new material (edited)

Over 100 pages of new material have been written. These will be written and typed asap. Earlier autobiographical articles will be merged while some material will be deleted to reflect changing beliefs. Here's a sample.

One night, as I was falling asleep, I saw the familiar eyes again and heard a voice stating “We would like to do a surgery on your reproductive organs because this area of the body is where much of your anger is stored.” It was understood that reproduction in this context was not entirely physical. I then found myself entering a cavern that opened into a city beneath a mountain, whose edifices were fused into stone. There I found Katja with her mother, living within a larger community. Her mother let me in to see her but I was dismayed by a cold reception. She looked at me like a stranger and said “You are mistaken. We are not in a relationship. I am married to a man I've known since childhood.” With a feeling of incredible emptiness I left the community and returned the way I had arrived, through the cavern which opened into a narrow valley spanning maybe a dozen yards across, between two sheer cliffs. For mile after mile I walked, seeing nothing but endless walls stretching for thousands of yards above. There was no water in sight. I wondered if I would die of dehydration. The severe landscape was delineated by rocky outcroppings which bubbled and coalesced into bulbous igneous rock formations as volcanoes boiled, simmered and smoldered over the course of millenia. Once invisible dimensions became visible. A trio of white horses ran alongside my path. They had always existed, always been present as silent companions. The only thing that has changed was my perception of them, or lack thereof. The valley floor gradually expanded into a wide plain where merchants plied a thriving trade in luxury goods like silk and spices alongside basic items of subsistence. The setting was pre-industrial feudalism. Roving bands of raiders had interwoven themselves within the business of the market, and were busy terrorizing the merchants, siphoning fruits of their trade. Unlike the popular image of Medieval raiders, these men were close linked to the aristocracy, enjoying a great deal of social privilege. The towering walls of cliffs had receded into the slopes of another great mountain, whose seemingly impenetrable walls opened to reveal a narrow passageway. I followed to path inside the mountain and into a hive-like settlement with modern furnishings. In a kitchen with high celings and metallic walls the warmth of extended community was made evident. I walked to the faucet and poured myself a glass of water. The honeycomb-like structure of the dwelling contained dozens of rooms per unit, connected by corridors, patios, open- courtyards and conference rooms, There were beings from many different galaxies mingling in common areas. I was brought to a central hall where the clamor of loud conversation between hundreds of beings was taking places at long tables.

Serena sat down at the end of our table so that we were facing each other. I wanted to know why Katja had been so cold to me. She said the relationship was not intended to be permanent, that our interactions formed strands in a web of life that would connect all beings born in a state of separation. She showed me a device that was like a hologram, announcing that I had killed the spider. Inside the hologram was a twitching arachnid leg almost a meter long, which she explained had once been attached to me. I was horrified. As she spoke, she transferred to me a sense of respect for the creature's life, which had served an important function by containing dark emotions like greed and hatred. She then said, perhaps ominously, that there was more work to be done. Serena put away the hologram before presenting another device that looked like a prism. Watching light reflecting off its surfaces, I felt my surroundings blur, fade and vanish. Time and space disassembled. An abyss stretched fathomless depths through layers of black soil, dense rock, molten lava, across empty caverns and towards a blazing light. Diffusions of sound produced frequency shifts fluctuating into the ether, reverberating as gravity waves. Doorways arranged and rearranged in never-ending configuration of patterns, revealing the rhythmic pulse of horses running in great number down a steep hillside. A litany of atrocities was committed against the public. Black clusters of carrion birds obscured the sun. Flickering torchlight revealed faces in a Medieval armory pervaded with the stench of smoke and blood. The powers of church and state were unified under vows spoken in secrecy. The artifice of sense certainty crumbled as sight and sound merged into amorphous anomaly.

Linear events become unbound. Seasons pass in an instant. Fertility emerges, grows, blooms and declines. A battlefield littered with bodies is replaced by a meadow of wildflowers. Indistinct forms waver through viscosity to visual coherence. Shapes, images and histories unfurl, fragment and scatter,
warping physicality into the eternal now. Observation becomes participation. Marriages form, decay and return. Children age, generating cycles of their own, enmeshed and enfolded within one another like Chinese egg dolls. Luminous oscillations reveal rain falling on cobblestone streets. The financial district of London. Men in tailored suits are stepping from a horse-drawn carriage towards a staircase leading down to a basement nightclub. Colleagues are with a serving girl in the corner. A central bar is stocked with vintage liquers. Someone is being tortured in the back room. The sound of screaming. Passive faces of voyeurs look on, unaffected. The feeling of despair is a visible substance, black and grimy like stubborn grease. A doorway opens. Light is reflected and refracted, dividing, subdividing and multiplying. A shallow facade of dimensional solidity is torn asunder, displaying a carnival barker in pinstripe suit, cane and top hat, a stage full of tattooed monstrosities, genetic abnormalities, the shoulders of a giant moving through the crowd, towering above it, the smell of laudanum, the sound of children screaming as colored minerals explode across the sky. Living memories recorded in crystalline faces enfold and collapse, revealing new geometries. Insectoid limbs on a terrestrial surfaces sparkling with phosphorescence multiply into an array of beings as a singular entity's energy bodies converge and diverge into a rainbow of color. Flashes of light alternate with shimmering colors as doorways open and close.

Serena said I was watching recording of past lives. She said there was no longer a need to be angry about issues of social inequality because the old world order is collapsing. She predicted that people who cling to values of separation and hierarchy will be finding themselves inhibited in many ways. I understood the Catholic church to be one of many institutions included in this summary of events.
That dream occurred months before I first watched videos of Barbra Marciniak channeling the Pleiadians. In the course of these videos they discuss the upcoming collapse of the Catholic Church. The phrase “old world order” is also mentioned in at least one instance. Let me reemphasize that I had never watched her videos before the dream happened, so subliminal influence can not possibly explain the similarity of the message.

Soon after the dream happened it was like a light had been switched off. The formerly harrowing attachment to Katja receded into the distance in such a hurry it was disorienting. I have never moved on from someone so fast. Another possible post-surgical complication was that casual sex was no longer appealing. My attention had already returned to a situation closer to home.

A few days after the dream I was in the bath and looked down to see see what appeared to be a surgical incision a few millimeters long just over my right ovary. That was my first thought because the line was so abnormally straight it appeared to be have been done with a mechanically made instrument. But then when I ran a nail over it there was no feeling of sensitivity as there would be with a normal injury, and no rough edges as there would be with a scab. All I could feel was smooth skin free from any sense of physical discomfort. The mark was vaguely reddish. When it was still there a few weeks later I began assuming it was an inflamed vein. Then, after over a month has passed since the dream, I ran my nail over it again and the entire line peeled off beneath my finger, revealing smooth, unblemished skin beneath.

The day before I finally sat down to organize and transcribe the notes about the previous dream, which were all scattered in various notebooks, I woke up from a brief nap with a sudden, inexplicable compulsion to look up the word panoply in the dictionary, feeling that the urge was meant to convey an important message. In my mind, “panoply” was linked to an image of the prism, where light and sound were crystallized into physical form. This is not what panoply means. At that time I put the dictionary-searching compulsion aside to go about the business of the day. Some of that “business” involved starting The Once and Future King, a classic Arthurian fantasy novel that had been on my reading list for close to a decade. Aside from its literary merits, part of the fascination derived from noticing how prevalent the Grail mythos is in the literature of all the major religious military orders dating back to the Middle Ages, starting with the Knights Templar. Within Medieval legend and folklore, the Templar Grand Master, Godfroi de Bouillon, was descended from Perceval, protagonist of all the earliest Grail romances. The character of King Arthur might be interpreted as a Western Buddha working towards wealth redistribution, given that, until his emergence in European mythology, there had been no comparable monarch whose efforts were, at least ostensibly, directed towards bringing peace and prosperity to his kingdom. Prior to the invention or romanticized existence of King Arthur, the idea of sacred kingship had been based on strength, which by nature was founded on conquest of subject populations. Of course, this counter-tradition of collectivism has been corrupted by the network of secret societies who comprise the shadow government, because that network borrows heavily from Arthurian mythology while pursuing wealth concentration at the expense of the masses. I have not yet read Joseph Campbell's essay concerning how the Grail romances are the founding myth of European society, but in all likelihood this interpretation is heavily influences by his own family's close personal involvement with, and membership within, Freemasonry. The primary reason I had been reading Arthurian mythology to begin with was to extract symbolic meaning and allusion from the text. Or, at least, that was the excuse.

Near the beginning of the Once and Future King, there is a visually striking scene in which a young Arthur, who is lost in an English forest, wanders into a sunny clearing where a strange knight in gleaming armor is sitting astride a white horse. When Arthur asks the knight for directions, it becomes apparent that he is blinded by foggy glasses that will not become clear when cleaned on the horse's mane or anything else in sight. At one point the knight is crawling around on the ground looking for his glasses but the visor on his helm keeps snapping shut, leaving him in a state of utter confusion. With Arthur's help he locates the glasses, after which the knight's dog, a docile, unmotivated, perpetually happy creature intended for hunting primevil beasts, takes off running in circles around the tree, wrapping his rope leash in knots all the while. The knight then gallops around the tree three times in the opposite direction, intending to disentangle the dog but leaving them both hopelessly ensnared. At this point I had to put the book down for a minute because it had sent me into hysterics. Leash confusion is a state that any responsible dog owner is well acquainted with. Over the course of succeeding chapters, the knight runs into trees and falls over from the weight of his armor. Finally, after reading all of this, I walked over to the bookshelf and looked up the word panoply. I was surprised to read it defined as “a complete suit of armor”. In this particular context, armor was understood to be a metaphor for self-knowledge. One can see how easy it is to misinterpret communication that tends to be symbolic. Later that same day, I looked in the mirror and observed, for the first time, a long scratch running alongside to outer corner of my jaw. It was deep enough that, under normal circumstances, I would have remembered it happening. The scratch looked identical to photos of unexplained marks on the jawlines of other people who had claimed the scratches were left during military or alien abductions.

During 2004, while living in the San Francisco crack hotel, I was walking down 16th street and spotted an intriguing book with a golden pyramid on its cover, resting on the blanket of a man holding a sidewalk sale. Not owning any books at the time, I offered whatever change was in my pocket and took the book home. I might not have emerged from my room for a few days, except to go down the hall to the shower room. The book, called City of Golden Shadow, chronicles the activities of a powerful secret society called the Grail Brotherhood. The group is comprised of wealthy individuals and corporate leaders who have constructed a virtual Egypt animated by artificial intelligence. At the heart of the project is the world's oldest, wealthiest man, who, through mind uploading, has become immortal as a virtual incarnation on the Egyptian deity Osiris. Despite being protected by a cybernetic assassin whose modifications provide surveillance capacity, among other abilities, the Grail Project leader has become afraid of his own creation after witnessing how people wired into its communication network were critically injured without explanation. File under science faction.
Concepts introduced in the book bring to mind testimony by Simon Parkes, whose family's background of employment by British Security Services allowed him to be informed about the activities of Marconi Electronics, a company that was involved in the development of weaponized AI. During the early 80s, the company was in numerous mainstream media outlets after 25 of its employees met sudden, grisly deaths. Tony Collins, a reporter for Computer Weekly, wrote a book on the Marconi enigma in which he determined the deaths to be assassinations, but was unable to determine the cause. Simon claims that the killings were performed by members of the military-intelligence community concerned about the AI falling into the wrong hands. This testimony confirms my own conclusions, and those of other military abductees, who believe that a hostile AI is the ultimate power behind the fourth dimensional entities who control the cryptocracy. In recent years there has been news of a study during which subdermally embedded nano-sensors were used to shut DNA on and off in the bodies of laboratory mice. One can easily imagine an industrial technocracy capable of remotely transmitting diseases to political dissidents. According to reports of some of the so-called “super soldiers”, more accurately recognized as cybernetic subjects of the military-industrial complex, that future is already here. Consider the unusual number of covert operations researchers who have died of rapid onset cancers at a young age. Phil Schneider, Karla Turner, Mac Tonnies and Dave MacGowan are only a small subset of that group. Dr. Barry Trower, a physicist and former M15 employee, claims that microwave weapons have already been used to kill hundreds of thousands of people without ever having left a trace of evidence. His military education included a list of 30 pulse frequencies capable of inducing physical pathologies such as cancer and neurological impairment. Unless humanity is collectively able to end its technology addictions, these developments may soon be introduced to much larger segments of the general population.

One morning I was in the midst of meditation when I noticed the presence of a sentient awareness that identified itself as a mantis. It told me that the City of Golden Shadow book had been provided as part of my education, and the education of humanity as a whole. The author, Tad Williams, also wrote an Arthurian high fantasy trilogy, Memory, Sorrow and Thorn, in which a protagonist is imprisoned by humanoid insects who present him with a mirror they use to communicate with the Storm King. When his friends rescue him, he is imprisoned in a gauzy, thread-like substance and speaking an insectoid clicking language. The mirror represents self-knowledge, useful not only for personal growth but for shattering the ego that functions as a barrier preventing communication with the spirit realm, and the realm of Earth's guardians, the nature devas. I had already been wondering if Tad Williams was a contactee whose books were based on information subconsciously implanted by mantids while in the dream state. According to the testimony of many mantis contactees, myself included, the mantids are environmentalists concerned with preventing a technocratic tyranny that will bring great destruction and suffering to Earth and all her inhabitants. But still, despite all the evidence, it all seemed so speculative. I wondered if maybe I had just been reading too much science fiction and it was all just the power of suggestion. I walked to the bookcase and spotted River of Blue Fire, sequel to City of Golden Shadow, which I had picked up at a library book sale years before and forgotten. For the first time, I opened the book's front cover and turned to a random page, number 121. My eye went straight to the words “It is grandfather mantis.”

Rest in peace, Dave MacGowan

The world lost a brave soul a few weeks ago with the passing of writer and researcher extraordinaire, Dave MacGowan. Dave tackled subject matter most people wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, whether from fear of professional failure or some of the more ominous consequences met by MK ULTRA whistleblowers, time and time again. Back in 2009, I remarked to a friend that he was a genius (not a phrase I dispense lightly) and was not surprised to find, a few years later, that he was a MENSA member. It still boggles my mind that someone without a shred of personal history with the intelligence community could not only understand the nature of military black projects but convey that understanding in a coherent, evidence-based way to the general public. His pattern recognition skills were phenomenal. Dave has been one of my personal heroes for 12 years now, since the first time I stumbled across Programmed to Kill while in the midst of interacting with a number of individuals whose MK UlTRA background helped me to understand the incredible importance of his work. To a very large extent, my own writing has been an attempt to expand upon that legacy. It was beyond an honor when he promoted one of my blogs on his Facebook page not too long ago. Under most circumstances I roll my eyes at people who cry over public figures they've never met in person, but in this case I completely understand. It was nice to be informed by a friend instead of a random internet stranger. Let's hope that another generation of researchers will take up where he left off, and the body of work he left behind will continue to grow in popularity. Rest in peace, Dave MacGowan. You will be missed.