Blanche

Dr. Karla Turner pointed out one day that the only fact we had about the experiences abductees describe is that these experiences are verbal tellings of what has been perceived. The problem is that the aliens, and these days the military, have the ability to control what is perceived, to make the abductee believe they are going through something completely different. So it is that we see a beautiful woman instead of a hungry Reptilian, or think we're giving a speech when really we're being experimented on.

When I was a child I lived in fear of my dolls, because I knew they were going to come and try to kill me. I had a doll that was about 2 feet tall; one of those dolls that's meant to be a life-size buddy to a small child. That doll freaked me out. I woke up many times in the night thinking she was right next to me by the bed, reaching for me to grab me.

Back then my family was extremely poor. Our trailer had been repossessed at one point, and my father had converted an old school bus into a passable home. We had all lived in it at one point. Then my parents managed to get another small trailer, which they placed at the near front of our 1 and a quarter acre while the bus stayed in the far back. The bus was then divided into two rooms; one for me, and one for my older brother.

There was an entire yard away from my bedroom and the trailer where my parents now lived with my youngest brother. I was already an insecure child who felt abandoned. So when my dreams were pervaded with images of bright lights, of me clinging to the bus door and screaming while I tried not to be sucked into that horrible light, I basically became a nervous wreck. Getting me to go to bed became a fight between me and my father, who'd yell and scream and finally resort to violence while I wept and told them how terrified I was.

Couldn't I just sleep on the couch? No. To bed with you.

But I perceived my predators as my dolls - which I now know is a common thing. Many people perceive them as dolls. I have memories of countless nightmares where I'd be in bed and a doll would be on the bed waiting for me. Even though it appeared to be a harmless Barbie or baby doll, my reaction would always be one of abject terror. The doll was there to do evil to me. To kill me, or hurt me horribly.

When I was younger I could scream myself awake, but there was one time the doll said, "Go ahead and try to scream." And I tried. I kept trying. But no sound ever came out again.

This is the power of the perspective that they use to hold power over you.

When I was 14, to my knowledge a succubus came through one of the mirrors in my bedroom and wooed me. He wooed me a long time; took me places, things like that. He was a pale man with curly blond hair. I called him George because back then I called everything George.

One night he asked me to marry him, promising me great beauty if I said yes. (He dressed an image of me in a white Sioux wedding dress with romantically long fringe, pale brown hair, and a perfect figure.l) I said yes at first, but then this woman came from far away and claimed to be one of my ancestors and got me to say no. I'll never forget the hurt on George's face. It was like that moment in the Labyrinth when dummy spoiled girl says "You have no power over me."

And then he proceeded to haunt my bedroom and drive me outright nuts. Throwing things at me, making the room cold in the summer, etc. Dad got mad and told him his ass was just as good as kicked, and I never saw nor felt George again.

But I also stopped having my period. Mind you, I'd only had one and sometimes a girl doesn't have another for a full year. But my belly got bigger and my mother kept asking if I was pregnant (and you know, I was a kid I had no idea) and then one night I dreamed the men in suits came and took my child from my body. It was a girl. They let me see her and then they took her away.

And from then on every time I went to that "other world" I'd do what I was there to do, get relieved for the night, and waltz happily over to the nursery, pick up my young'un, and make a run for it. :-) In that fashion I got to watch her grow up, sorta - so it's hard to say if she's a figment of my imagination or not.

But somewhere along the way I decided her name was Jennifer, after Guinevere, because she looks like her pale father. I'm not sure what they call her. That's my name for her.

Thus. Jennifer White - this name is my badge of experience perceived.

Big head

So when I was a very small child, before I started school, I kept having these dreams of .. something... sneaking out my bedroom window or something like that. I can't fully remember right now. Back then I loved Hong Kong Phooey and the Pink Panther, so in my waking life there were a lot of burglars wearing that cap they're famous for. I forget what kind of cap it is. I'm fond of 'em too. They're classy. ;-) 

In this one particular dream I'd met on the road in the woods with the others the way I normally do. And it was time for me to come home. So the nice men and lady brought me home. And as I was coming out of it a woman's voice kept saying "Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes."

Well, duh. I opened my eyes and looked to my left. On the wall was a huge silhouette: a tiny body and a head that I took for a head with one of those caps on. Naturally I screamed bloody murder, and the parents came running. There was a burglar in the house, I told them. I don't think they believed me.

Grew up with a lot of night fears, though.

Before that when I had a crib I'd wait for the folks to go to bed. As soon as the house was dark and quiet I'd climb out of the crib and go stand at the front door window, waiting. I'd just look out and wait.

And to this day wherever I live, after a while one of the windows will form black smudges along the side from where I'm apparently sleep walking as I wait.  My house in Illinois still has the smudges - at least it had better. The girl staying there for me was told never to wash them off but I'm given to understand she's turned my room into her room so anything can happen. However there's hope. The window in my bedroom is starting to sport the smudges. It's a hard window to get to. I must be really desperate to watch and wait.

Reticulans all must die. One squirt of a good weed killer on the right planet, and our problems are over. ;-)

Seems to me, though, in a mundane sense these events I mention here are the true start of my story. The rest I talked about earlier: it's a story in my head. It may not be real. But these things here, now. They are.

I didn't wake up from a nightmare and scream. I woke up, turned my head, saw something while already wide awake, and screamed.

And I never forgot.

To this day I'm nervous about shadows in the dark.

I want to make note that three days ago I woke up with a big shoe burn on the back of my left ankle. It hurt to the touch and was red; as long as my hand.

And my muscles hurt, too, like I’d done some really super intense work out.

That night before, I’d been trying to stay up and work but was hit with an overwhelming need to sleep. Oh well, I thought. I’ve been staying up all day so it’s only natural to want to sleep at night. So I went to sleep.

And woke up early the next day: usually a sign that I’ve been somewhere.

But who can say. I wake up with weird spots like that all of the time.

I think if that is gonna keep happening, they should give me an hour and make me work out. I’m flabby and out of shape. I mean, there should be SOME benefits to this shit. Seriously.

Brightly Lit Rubix

I've only heard from Dorica one more time since my session with her. She emailed me to ask when was another good time. I told her that since I work at home my times are very flexible. What was good for her? And that was that.

Well, she thought I was lying to myself anyway: slipped up and said so. So this is to be expected. You move on. You help yourself the way you've always done. You hope your one-sided answers aren't lies.

While listening to the audio tape for American Conspiracies by Jessie Ventura, I got to a part where he mentions how he was approached by another MKultra subject. This person, Ventura said, claims to have been picked because of his Native American ancestry. I was driving the car at the time, so all I could do was shake my head and mutter in disagreement while my husband smiled at me in amusement.

Abductees aren't chosen because they're Dakota or Cherokee or some other bullshit reason like that. If that were the case, only Americans would get picked up. Military abductees are no exception. That sort of racism does not happen in the program.

It's a handy distraction, though. This sort of lie works very well and all levels of the "great secret world" use it to keep the rest of us in control. "You're special. You shall be our prophet. You have a message to tell the world," distracts the willing subject to the point they give up everything to follow this directive they've been handed. They get so full of themselves in being special they forget the power of unity against the menace. They fight to get more attention from being special to the point they even undermine what another is doing. The spotlight is everything.

I have to wonder: back in the days, just a generation ago, when being Red was even worse than being Black in our society, how many people would have been told they'd been chosen for this because they were Red? Not many if at all, I'm willing to bet you.

Because nowadays being Red is the same as saying "I'm born with innate natural powers of psychic Mother Nature prowess." And the ignorant think it without trying. The stereotype is there, seeped into our bones through television and radio. And we, the stupid idiots, fall for it again and again. And again.

I was not picked for this program because I'm Native American. The possibility does exist that I was picked because my father very briefly was tested and used during the origins of the psychic programs years ago. There are connections there. Most likely, from what I've gathered, I was picked up because I was already an abductee.

I was told by a researcher - a rather zealous one who later decided me and my friend were going to psychically attack her through the squirrels in her front yard - that there are program workers who are trained to read auras. When the find someone not in the program that has the holes in their aura that mean they are victims of alien involvement, they tag that person to be picked up. That's how you get pulled in. Or at least it's one way.

It's also the way that makes the most sense. There are countless people who are both abductees and later on MILABS. Well, I suppose they can be counted. I just don't prefer to make an attempt to count that high. I don't have the time.

Well, I could tell you these things forever and I suspect no one is ever going to listen. So that's that.

The other morning I was in that between state you often find yourself. For me, my entire life, it's the place where I ponder the meaning of things... or listen to my other selves talk to me or to each other. It's not quite a dream state; more like a large room where we can visit.

There's one person in particular: I don't know her name. She looks just like me - as many of them do - but she's eternally locked in a younger more daring sense of self. I wasn't entirely there, because I was waking up, so my view of her was fuzzy and halfway out.

She brought out a box and used our mental link to transmit the knowledge that what she held was how to unlock my mind. It worked similarly to a Rubix Cube: if you turned it one way, it would flash one color. If you turned it in a different sequence, it would flash another color. She turned it to demonstrate and it flashed red.  The biggest deal, she communicated without speaking, was if you turned it in a particular different sequence, my mind would be opened and the box would flash a rainbow of beautiful colors. She began to demonstrate.

I realized she'd shown me this before, when I was much younger. Perhaps I was 14 at the time. But I communicated back to her a mental flash that translates to, "Oh! I remember this! You've shown me this before! Wow, I haven't thought of this in over 20 years!"

Yes, she communicated back to me. And she started telling me again what the box was for from scratch. We got to the part where the box flashed red and I fully came awake.

I told this to my husband and he remarked that it sounded an awful lot like the boxes from the Pinhead movies.

"I won't watch those movies for many reasons," I told him.  I have already been warned what's in those things. Nope. No horror Pinhead movies for me, thank you.

If no one will help you, help yourself. Screw the rest.