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A MIND CONTROL VICTIM SPEAKS OUT!
By Anonymous

Mind torture and harassment account

I am writing to contribute my own story about my being made a victim of mind torture by persons "unknown." Since you are more than already familiar with this kind of barbaric, criminal phenomena, I know it is not necessary to preface my story with statements like "I know you'll find this incredible and hard to believe, but..." Until I discovered the FTF web page [now MCF], I was the only one to my knowledge subject to dirty tricks and mind torture implants. It was with some great relief than to find out that I am not alone, though needless to say, of course, I am sorry that anyone, human or animal, should be subject to this kind of treatment. During the course of my ordeal, of which only a part is contained below, I contacted the California State Medical Board, the Los Angeles Police Department, LA Chief of Police Willie Williams, the LA County Hospital Licensing, US Attorney General's Office (both in Los Angeles and Seattle), the ACLU, the Seattle Police Department, the Washington State Medical Board, my representatives in the Washington State Legislature, and private attorneys, all to little or no avail. What is presented below then are excerpts from two letters which I wrote to these different organizations, institutions and individuals in making a complaint and seeking assistance, plus some separate notes on the mind torture technology, which later I was too embarrassed to write anyone about (for fear of being thought crazy). I intend at a not to distant date to write a full and unified account of all that has happened to me since the late summer of 1992 up to this date - I am still a mind torture victim. In the meantime, I hope you will accept this submission to perhaps supply you with additional evidence to support your effort in the cause of human rights, and also to "sign myself up," if you will, in your organization.

The memory of what I have been put through is very painful merely to recall, on top of which the number of incidences of dirty trick violence perpetrated on me is so numerous I don't think I could remember them all even if I wanted to. But again, for the time being, the account given here contains enough of the outrages to provide you, or anyone else who is interested, with information about the kind of crimes I have been made a victim to.

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I am an author/historian from Seattle who was in Los Angeles last summer doing research for a book project related to silent film history. I left Seattle moving to the Echo Park area of Los Angeles in late April 1992. On a Sunday in early October I attended a musical concert at the Roxy on Sunset Blvd. Prior to the concert I ate at the Spaghetti Factory on (I believe) Santa Monica Blvd. My meal there consisted of spaghetti and a glass of wine. Afterwards at the concert itself, I had a diet coke. While I enjoyed the concert very much, the group performing was an English pop-group Shakespear's Sister, during the course of it I suddenly began to feel very ill, and for no reason started to sweat uncontrollably. While it is true the club atmosphere was rather stuffy, this no way seemed to explain why I was, in a gradual flash as it were, render inexplicably queasy and drenched with perspiration. Prior to the concert I was in the best of health and spirits and the onset of my discomfort came as a great surprise, as I was up to that moment in excellent health.

In the following week I did not feel very well. I attributed this to simple fatigue. Then on one day in the week I ate at the Milano restaurant (on Alessandro Blvd?) and thought a proper meal would do me good. Instead I became dramatically worse. I began to experience extreme constipation, a condition which I had never suffered in any way shape or form prior to this, such that it became impossible for me to go to the bathroom. As well, to my shock I discovered that my sexual organ would not function other than to urinate. My breathing became more difficult. Hoping that all this was simply some temporary malady brought on accidentally, I rested for a few days hoping it would go away. But it didn't, and by the end of the week it finally became obvious that I needed to go to a hospital or clinic. On Saturday morning I called a friend and asked him if he knew a clinic or doctor he could recommend. I will omit his name here out of courtesy - he is a rather old gentleman, but will provide it if requested by legal authorities. He arrived to pick me up at my address at 1377 Lucile Ave. off Sunset Blvd. and we looked around for the nearest clinics. Unfortunately, after a lengthy search, every medical clinic we encountered on Sunset was closed. Why this was so I did not then nor now know why. In any case, my friend suggested the Queen of Angels Hospital on Vermont Ave. To this I agreed. (note. The Queen of Angeles hospital was recently shut down and converted into some sort of drug and alcohol rehab center run by a Christian group).

We arrived at the emergency room of the Queen of Angels Hospital at around 10:00 a.m. I signed in and was told to wait. After sitting in the waiting area for five hours, during which time I felt fairly miserable, I was finally admitted about 3 p.m. to the Emergency room. There it was all a hub of noise and doctors, and cadets of some sort (police, medical, or police/medical I don't exactly remember, they were wearing Navy blue cover suits) were running about - the place gave the appearance of being busy. I was assigned a bed behind some portable curtains, give a smock and told to undress. There were at least two policemen present in the room who apparently were waiting while someone in their custody was being treated. No one could see in or out of the curtained area I was located, except very slightly through breaks where the curtains formed into corners.

After a doctor, I forget which one, briefly heard what was ailing me, he (she?) left and different staff persons came and took my blood pressure. My blood pressure was registered clumsily at least three times by different persons while I waited for a doctor proper to return. At the time, I thought the repetition of this procedure by different persons, including at least one "cadet," was rather incompetent.

Finally, Dr. Phillip Fagan (note. Actually Dr. Elmer Eley. Despite the fact that the person who ultimately signed my medical report, which I later obtained a copy of was a Dr. Phillip Fagan, I later discovered that the physician who actually examined me was not Dr. Fagan, but rather Dr. Eley - Fagan having been at no time present), a rather muscular, middle aged, black male with a moustache, came into my spot to check my breathing with a stethoscope. Customarily, it has been my experience that when this procedure is done the patient is either standing or sitting up. Dr. Fagan had me lie back on the bed/examination table and told me to breath as he applied his instrument. As he came to the area upward to the left of my heart, he made a pointed clenched fist and suddenly and with thoughtful and quick deliberation punched me below my left shoulder. I was so shocked by it I didn't know what to say or could think what could account for his doing it. Finishing up, he asked a few questions and left me. I waited a while longer very much perplexed. Then a middle aged female staff member with short, light colored hair came in by herself into my spot. Holding a hypodermic needle filled with a brown/yellowish liquid in her hand, she told me to roll over as she administered its contents to me. Simply assuming she knew what she was doing, desperate to be rid of the "chill" that suffused my groin, and without questioning I simply acquiesced and without informing me of what I was being given, she injected me. She then departed and I was again left to wait.

As I sat there I gradually began to feel what was apparently the "medication" taking effect I suddenly began to have great lapses in my train of thought and suddenly found it difficult to form words. It is all somewhat difficult to describe except to say that it felt as though I had been given a very, very strong narcotic of some kind. By this time, I became very fearful, after being punched and now this apparent drugging, and didn't quite know what to do. Each time I tried to get hold of a staff member for help I was very rudely told to wait. For the next three or four hours I lay on my bed waiting for one of the doctor's to return, during which lengthy time feeling utmost distress at my situation. I literally felt and thought I could very well die then and there, due to the effect of being punched, as I thought, in the heart and the injection.

The emergency room all this time was in utter pandemonium. It was a literal madhouse which included someone farting loudly and repeatedly, and directly at me from an adjacent bed, some patients screaming and yelling in apparent delirium. How on earth anyone could expect to regain their health in such an environment, even if it is an emergency room, is beyond me. I fully understand and appreciate how chaotic such a place can get, but this went beyond outrageous or ridiculous.

By eight o'clock, a Dr. Fagan gave me a bottle of liquid laxative and directions to buy antihistamine. Without ever telling me once what might be ailing me, or saying whether the problem with my groin was cured or not, he finally released me. Naturally, by this time I was dying to get out of there, so I didn't to trouble to ask him about what condition was. In any case, he made it so very clear that he was busy, that even if I had tried to get him to talk for more than one or two minutes he would have put me off or casually allowed himself to be distracted. He was not entirely unsympathetic when I spoke with him, only he would not stay to answer what seemed to me were very pertinent and straight forward questions. Given the inordinately prolonged amount of time spent seriously dealing with my case one would have thought I should have been there no more than ten or fifteen minutes, been on my way, while freeing the "doctors" to devote their time, and my bed, to other cases. Instead it took around four hours for me to simply wait around to get a bottle of laxative and directions to get antihistamine.

The next day I returned to the hospital to complain and make inquiries. I asked to know what it was I had been injected with. After a lot of running around for an answer a staff person showed me a document of some kind with "Penheglian" written on it, that presumably being the medication. My current records mention "Phrenegan," but this was not what was originally written on the document. To add to this, the Queen of Angels staff, maugre my inquiries, never explained what the Phrenegan, assuming that was what I was even injected with, was for, or exactly why it was administered to me. At that return visit the doctor's name then was given to me as "Herb" Fagan. This was written on this same document. I then got a senior staff person of some kind and sat down with her and told her what happened. After hearing my story, she politely told me that this was a "good" hospital and that they didn't do things like that. I then requested my medical records and was sent to the records division. Once there, they told me that my records weren't ready and that I would have to come by on another occasion.

Disgusted and frankly now a little fearful, I shortly after all this, I think Columbus day itself, I left Los Angeles and came back to Seattle. Not surprisingly, after what I'd been through, I did not feel comfortable remaining in Los Angeles. Although the laxative seemed to cure my constipation, I still had difficulty breathing and was feeling the effects of Dr. Fagan's having punched me. At the time, it felt as though my heart had been injured, hence my feeling that I might die, which I mentioned before. When I'd returned here, however, I went to a clinic. My injury was diagnosed as damaged muscle within my left shoulder and they prescribed Advil, which had the desired effect of alleviating the pain.

Quite obviously, I had absolutely no idea of expecting anything remotely like this to happen when I went to a hospital. I had always hitherto thought ordinary doctors were generally responsible professionals who one could put their trust in. Imagine than my inexpressible horror and dismay to have underwent what I've described. If these things were done to me deliberately, which I am inclined to think is the case - though I can't say that I know, perhaps this kind of shock and intimidation was these person's apparent intention.

What would be persons motive to do such things to me? I frankly don't know. In any case, I do not feel it necessarily incumbent on me to provide a motive since any persons who would do such a thing in the first place could hardly be considered rational. I am a writer and of the things of mine could very well be considered controversial. The historical research project I was involved in Los Angeles had implications which, I suppose, some might consider undesirable (note. Part of my research involved the investigation of a long, unsolved homicide, known to film historians as the William Desmond Taylor case.) Yet never in my wildest dreams did I possibly imagine to incur someone's ire in this malicious kind of way.

Fearful for my safety, I returned to Seattle shortly after this incident in the Queen of Angels hospital, thinking that I was finally safe.

Boy was I wrong.

Still suffering from the punch by Dr. Eley (I thought, mistakenly, that my heart had been injured - it turned out rather to be some lower shoulder muscles), I stayed at my father's house (in Seattle) and in the next few weeks this is what followed.

In late October one evening I suffered what I felt at the time and to this day believe was poisoning. I was watching the Presidential debates and upon drinking some coke from a bottle at my father's house, where I was temporarily residing, I began to feel the extreme effects what seemed like a street drug of some kind, possibly speed. Why or how this could happen I have no explanation. The coke was a 16 liter plastic bottle with the top off and three fourths full resting by my father's couch which I matter of factly drank out of without having any reason to think there would be something wrong with it. Whatever the cause, I was rendered suddenly and inexplicably ill in a manner which made me feel I had ingested a foreign substance resembling speed in its effects. At the time I was taking Sudafed, and later at the hospitals directions Benadryl, both antihistamines, for some difficulty I was having in breathing. However, the last time I had taken this was the night before, and didn't see any connection between how I was feeling at the time and this medication.

As the hours passed and I grew worse, it became necessary for me as I felt to seek medical assistance and the first place I thought of was the University of Washington Medical Center. Please note, copies of these records are enclosed with this letter.

10/27/92 visit Physician: Dr. Stephen Burns- I had myself admitted to the ER. and to start out with was questioned, had my blood pressure and temperature taken. I was hooked up to an EKG machine, the tapes and wires attached to my chest area. Some time during the course of my time on the examination table I blacked out. Whether this blacking out was due to fatigue or what I do not know. In any case, I was rendered unconscious for a unknown duration, at the most an hour or two. I don't know. After I left the ER I went home to go to bed. Because I was so tired, it was very early in the morning by this time, I did not bother to get undressed when I went to bed. When I awoke the next day to take a shower upon undressing I found an EKG tape attached to my scrotum. The only logical explanation for how it could have got there was that someone, apparently on the ER staff placed it there during the time I was unconscious. This at least seems to be the logical conclusion. Yet because I was unconscious when it happened I cannot say that I unequivocally know that this in point of fact is what took place, let alone who the individual might have been. Nevertheless, given the staff's peculiar and ingenuous behavior and mistreatment of me in other ways and the fact that I could not have acquired such medical tape from another source, I personally am convinced that this is what happened.

The record of this visit reports a tightness in my shoulder I was feeling as the cause of my complaint without any reference to my stating I felt I might have been poisoned. While the pain described regarding some strained muscle in my left shoulder, this pain was not the single cause of my visit.

On a second occasion I again felt as though I had been poisoned after eating something from the refrigerator. Whether I was intentionally or inadvertently poisoned, I don't presume to say. It was around this time in the media that stories came out about the E coli bacteria and Sudafed tampering. All I can say is that my physical constitution was such that I felt as though I had been poisoned, nor did I have reason than or now to believe otherwise. This time, as with each such occasion, the effects of the poisoning were similar to the effects of a street drug, in this second instance pscillocibic mushrooms. Back in high school I had on at least two occasions taken these so know how these effect a person. Be this as it may I returned again to the ER. Although I did, of course, have some misgivings after what happened on my first visit, I was willing to give the hospital the benefit of the doubt since there did not then seem any ostensible reason for why such people would violate the law, let alone human decency, in order to hurt me. I also thought as well at the time that even given that wrongdoing had been done to me, i.e. the tape, there would be no reason to believe that such an gross outrage could possibly be repeated. Lastly, being puzzled by the tape, I suppose a part of me wanted to see how they would react when they faced me again. Having said this, my ailment was genuine and my uncertainty about the tape itself was not itself what caused me to return to the UW Medical Center for medical attention.

10/30/92 visit - Physician: Dr. McMullen. This visit, as I recall, was uneventful as far as misconduct is concerned, except that I was not given a proper prescription for the medication I was given. The problem was that no where in writing was it indicated what the dosage the medication was to be taken. I retained a good deal of evidence on this point, including the medication itself which I decided that I would, not knowing the dosage, not take. I had the original "prescription" as well. Yet for reasons unknown to me, these vanished from a specific storage place of mine, and I cannot explain or account for what happened to them. Due to present lack of evidence then, I will keep things simple by not making anything of this particular charge about the prescription.. If others would like to know more, however, I will be happy to elaborate.

11/13/92 visit - Physician: Dr. Weaver. On a third occasion I again inexplicably felt the sudden effect of having been poisoned. As with the prior instances, I cannot give an explanation about why this was taking place only that it was. The nature of the third poisoning was unlike the previous `poisonings' or anything I had ever experienced before and am consequently at a loss to what I can liken it except to say it seemed like a street drug. Yet, as mentioned earlier, whatever the cause for this and all mentioned instances of sudden, acute ill health, this is not the primary subject of my letter. Rather it is how the hospital treated my case.

At some point early on in this third visit, I was brought into a small examination room and was told to lay flat on the examination table, which I did. A male staff member with blonde hair and glasses, after doing some routine checking, including some extensive looking into my ear of all places, proceeded to feel out my entire body. Now not surprisingly the experience of involuntarily being made to feel the effects of a drug is an extremely traumatic thing, as I would hope would be self-evident, and this made me malleable. I assumed the doctor or staff person knew what they were doing so I did not protest. He never said he was giving me a massage and I presumed he was engaged in a legitimate examination. The only problem is how slowly and deliberately feeling out my entire body is a proper method for dealing with a poisoning. I am no expert, so I could be wrong about this. I can say however that the experience made me feel extremely violated as much as if I had been physically molested.

Prior to going into the ER I had called the Seattle Police Department to make what was now clearly an overdue report about having been poisoned. Not long after the "examination" described above a police officer arrived. This Officer's name was Underwood, badge no.#682. After staying to listen to me for at most two or three minutes, he told me in effect that "he didn't have time for this" and ran out without allowing me to state what had happened as far as the poisoning was concerned, let alone file a report. Months later I filed a complaint against the officer with the Police Department Internal Investigations. My Contact Log File number is CL#93-227. After some letter writing I spoke with the officer's supervisor. He, in sum, stated that while the officer acted improperly in running out on my complaint it was not bad enough to require disciplinary action. The reason for this in turn was because the ER staff had discredited me with the officer without my knowledge, thus putting themselves in a position to deny me my civil rights. I only found out about this after I made my report to Internal Investigations. If the ER staff, for whatever reason, didn't want to treat me as my case required there was no reason whatsoever for them to have interfered with my simply making a report to the police.

Later I spent a lot of time talking with Dr. Weaver who insisted I was a lunatic while at the same time refusing (except until the last minute) to give me a blood or urine test to determine if I was enduring the effect of an unhealthy, foreign substance. At the same time as he insults me, he effectively denies me the very means by which I could verify the nature of my complaint. It says on the hospital file for this visit that I was given a toxicological test. This I assume refers to a last minute urinalysis that was hastily done. It is true my urine was taken, but only as a last gesture on their part to show that some test had been taken. Even if the test was legitimate why hadn't it been done on the two prior visits, and why only on the third visit only after repeated requesting and finally insistence on my part that it be done? It would seem clear to me from this that having initially diagnosed my case as psychological in origin it was in their vested interest to deny the possibility of my having actually ingested a foreign substance, and in this way cover for their mistake on my first two visits. For even if I been poisoned in actuality only once, let alone three times, this would not have reflected well on the ER staff's conduct, needless to say.

Dr. Weaver, a young man who from my experience with him gave the frank impression of being an individual possessed of an immature and superficial intellect with an exaggerated sense of his own professional wisdom, described me as suffering from "paranoid delusion." Well, there are at least two things wrong with his assessment. My statements with respect to my speculation then as to what might have been the origin of my poisoning have been distorted to make it sound as though I left no room for doubt. In point of fact, I never at any time said I was certain as to the cause of why I had ostensibly been poisoned and merely offered when asked what I felt was a possible interpretation of what had occurred. The doctor's report on the other hand would seem to suggest that I had some definite and conclusive notion as to the reason for my apparently having been poisoned when in fact I had no such definite or conclusive notion. Finally, as stated before, never once could the doctor explain why I had all along been denied a urinalysis.

A word in conclusion about the "poisonings." Now four separate and distinct poisonings in the course of less than two weeks would seem to stretch the credulity of some, and I am amply aware of this. If someone prior to my experiencing it would have asked me what I thought was the probability of such a thing taking place, I would have said I thought it highly unlikely. Indeed to this day I cannot claim to be able to explain or understand it all. Yet just because something sounds improbable does not make it impossible. The palpable and physical sensations of separate poisonings did take place, and I don't have the least doubt in my mind about this fact. To put this another way, I am absolutely certain that my ailments were not in any way the product of delusion or hallucination, or psychological indisposition and am outraged then and now that they were treated as such without proper chemical tests having been made. If we grant, just for the sake of argument, that I had indeed been poisoned as I claim, how could I possibly have presented or handled my case differently then I did? Imagine what it would feel like if one had actually been poisoned, yet upon seeking a physician was told one was "crazy." Well, this is precisely what happened, and I don't know what is worse, the actual poisonings or being treated as I was by the hospital under those circumstances.

Within the last four months, I reported what happened to the University Hospital Administration, and my complaint was directed to Leah Kliger. My purpose in contacting her was not to cast blame upon the hospital itself but that part of the staff I did encounter. I called her in June, and after she requested it I sent her a letter providing the essential details of what took place. I waited a week or two for a response, then called her office and was told she went on vacation. I waited a few more weeks I was not able to reach her, and it soon became obvious that the reason for this is that she refused to speak with me. On a second or third call to her office I was told a letter had been sent me. This letter was brief and advised me to seek psychiatric help. There is simply no excuse for the arrogance and flippancy of her `letter,' even if she were correct in her assessment. I would receive better courtesy and sensitivity from an employee working for 5.00 an hour at Burger King. This is health "care?" Coming from someone in charge of hospital complaints it is irresponsible and childish in the extreme. Naturally, one could not presume that she would necessarily take for granted the truth of my story, yet there was no reason that she should treat my after all serious complaint in this thoughtless and frivolous manner. Simple answers to a few questions hardly seems like much to ask. I find it disconcertingly ironic that at least four major Washington or Seattle area medical organizations whom I inquired with prior to writing this had hardly a clue as to whom one would report a complaint of staff misconduct at a hospital. No doubt it is this lackadaisical attitude that big hospitals and their doctors "can do no wrong" that someone like Ms. Kliger feels free to absolve themselves of professional and social responsibility, not to mention civil decency, whenever they find it convenient.

Organizing and recalling this information has been very trying and time consuming. I am far from affluent and cannot afford to hire an investigator or attorney. Even if I weren't handicapped financially as I am, I am fully aware of the obstacles I confront in persuading others to have to face, such as the somewhat absurd nature of my story and the power and resources of the organization at whom my complaint is directed. Nevertheless, what I have said is true, and I believe that even a superficial examination and investigation will clear up much of the mystery that has arisen as a result of these events.

Why was I subject to mistreatment? I honestly don't know. I am an author and some of my views could be considered offensive to some. Among other writings, letters of mine have been published in the U.W. Daily vehemently, satirically and, worst of all, persuasively, declaiming animal experimentation and other controversial social issues for which expression of views the treatment I received may have been the motive. As a matter of fact a proposed lucrative animal experiment on campus facilities, sponsored by a Dr. Saggett I believe, was canceled after a letter of mine attacking it was published. I do not claim that my letter necessarily helped influence this cancellation, yet I don't know that it didn't. In any case, all this is entirely speculation on my part, and I quite explicitly state that I do not know what a specific motive for mistreating me might have been. I had no reason to think prior to my visits that I would receive anything but professional, intelligent and ethical care and treatment from the University Medical Center ER, but unfortunately in this I turned out to be much mistaken.

If what I charge is true it would seem that I was implying a "conspiracy" or "cover-up" of some sort. Perhaps some of what took place constituted someone's idea of a retributive "practical joke." Let me assure you that while, given the extreme nature of what I've undergone, I don't necessarily discount those possibilities, I could equally understand negligence and incompetence as alternative explanations. In any case, however, I do not claim to positively know why the things I've described took place, and have been and am extremely interested to know why still.

A close examination of the medical records drawn up by Dr. Burns and Dr. Weaver reveals that a deliberate and conscious effort is made in them (if you can read the handwriting) to discredit me and not in the least is there any consideration of the possibility that my supposition of being poisoned had any merit whatsoever. In each case, without there having been any chemical or urine test done to ascertain whether there was a foreign substance in my system as I claimed, it is assumed that what I was suffering was merely a disillusion of some kind.

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What follows is a description and speculation regarding a very unusual kind of cerebral ailment which I've been made victim to. Because of (to put it mildly) its odd nature it is very difficult and awkward to discuss. This is particularly so if, as I maintain, this `ailment' is something which has been artificially induced or purposely caused to happen to me. I beg your patience and open-mindedness then in considering what I realize must sound outlandish in the extreme, yet which, nevertheless, is true. Inasmuch as I believe this `ailment' is something that has been perpetrated on me, and not at all a natural or intrinsic ailment, I've come to refer to it as the "apparatus," or "radio" (for something more descriptive).

Note. All of which I am about to described began to occur after my visit to the University Medical Ctr. ER. Prior to that, none of what I am about to describe was ever experienced by me.

What it is

The apparatus refers to a mechanism or method used to `infiltrate' or `invade' (for lack of better terms) my mind for the following purposes:
  1. To read my thoughts, (at least my experiences would seem to indicate this - as preposterous as this might seem).
  2. To send "signals," usually in response to my thoughts
Signals refers to a kind of transmitted communication into my brain. One might liken it to a radio communication in which my mind serves as a receiver. These signals usually take the form of one or two word communications; or snippets from popular songs. They are not audible forces as such, but thoughts *distinct from my own to the extent that I it has been possible for me to carry on a dialogue with them. These are not "voices," but more like thoughts - only thoughts that are not my own. What happens sometimes is that I can have a memory of these "alien" thoughts and can usually tell the difference between these memories and the signals themselves.

What I can say about the apparatus is based solely on what I have experienced by it. I have no direct information from without to explain to me what is. So other than what I describe as my feeling it, much of the following is, of necessity, based on speculation.

Why I believe the apparatus is an external invasion,
as opposed to an intrinsic malady
  1. The signals manifest a kind of purposeful intelligence and personality behind them, to the extent that I can carry on a dialogue with those transmitting the signals. Though occasionally the signals sent are random in nature, for the most part there seems a what would be a definite purpose behind each one. To this extent, I get the distinct impression that these "signals" are transmitted by various operators, like persons taking turns working a shift, i.e. operating the `transmitter.' There was one occasion in December when a conversation of this sort was most vivid to the extent that I learned that the operator was from a rural area and liked country music. Since that time, however, the purported "operators" have been careful to conceal their identity.
  2. Approximately eight out of ten of the signals are responses to my own thoughts. The sensation one gets in feeling them one could liken to a normal thought. The only difference is that the signals are purposefully sent in response to my thoughts, in the way another person might respond to a verbal comment you make. Now because these signals are so like regular thoughts there are occasions when they are hard to distinguish from my own regular thoughts or memories. However, what makes them different from regular thoughts is that the signals express sentiments which are contrary to my own. There are times the signals are sympathetic, sarcastic, as well as antagonistic. Yet what again makes them different from regular mnemonic reactions is that they display a distinct and separate personality and disposition from my own, which directly respond to my own thoughts or recollections.
  3. Often times, because of my memory of signals, I will think a thought and anticipate a certain signal, such that what is in fact my own thought becomes indistinguishable from a signal. Even so, after such an occurrence a signal will respond (usually "exactly") to this anticipation.
  4. Certain signals are `transmitted' at certain times of the day, and at other times are not `heard' at all. For example, `condemned' is heard mostly at night, i.e. when I am awake and not sleeping. This, I would submit, suggests different people working different shifts, such that some persons working one shift have a preference for using certain signals. Note. Again, since this was first written in March (93), this pattern has changed such that condemned is transmitted in the day as well as night.
During the course my experiencing the apparatus, the level of intensity has varied. I first became aware of it in November 1992. In late November and December of 1992, the intensity of the signals was at their highest pitch, and musical snippets were very frequently resorted to respond to my thoughts. Since about January, however, the intensity has been toned down and the musical snippets made much more infrequent. At this time, while the occasional song snippet does come up, most of the signals take the form of one and two word communications. The following are examples of some of these signals used currently:

Some of the signals at the height of intensity Some of these words, phrases and songs have a certain significance to me, which for the sake of brevity, I'll refrain from explaining here.

Who might possibly be responsible: University of Washington.

On at least three occasions this past fall, I went to the Emergency room at the University of Washington to receive remedy for some poisonings I suffered. My treatment at the ER was irresponsible in the extreme. There is more I could say regarding possible involvement by the U. W. Medical Center, but let this suffice for now.

Why?

The following is sheer speculation on my part, and I have no way at the moment of verifying any of these as being a possible motive for what I believe has been perpetrated on me. How it works

(Here again I can only speculate.)
  1. Medical operation, by which some device has been planted in my brain, the purpose of which is to read my thoughts. In reading my thoughts it may not be that what is read is not my thoughts vocalized, but brain patterns of mine which are ascribed a certain significance to which a signal response is given. This said, it feels as if my thoughts are read word for word.
  2. It is well known that research in telepathy and ESP had achieved significant strides in the now defunct Soviet Union. Perhaps this is where the "technology" itself originated from. See attached piece which recently appeared in "Time" magazine.
Naturally it has occurred to me that this apparatus could be some form of mental illness. I might be inclined to consider such a possibility, but for the exceptionally bizarre nature of it, and the following reasons:
  1. External signals made in tandem with the signals, and my own thoughts
  2. The phenomena of my being able to carry on a dialogue with the signals.
  3. Artificial dreams (see latter part of these notes)
The worst part of the apparatus is the feeling of having my thoughts read, in which my innermost being is violated and robbed.

The preceding account and description of what I refer to as `the apparatus' no doubt sounds very strange in the extreme, such that someone might understandably think I am crazy or lying. The fact of the matter is that I am not crazy, nor am I lying, and I beg your patience in hearing me out. It's easy to see that if what I say is true that it would be in the interest of those who ordered and are doing it to make it seem as if I am crazy should I try to seek assistance to expose or eliminate it. But for an in-depth background in philosophy and the strength of my religious faith, I might very well have gone mad enduring this apparatus' invasion of my mind. However, because of my philosophical, and religious background to give me emotional strength, I have been very successful in distinguishing between external phenomena, my own thoughts, and the signals transmitted via the apparatus.

Note. Since original putting these notes together (and please remember, this section about the "apparatus" consists of notes, and is not intended to be a carefully put together narrative), some of the aspects of the apparatus which would indicate its being a deliberate technology used on me, are carried on differently. For example, it's more difficult for me now to try to carry on a `conversation' if I desire to do so. This would suggests, in this case, that the people doing this are trying to undercut one of my arguments, namely that there is a conscious, purposeful intelligence behind what has happened to me. In other words, they have basically (though not entirely) eliminated this factor in light of the fact that I have identified and written about it in order to conceal, at least from me apparently, what they are doing. Also, the musical snippet and voice phenomenon has all but disappeared. What is left is the mind reading, artificial dreams and some physical pain accompanying the torture.

One of the most unusual features of this apparatus is the ability to have my sleeping dreams invaded, in which I am forced to sit though a "production." One can tell they re not ordinary dreams because they are so frequent and carefully orchestrated. These basically take the form of propaganda, sometimes trying to shame me about drugs, or something I did wrong in the past. One very unusual aspect of these productions is that they have included appearances by celebrities or images which give the appearances of being such, for example computer generated images:

People who have appeared in apparatus dreams or productions: There were more "celebrities" I could list but I hope this list will suffice for the present.

Now it would be too incredible for someone to have naturally occurring dreams in which such a list of celebrities appeared, even if they were ill - which goes to support my contention of being victimized by some sort of technology. If there is a question as to my veracity, let me then state unequivocally that I am more than happy to take a lie detector test, at my own expense, to determine whether or not I am telling the truth.

It is very painful to recount all that has happened to me in the last three years. Yet as much as I have enumerated here, what I have so far presented hardly tells the half of it. Among some of the other things that have happened to me are, briefly, the following I have been living with this mind torture device now for three years, and, of necessity, have somewhat become accustomed, though not complacent about it. During this time I have come to compose a profile of my tormentors and find them to be a bunch of sadistic, cowardly, immature, hypocritical weirdos. One thing we that must be kept in mind about these people and their like is that they operate in the dark because they are afraid of something. If they weren't afraid they would not feel the need to hide. Like vampires, if the light can be made to shine of them, in this case the light of truth, they will disintegrate. The problem of course is getting them into the light.

Three things have been of great help to me in enduring these tortures, and they are my faith in God and Christ, which is my very life's ultimate strength; an in depth philosophical background to keep me from jumping to conclusions and relying too heavily on mere speculation (Bertrand Russell is a great help in this regard); and finally the knowledge that the people who do these things are the dregs of humanity, who, despite their technological sophistication, are intellectual dwarves and mediocre half-wits, affording no end of material to mock them with. Now I have heard that some so-called Christians have been connected with some of the kinds of activities I have set forth here, and for my part I have met more than my share of hypocrites and frauds in my search for assistance. Yet I hope those who are concerned about these kinds of crimes make the distinction between people who actually believe what Christ said, and those that pretend to. Just as we must make the distinction between those in law and government who truly care about the welfare of this country, and power hungry maniacs who pretend to.

Until I discovered the Freedom of Thought page [now Mind Control Forum web] just recently, I did not know that mine was not just an isolated case. Reading the accounts of other victims, my heart goes out to them, and it is horrifying to think how many others have undergone this kind of treatment or are, unbeknownst to them, awaiting this fate. I have come to believe deeply, that the sadistic, high-tech practices and methods such as these people use, regardless of their motives, pose the greatest threat to humanity since the Nazis, and it is in this light, and with this kind of alarm, that they ought to be viewed.

Last, for what it is worth, I would like to offer some suggestions to keep in mind which other victims may perhaps find helpful in living with this kind of torture:
  1. Remember that the persons doing this to you are really destroying their own lives, relationships and happiness in the process of carrying out their "operations." After all, what kind of self-image could a person have who feels no shame or scruple about playing the part of a disease?
  2. While they can manipulate a persons mind, they can only control your heart or your soul if you let them. So avoid doing anything to unethically or illegally hurt another, and by doing so keep your heart and your soul "healthy." This will in turn help keep your mind healthy.
  3. Avoid jumping to conclusions, particularly as to who is doing it and what the precise nature of the technology is, unless you have some hard evidence that can be directly corroborated. Remember in this regard that persons perpetrating these kinds of things would like to get you to believe things that aren't true in order to mislead your efforts. Do not fall for this. As much as you need to know the answers, try to remain skeptical about explanations until you have hard evidence. Look for and listen to possible explanations, but, again, avoid jumping to conclusions which are not based on strong or incontrovertible proofs.
  4. Compile a record of other people's testimonies to help persuade others as to the truth of your own experience.
  5. Do not assume because someone occupies a respectable profession, position or office that they necessarily can be trusted. To do so could be setting yourself up for a major disappointment.
  6. There is hope in simply living your life as best as you can. Being a victim myself I know how very difficult this can be. Have faith in God, do what is right, and try to keep an appropriate sense of humor. That is after all what truly matters in life. Finally, do not succumb to despair. Let your tormentors, the people who like to play at being a disease do that. They have less to live for than you do. There have been many martyrs for justice and victims of tyrannical persecution throughout history, and, for myself, I find it to be an honor, that is no little, consolation to be numbered in their company.


TAKEITHOME!