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

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The White Commentaries

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Created because I found out something....

I saw the orange light.

About a week and a half ago I was walking my dog.

 I don't sleep at night, for all I keep trying. So I've this habit of walking my dog somewhere between 3 am and 6 am on occasion. It really depends on how much I have to do - just because I'm not sleeping at night doesn't mean I'm wasting my time tossing and turning or watching TV. My broken sleeping mechanism is one of the reasons why I'm self-employed, so basically I work graveyard.

 This time when I left I was pretty sure I left at 5 in the morning. I remember expecting the sun to rise at any minute, or perhaps I was under the impression it was already rising. The thing here is I can't really remember my mood when I left the house, that some vague idea of my feelings on the matter.

 I decided to only walk around the neighborhood, so around and around I went. It was still dark out, so at one point I happened to stop and look up to the stars. That's when I saw it: the orange bright object coming down at a direct vertical angle from the sky. It wasn't directly over me. It looked like it might have been over the neighboring town, which is about 15 minutes from my house.

 I remember a sense of panic when I saw it, because I knew it wasn't an airplane and there I was outside and completely vulnerable. But the panic was iced over with a plastic calm, as if I wasn't supposed to feel that panic. But it was there.

I watched the light descend for about thirty seconds and started walking back to the house. I rounded a corner and looked at the sky again. The light was gone.

 When I got home, I was very disorientated about what time it was and this annoyed me. The clocks read 3:30 or so, and I felt like they should have read after 5. It was still dark and I couldn't get it out of my head that this was wrong. It should have been light outside.

 Two days later - probably last Saturday (a week ago) or so - I woke up very very dehydrated with severe vertigo. I had to go to the hospital. Two days after that I noticed the yellowing bruises all over my body. They were fingertip shapes, but way too small to be from my hands.

 I told my husband. But beyond that, who am I going to tell?

Tuesday, July 22, 2014


My father, very briefly, was involved with the early Psychic Corps. I know I've said so before, but I can't recall to whom. He hasn't told me much. I imagine there isn't much to tell, and his story changes. One minute he only participated in the beginning to get his super powers tested. The next he was with them for years as something like a freelance informant and even got a check once in a while. Mind you my father is really good at "Indian bullshit". The story of being involved hasn't changed, but the circumstances around it have as you can see. I got the book Psychic Spies by Jim Marrs; I wanted to see if Dad were mentioned. He wasn't; the names of the earlier testers aren't there at all.

I wanted to see for myself so I remote viewed to the past. I was in a room with a round metal door, it was dark and bare with only bricks. A woman was coming down the hall outside giving a tour. She and a younger version of my father passed by outside. I can't remember what she said the room was for. Then she closed the door. It closed with a metallic bong and shook me from the view. Couldn't get it back either. When I told my father of the room he didn't let me finish. He got very excited and said, "Yeah, that room!" and finished describing it to me.

So my husband was deployed to Afghanistan and I was stuck behind and handed to this little prick. I hated him, and he radiated hatred for me. And for the next year I was kept on edge and pissed. If it wasn't the first sergeant refusing to allow the people in my husband's very small unit use phones to call home while everyone else got to or not allowing them guns so they could protect themselves (the FOB was nearly run over shortly after my husband moved on to where he was going), it was First Sergeant using the military wife group to pick on me. That man seriously has a hard-on against happily married couples. Anyway, yeah. This kept me angry, which is when I do things best.

And then the prick handler would come, get me, and do things to agitate me. The drawback to activating me like that is that I also gain better memory recall.

When my husband first deployed, I went to "work" and was in one of the underground bases. I was not guarded (for once - that came after I got moved from that unit) and there was a general standing nearby speaking to some people. So I walked right up to him and told him, "You send me to Afghanistan, too."  He said, "No." And the argument between us began. There were no sirs or ma'am, no saluting, nothing to indicate he saw me as inferior or superior. And our argument, although not heated, tells me that "me" isn't afraid to throw her weight around. Finally we had to just split and agree to disagree, so I walked away seething. I was SO ANGRY when I woke up the next day, because I remembered clearly that I'd been told by some dude that I had to settle for being left behind.

Then the McChrystal (sp?) matter happens maybe a week or two after that argument. At the time I was pretty sure I didn't know anybody high ranking from a hill of beans, but when I first saw McChrystal's photo in the news, I had to point and say "OMG that's HIM!"

Things got worse after that. I was having visions left and right, probably spawned from not wanting to be left behind. Who can say... but astrally I was over there nearly all of the time. I burned myself out within 6 months; ran out of resources and couldn't do much anymore. My husband called me every day as much as he could, and the picking upon we endured cracked down. I got to the point I was having waking visions, and every day I'd tell my husband "they're going to attack at this hour. They're going to come from such and such side. This is the location of the cave they're living in." And it would happen. I also pinpointed where Bin Laden was and reported it to him (knowing our conversations were being monitored and all); it wasn't hard. My husband's FOB was on the edge of the border so it was only a short distance hop in the scheme of things.

The worse things got the more I was angry, so I promised myself that every night (I was going to "work" nearly every day) I'd start pushing to get the cave system daisy chain bombed and flatted. They did it within a week of me demanding it. Nice coincidence. It only helped a little. It was fun listening to Tim tell me about the smears of blood from the enemy that were still outside. And I know, I'm supposed to be all nice and go "all that life wasted"! But, you know, they were trying to kill my husband.

At one point I had a vision of something that was going to happen. I knew they'd been planning a certain of maneuver - when you're all eyes and data collection while covering an entire war zone it's kind of hard to miss - and what I saw woke me up in tears. A bunch of guys were going to die. I had to warn someone, anyone, and put a stop to it. I couldn't just call Fort Campbell, it had to be someone who touched on it. My friends helped me find the old director to the Stargate program - I can't remember his name - and of all the people I tried to contact he's the only one that called me back. At first he told me he had no contacts left and there wasn't anything he could do. Then I told him my vision. And suddenly he had someone he could tell. Then he asked "Who's your father?" when I made a small mention of the psychic programs. I told him, "George Joyner." He cried, George JOYN-! I mean, is that your maiden name?" So yeah. My father isn't completely lying.

What I can't figure out is when I told him the scenario had been narrated in the dream, Stargate Guy didn't like it. And I'm just not sure why.

I like to think me turning on the waterworks made a difference. Shortly after that the plan went down. My husband was on his way home and happened to be where he could talk to the survivors. So he'd be all nice, get the info, and come to me. The ambush hadn't been completely thwarted: not 100% died. But it was still a disaster.

One of the last things I did for the "war effort" that I can remember is I was taken to an airport. The jerk handler was there, provoking me. By that point though I'd watched him all year and figured out he wasn't my husband as he kept claiming to be. So I'm standing there listening to him tell me that he's going to back to war and die and not being as provoked as he wanted me to be. And then my target walked past.

It was like I lost touch with the entire world EXCEPT for this man's robes. He went past the boarded gates and as soon as he was out of sight, I turned to my handlers and told them I knew where he was going. They showed me a map that was on a wall and I pointed out the man's travel path while being slightly confused. The map wasn't of Africa. It was of the Middle East area (I think), yet I drew a path with my finger and told them he was on his way to a remote village in Africa.

And I'm pretty hopeful I got the prick handler fired There was a training exercise; one of those test. He was being a prick to me as usual. He threatened my family. Which... only makes me want to get rid of you more you know. So when another handler, whom I recognized, walked up in civies I turned back on Prick and told the other how badly I was being treated. I explained his little guy had no business in his position and then outlined every little thing showing how he can't handle people. I never saw Prick again.

And this is why I didn't want to tell you. I'm pretty sure my involvement, as a MILAB or as a volunteer, would remain super top secret confidential for at least a lifetime more. I'm not just any MILAB. I'm an asshole MILAB. All of us have it in ourselves, you know, so I can't say I'm THE MILAB. That's just silly. But.  They were picking on us so hard when my husband was finally coming home, that I finally lost my temper and threatened anyone who was eavesdropping that if things didn't stop I was going to break up any of their planes I find in the air. I was going to find my handlers and my handlers' handlers and I was going to stop them all.

Within 24 hours the bs stopped.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Hyperspace 04-29-2014 James Bartley

 http://youtu.be/QWs4Ph-vDPQ is the address if it doesn't work.

 James Bartley has been doing some serious and in depth work about the reptilian problem as well as the MILAB situation for years. He's genuinely passionate about what he does and his stuff is pretty deep. If you haven't read any of his works now is a good time to start.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Another Pointless Contact

To Veritas Radio:

I saw a clip with an interview by you and came here looking for more. Then I saw a short interview you did with Niara Isley.

And I just wanted to say: all these folks get help after reaching out. They get listened to, they get people taking them seriously, and they get somewhere. Everything I've uncovered I've had to do 100% by myself.

I reached out to Leslie once.  She didn't take my reaching kindly. I've reached out to EVERYONE.  Meanwhile I woke up in the middle of an abduction experience - flat woke up, more than once. I've told my handlers to pay me for my time. I've told one handler the other was a terrible handler. I've been tazed, pushed around, and most recently called a diamond and told it was time for me to retire.

I have a lifetime of memories I'm still trying to sort through that I can't make sense of. I could write a book if I had time, but I'm so busy trying to pay Obama's new taxes I just don't have the time. And then I see interviews like this with people talking about how no one remembers without hypnotherapy. And it drives me crazy.

If I'd just been talked to that day perhaps their story would be more complete. Maybe more folks like me that break out of the programming repeatedly would feel safe coming forward. But we don't, because we might get yelled at over the phone by the very people we reach out to.

And it just... sucks.

'Nuff said.