of fear lurk. Next thing I knew creatures came down from the second floor. They were reaper type creatures made of grey old-fashioned funeral cloth. They didn't make any noise, but they came around anyway. I said to Saraen, "I TOLD you not to go to the second floor, but you did anyway." Her response was the usual noncommittal thing she gives, because she's going to do what she wants and to hell with who pays the consequences if it's not her. I wasn't afraid of them oddly enough. At this point Saraen and company disappeared from the dream. It was me and the reapers. One would come at me, and I'd use a sentence of power and put out my right palm to touch it. This would send it fleeing away. The sentences of power were ordinary sounding, like "Wash the dishes" only they weren't sentences you'd use in everyday conversation normally. I can't remember them now, but through this I know that deep down I know my own sentences of power. At one point I flipped up a reaper's skirting to see if there was anything inside. It was completely hollow. And it didn't like the invasion of privacy, I suspect. I used a sentence of power on it, too, and off it went. When I drove off the last reaper, I noticed there was a small white fox running laps around my feet. Maybe she was an arctic fox. She was beautiful, with small pointed ears and not the large ones like on a red fox. I saw her and knew I'd seen her two nights ago, and I knew she was a shapeshifting fox. I thought of her like a werewolf, but I guess the proper term is kitsune. Then I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. I said to her,"Oh, how I wish I had your power. I'd let you bite me, if I thought it would give your power to me." Or maybe I said that first and then grabbed her. I can't remember. I held her thus, and my grip loosened a few times but I managed to get it back each time. AT one point I remember she had her teeth on me, but she didn't bite down. And she shapeshifted into human form. She was about the size of a Barbie with light brown hair and a White person's face. I began asking her questions. "What music do you like? Where do you come from? Are you from outside or is it me? Who was here first?" But she refused to answer and stayed quiet aside from a voiced noise of pain as my fingers continued to grip her hair and it pulled. I said, "You know, if you'd strike up a conversation with me I might be convinced to let you go." Nevermind the real reason why I'd clung so long to begin with was because I was afraid she'd bite and hurt me. She got that mischievous grin I get, and she said in my voice, "What kind of music?" And erupted in song. I mean she erupted like a radio. It was an old intro song to Saturday morning cartoons back when Kid Video was the song of the hour. Only the lyrics were all wrong. It said, "It's time for Sunday morning. It's time for Sunday morning." And all these weird voodoo poppet doll things erupted through the air in an arc like a puppet rainbow or some crazy shit. I saw them coming and watched. They were all shades of brown, no color at all. And I thought how silly, because the music didn't effect me the way it does everyone else in my head. I looked back down at the kitsune but I wasn't holding her anymore. She'd used the distraction to switch herself with one of the dolls. It was a burlap looking thing with heavy stitched seams and funny yarn hair. I noticed her lips were sewn shut with a very fine copper wire. And boom. I was out of the dream. Only I was somewhere else, thinking, and plotting time travel and coming up and out the way I do.

Friday, February 18, 2011

super powers

At the turn of the century when my black princess programming was first getting awoken, I was living with a would-be cult and the 2nd in command (who was really more like a leader). If you Saw him with his glamours off, he was large and full of tendrils. I couldn't handle the pressure of being so near this being while having him mess with my mind at the same time, so I started to fall apart. And the merging process was happening too quickly. I don't think he knew what he had in his house, to be honest, that he'd decided to tamper with. Which would explain why he broke into real tears once, looking into my head at my small childhood, or would get confused when one of my altars would take over his body and speak through him. He knew a lot, but was also very ignorant. One day I was washing dishes in my part of the house when he came home from work. In that merging state all twelve of your sense are raw and wide open, so when he walked in I didn't see the dumpy human. I was startled by the bright tendril monster. What happened next was like in a Hollywood movie. By trained instinct, I turned and shot a volley of light darts in his direction. About six came out of my right hand (the hand of power) and hit him in a scattered array. I stood there with my back against the sink and watched them soak into his body while he looked down calmly. Then I was hit with, "Omigosh! I remembered how to do __-!" and the following conversation was more me bouncing on my toes in joy that I'd managed to do something and him claiming that they'd bounced off his "armor'. When he'd made that claim I didn't say anything, but they did NOT bounce off. Shortly after that he spent a lot of time sick in bed.

Monday, February 14, 2011

MILAB experience

My husband is deployed to Afghanistan. I have been enduring a lot of emotional abuse from one of my current handlers, an inexperienced little prick of a boy. It's very distressing. He hates me and I can sense it. I'm in an airport, with my "husband". He had no name; he was just my husband and that was all I needed to loyally wait as he was redeployed or shipped out or whatever scenario it was to emotionally deride me. I was taking it in stride, though, and actually now that I think about it was not that upset. Just kind of there. He walked away, perhaps to board the plane. I'm not sure. I remember barely that it was communicated to me that he was leaving for whatever, so I guess that was the trigger moment well times. And as he walked out of my line of sight, another man walked by it. This man had an extra layer of clothing, as if a pulled up robe, and a flash or red or yellow-orange underneath as if on a vest or something like that. He was my target. My mind zeroed in on this person, who was now my focus, as he walked through the scanners and down into the terminal areas of the airport. Yes, there were a lot of other people there but they were just a background hum. And then, when my target was gone, I returned to my waiting status. Suddenly without pause I'm in a hall and there's a map on the wall; one of the maps where the countries are in various colors. Like the one on my wall except it was much bigger. When I noticed it, I thought I was looking at my own map at first but then noticed I was in a back hall somewhere in the airport. I automatically zeroed into where Tim, my real husband, is right now: the Afghanistan area. But that was wrong, it was not where my eyes wanted to be. So they went south, and then skipped over when I hit water, and then south until I came upon a tiny country somewhere in Africa. By Kenya. I calculated it. I read the country's name. I knew this country, and I triangulated back to AFghanistan thinking to myself, "It's south of him." And then I pointed with my right hand even though no one was there and said, "The man is going there." In my mind it was wrong that the map didn't have a pin to mark the place. So I focused harder. And while my "husband" reappeared from the right and affirmed with me that this was the place a pin appeared there. Maybe because of my imagination. Maybe because it was placed. There was a white box on the wall; it held a phone. My husband picked up the receiver, dialed a coujple of numbers, and said, "Is ____ there? Yes. Tell her Tim is on the phone for her." He paused a second because the person on the end of the line apparently didn't quite get it. "No," he said, "Tell her Code Tim. Code Tim! Yes. Yes. Tell her Tim wants to talk to her." And I thought to myself, "So this person is screening her calls." Then my husband looked back at me with a pleased expression. He didn't have a malicious look in his eye, not really. He's just a young kid that was given me to deal with. And he had said my husband's real name. So while he was talking, I was looking at one of my handlers and seeing his true face for the first time. A young kid, maybe 22. Maybe 25. Short brown hair in a tight cut. Not blue eyes. I would have noticed if they were blue. Very thin, angular face. And not a bad soul, either. A quiet soul and a voice he made very sweet because he was pleased with me and wanted me to think Tim was there to love me. And although he continued to play the part, I stood there assessing everything about him and studying even his tiny blue jeans and the white shirt he wore. Because he was not Tim, and it was important I knew who this person was that put himself in the place of my husband. After a mission with the military, be it MILAB or not, you brief the situation to a superior. My brief came a foggy bit later as I stood in front of a big wooden desk. There was a woman behind the desk that I was ... ooh I get it... the woman was probably the person my handler called on the phone... but anyway, I was standing in front of the desk and I thought she was Eve Lorgen. So I told it to her with phrasing such as, "I had this dream, and in the dream my husband wasn't my husband..." etc. And proceeded to tell her about the man in the airport and where he was going. One of these days they're going to do that and I'm going to hit the rant, "I love my work, you know? I love doing these things. I just don't want to do them like this anymore. I'll happily use my gifts for my country. But I want my days and memories, and I want to know what I'm doing and what the situation is. And a small stipend would help out a lot."

Thursday, February 10, 2011

milab, dream

I was somewhere for a 4th of the July celebration. Somewhere the sun would never set, because it was night yet it was light out. And I knew it wasn't 4th of July, being as it's February, but I was going along with it. It was a small dock like area with a large creek going out into the water like in Florida. There were little bleachers there and a white gravel parking area of some kind. I can't remember all that happened. I just remember that i got into Barry's truck to leave, and I was on my cell phone talking to someone. I don't know who. Choshu, my husband, or Silverkat. And the people in the little boats (they were like Dixie boats, the kinds used in the old days down south) lit fircrackers all over the boats. I remember looking at how pretty they were and then I noticed the people weren't on the boat anymore. They were on the bleachers. And then suddenly, as if it were in the Bermuda Triangle, the boat went plunk! Straight down into the water. "OMIGOD THEY SUNK THE BOAT!" I told the person I was talking to. I kept going over and over it like a person does when they're dumbfounded. They just sunk the boat! Just like that! For a celebration! I was shocked at what I had seen! Then Barry got into the truck on the driver's side and handed me a purple flyer. I could read what the flyer said, but I don't remember it now. He said to me that in the summer this magazine the flyer was for was starting up and he wanted my work in it. There was a date on the upper right hand corner. And the theme of the magazine seemed to be horror or something like that out of my field. I wasn't sure of putting my work in it. Then we started to drive away.

Small Signs of Inconsequence

Tonight, fake nails are of note. While laying in bed with a stupid tummy ache, I started to put two and two together the way I do. And I thought: well I have to tell someone. That way when I'm dead no one can say I kept it to myself. And it's a fluff matter. It's small. It's inconsequential. An ICAR researcher just blew me off the other day over it. And yet. There it is, not as silly and small as it sounds. I... never do my nails. This is important to note. It isn't that I don't like trying to be pretty. They get in my way. So I keep them reasonably short, and sometimes I'll paint them, and overall they're clean unless I'm handling an archeology dig in the field which I'll never get to do again. But last week the "urge" came through. You know the one: the one where it's a command and handling it is going to supersede all of your thoughts, and all you'll do is talk about it. So for the past several days, everyone I know has had to deal with me talking constantly about fake nails. Because I had to do my nails in a hurry. So I chose French pearl medium length ones, put them one and made sure they looked like real nails, and proceeded to clean house for the special company that was coming to pick me up. (I ended up only cleaning around point of entry, my bedroom, and doing some laundry.) During this time I tried to figure out why on earth I had to worry about my nails in this way. I'd been told to clean up before, but this was a little extreme. I half-joked: Oh. I must be going to handle another ambassadorial meeting. Hooray! This means I'll be getting to go back into outerspace for a bit! And the some Saturday, Sunday, yesterday and today the fatigue hit full force: complete with not really remembering the day and sleeping a lot. And of course, not getting ANY work done. Monday morning, the nails began to come off. I'd only had them on for 4 days, but they were affixed to last more than a week. But they didn't. I remember wondering if I'd been gone for more than a few hours on my last pickup because of how the nails appeared to fall off early. Then I took them off, decided I liked wearing fake nails but wanted shorter ones that were stylish, and here I am with good looking hands. I find out today that over the weekend (Superbowl weekend and a fine time to distract people with football fluff) ALL of the U.S. Ambassadors were called back home to the states for a closed meeting. Funny coincidence. So UFO people should pay attention to fake nails!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


Before I dreamed, I fell asleep while on the phone with my husband. I've never done anything like that before. I woke up to his voice, "Hellooo.. anybody there?" The dream happened after we hung up, though. I was at Saraen's house, only it was very small, and one of her ex-boyfriends was there. He wanted to learn how to be Otherkin. And even though I don't believe in that anymore, especially in light of the things I know now, I ordered Saraen to get "the bottle of wine we had" so we could sit down, share drinks, and teach the lad. There were ice cube trays... well, I mistook them for ice cube trays. They were shaped funny, actually. I banged them on the counter the way I do hard, but the ice wouldn't come (the way it does). And I talked to him while waiting for Saraen, who never came back. She did... something... not sure what... to piss me off. I banged the trays harder and yelled, ranted, raved. I am an emotional person, but I think upon retrospect I was being unreasonable. After a while Saraen came back, hugged me and said "I"m sorry'... but she was 15 years younger than in real life here. Not quite her. Her hair was short, too. I'm not sure what the hell. And in another part of the dream, I'd gotten some ice out of the trays and was arranging it on the counter. They were long shapes and small round shapes... all gray. The tray, the ice, all gray. Like slate or marble. The trays are shaped like: http://mahajarabali.livejournal.com/541465.html

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Jaded in Jacksonville 20

Another episode as I chronicle my journey into MKultra and the various weird things in my life.

This time: black princess programming, a monologue about villain lairs, and (in part two) tips on how to know if the researcher/counselor you are considering is a good one.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

vision, milab

Laying down to take a nap, I began my foray with wonderments of what my personal codes are. Which lead to me having a dream of listening to "the other voices" debate on the matter. They wanted their codes. They wanted to merge. They wanted freedom to walk in the light. Looney Tune type images flashed in front of me while one talked. She was wanting get her codes She stated what she wanted. And as she spoke, I saw an animal's tail (anthromorphic like Daffy Duck). And his tail was ripped off to show the nekkid nub. And a man's voice said, "I'm not going to show you."