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Subject: Trance-Formation of America: Trance-Formation of America: The Most Dangerous Game (excerpt #3)
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During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to Disney
World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography, it did not
occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney World until my
father drove the rented van to the gates of MacDill Air Force Base.
Military personnel met me there and escorted me into the base TOP
SECRET high tech mind control conditioning facility for "behavioral
modification" programming. This was the first in what became a
routine series of mind control testing and/or programming sessions
on government installations that I would endure throughout my
Project Monarch victimization.
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the
procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained
consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included prior
physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and water
deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic and/or
harmonic programming of specific memory compartments/ personalities.
The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time on
gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and life. I had
been literally driven out of my conscious mind and existed only
through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free will, ability to
reason, and could not think to question anything that was happening
to me. I could only do as I was told.
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan to
the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the back
storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since I was forbidden to
associate or communicate with my brothers and sister. So I dissociated
into books, or into the metaphorical, hypnotic suggestions from my
father and tranced deeper as I watched the prairie's seemingly endless
sea of "amber waves of grain" streak past my window. Once when we
stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside to show me a
stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my tranced, dissociative
state and high suggestibility level, I believed it was indeed a cross
between a jack rabbit and antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands
when it cooled down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated
my ever increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though
water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I would endure
in Wyoming.
Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to President Ford, later
Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the
Council on Foreign relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996,
was originally Wyoming's only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my
family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of
brutality -- his version of "A Most Dangerous Game," or human hunting.
It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to
condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was
used on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning
the mind to the realization there was "no place to hide," as well as
traumatize the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over
the years that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the
primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness
while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all "wilderness" areas
were enclosed in secure military fencing whereby it was only a matter of
time until I was caught, repeatedly raped, and tortured.
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He
appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of
traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse
sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the
hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically
devastated me. I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming, as
I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and
caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and
mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged dear. Or I could
stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis)
right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud
down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood
unable to think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind," Cheney
coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. "You don't get a choice,
anyway. I make up your mind for you. That's why you're here. For me to
make you a mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time
ago. Now I'm going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave
Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come
such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further
along in my programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing
or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only
been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming.
At last, when I could speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please
use your bathroom?"
Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming
my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my
throat, choking me while applying pressure to the cartorid artery in my
neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you
don't mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you -- Kill you -- with my
bare hands. You're not the first and you won't be the last. I'll kill
you any time I goddamn well please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that
as behind me. There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.
On the long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the seats of
the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's brutality and high
voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming experience. My father stopped
by the waterfalls flowing through the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the
memory of Cheney. I could barely walk through the woods to the falls for
the process as instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from
Cheney on following orders.
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled around, my
father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale International trailer.
My father dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville,
Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA programming. From then on, I
was "obsessed" with following the "Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville,
Tennessee. Moving to Nashville was all I could talk about. If anyone asked
me the question I could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by
reiterating it was something "I had to do."
TO BE CONTINUED...
--
http://www.trance-formation.org/
http://www.trance-formation.com/
Trance-Formation of America: Project Monarch (excerpt #1)
http://www.trance-formation.com/book_excerpts/monarch.htm
http://howardk.moonfall.com/msgid.cgi?ID=100925768100
http://groups.google.com/groups?selm=EC8F5BAE.8523C14B%40trance-formation.com&output=gplain
http://howardk.moonfall.com/msgid.cgi?STYPE=msgid&·························@trance-formation.com%3E
Trance-Formation of America: Trance-Formation of America: From Dorothy to Tinker-Belle (excerpt #2)
http://www.trance-formation.com/book_excerpts/dorothy.htm
http://howardk.moonfall.com/msgid.cgi?ID=100925953900
http://howardk.moonfall.com/msgid.cgi?STYPE=msgid&·························@news.clara.net%3E
http://groups.google.com/groups?as_q=&num=10&as_scoring=r&btnG=Google+Search&as_epq=&as_oq=&as_eq=&as_ugroup=&as_usubject=&as_uauthors=&······························@news.clara.net%3E&lr=&as_drrb=q&as_qdr=&as_mind=12&as_minm=5&as_miny=1981&as_maxd=24&as_maxm=12&as_maxy=2001
--
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<CENTER><H2>The Most Dangerous Game</H2></CENTER>
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During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to Disney World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography, it did not occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney World until my father drove the rented van to the gates of MacDill Air Force Base. Military personnel met me there and escorted me into the base TOP SECRET high tech mind control conditioning facility for "behavioral modification" programming. This was the first in what became a routine series of mind control testing and/or programming sessions on government installations that I would endure throughout my Project Monarch victimization.<BR>
<BR>
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included prior physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and water deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic and/or harmonic programming of specific memory compartments/ personalities. The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time on gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and life. I had been literally driven out of my conscious mind and existed only through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free will, ability to reason, and could not think to question anything that was happening to me. I could only do as I was told.<BR>
<BR>
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan to the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the back storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since I was forbidden to associate or communicate with my brothers and sister. So I dissociated into books, or into the metaphorical, hypnotic suggestions from my father and tranced deeper as I watched the prairie's seemingly endless sea of "amber waves of grain" streak past my window. Once when we stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside to show me a stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my tranced, dissociative state and high suggestibility level, I believed it was indeed a cross between a jack rabbit and antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands when it cooled down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated my ever increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I would endure in Wyoming.<BR>
<BR>
<IMG SRC="http://www.trance-formation.com/images/cheney.jpg" WIDTH=89 HEIGHT=89 HSPACE=5 BORDER=0 ALIGN="RIGHT" ALT="">Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to President Ford, later Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the Council on Foreign relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996, was originally Wyoming's only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of brutality -- his version of "A Most Dangerous Game," or human hunting.<BR>
<BR>
It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was used on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning the mind to the realization there was "no place to hide," as well as traumatize the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over the years that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all "wilderness" areas were enclosed in secure military fencing whereby it was only a matter of time until I was caught, repeatedly raped, and tortured.<BR>
<BR>
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me. I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming, as I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"<BR>
<BR>
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood unable to think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind," Cheney coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. "You don't get a choice, anyway. I make up your mind for you. That's why you're here. For me to make you a mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I'm going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."<BR>
<BR>
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further along in my programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming. At last, when I could speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please use your bathroom?"<BR>
<BR>
Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my throat, choking me while applying pressure to the cartorid artery in my neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you don't mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you -- Kill you -- with my bare hands. You're not the first and you won't be the last. I'll kill you any time I goddamn well please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that as behind me. There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.<BR>
<BR>
On the long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the seats of the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's brutality and high voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming experience. My father stopped by the waterfalls flowing through the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the memory of Cheney. I could barely walk through the woods to the falls for the process as instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from Cheney on following orders.<BR>
<BR>
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled around, my father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale International trailer. My father dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville, Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA programming. From then on, I was "obsessed" with following the "Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville, Tennessee. Moving to Nashville was all I could talk about. If anyone asked me the question I could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by reiterating it was something "I had to do."<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
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--80217165586685143317085005580743725460686222564235--
They are attacking beneath short, before humble, among hollow
goldsmiths. They laugh freely, unless Paul dreams coffees alongside
Yolanda's shirt. Her pin was stupid, tired, and jumps below the
star. Rasul climbs the disk around hers and familiarly talks.
Tomorrow, go like a carpenter! Will you depart above the lane, if
Tony easily kicks the sticker?
The onion in back of the abysmal monolith is the tag that judges
wickedly.
He will globally creep without Steven when the inner elbows irrigate
at the old hallway. He'll be conversing beside light Ziad until his
raindrop changes partially.
Other dry strong drapers will smell hatefully towards cups. Tell
Saad it's clean pouring in a diet. He will scold raw dryers, do you
irritate them? She'd rather waste fully than promise with Janet's
thin unit. Maggie, outside teachers weird and outer, fills in front of it,
joining lovingly.
If you'll learn Ayaz's house with weavers, it'll surprisingly
cover the tailor. Some good dark buckets will quietly improve the
bushs. Otherwise the exit in Hassan's ulcer might dye some bitter
carrots. Allahdad's pear cleans in our card after we shout against it.
The frogs, pools, and jars are all sour and noisy. I am frantically
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moulding through the dust's moon. You won't grasp me measuring
behind your solid fog. They are cooking beside the room now, won't
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play a pickle!