JOHN STORMM
"My name is John Stormm, and I am an MK Ultra survivor. It's ironic, because survivability is what we are conditioned for, and for many of us, it makes us into the kinds of monsters that even we cannot tolerate living with or as. I can leap from a third or fourth floor window and hit the ground running from a tuck-and-roll. Knives and less than optimal gunshots will glance off my hardened skeleton. I can catch a car at thirty miles an hour and rip its doors off. Or if it's stationary, I can flip it onto its roof or keep its tires off the ground to prevent traction. I can take a 30-40 mph collision with that car without suffering any broken bones. In my heyday, I could punch 4-5 times a second and each punch capable of breaking bones, boards or bricks. I've dropped kicked ten feet off the ground and punched through security glass. In short, if I hit it, it breaks. These are things I've done consistently since before my teens. I have an IQ in excess of 160, and graduated all of my courses in the top 1% of my schools. I've had concrete broken over my chest with sledge hammers, while laying on a bed of nails. I'm a highly trained ninja and a master martial artist and very, very hard to kill.
In the summer of 1953, I was one of the first batches of infants to be inducted into the MK Ultra program. I was subjected to many, many torturous physical, mental, genetic, psychological and chemical conditionings, designed to make me into an unstoppable hunter/seeker/assassin. A master of what the CIA used to refer to as "the happy accident". An untraceable stealth weapon capable fracturing skulls, necks, spines, ribs or whatever and in a split second, leaving a corpse that can be easily set up to appear as a car wreck or household accident that leaves no embarrassing fingers pointed or homicide investigations.
In the late 1960s, I was trained and used as a remote viewer in an MK Talent portion of the program, and by 1970, I had taken on some of my first combat roles taking and terrorizing my victims from the Cambodian side of the Ho Chi Minh trail, making them disappear and die silently in the jungle shadows as they crossed over to avoid US troops. I trained Khmer freedom fighters in stealth tactics to facilitate them equipping themselves from the weapons and stockpiles of the Khmer Rouge, just prior to the US bombings of Battambong. I became "problematic" as an MK unit as my cooperation as a killer was dependent upon me believing it was always for the greater good. I was pulled and given the option to join up as a "contractor" with the DEA and other alphabet agencies in hunting down drug lords and other such monsters in Central America. My unit was designated as "Disney Toons" and my call sign was: "Thumper", probably for my machinegun punching style.
Usually, there was a "clean up squad", "janitors", "cleaning ladies", among our favorite tags, that came into our missions afterwards to remove or set up evidence, pay bribes or whatever to make our work look like the actions of rival gangs or such to give our government its plausible deniability. After all: Our President claimed we never used "assassins", and that we also had no people in Laos or Cambodia before that. I am the man that never was. It was nearly 15 years later when I learned that those spooks weren't burning the drugs that were left after our incursions. But they were packaging them up and flying them into the US in CIA planes to sell in American ghettos. By then, I had completely broken with my programming. I had learned by my experience: That it all wasn't a matter of "good guys vs. bad guys", but that of "bad guys vs. worse guys", and I was working for the worst guys. I had no conflict with taking out the world's monsters, until I woke up to that fact that I was a product of the world's worst monster makers. I'm still fully inclined to kill "monsters", but for some time now, that makes my handlers pause and stay out of sight and out of reach to keep vertical.
With well over 140 different programs under the MK Ultra umbrella, there are many aspects we have in common.
First: Is the ritual abuse, abusive families and constant terrorizing us as children. This tends to make us very nervous and hyperactive. Many times, observers would describe me as very quick, birdlike movements. As if my adrenalin glands were stuck at full throttle, all of the time. This increased our speed, strength and reflex actions by multiple factors.
Secondly was dislocating and micro fracturing our bones (Google: "Wolf's Law"), making them harder, denser and stronger to further protect our organs, making us more survivable to knives and bullets. Also preparing our skeletons to handle the increased strength without breaking. The pain and terror of this also facilitated the first item in this list.
Thirdly was the shock treatments. There were less of these to the head, when we proved to be "talented". But if we were to be made physically stronger, we'd be hooked up with pads and electrodes to each of our muscle groups and subjected to high voltage pulses, much the same as many of the "electric workout machines" on the market today (which were developed and marketed from these same experiments) but at a much higher dosage over time. This also contributed to our terror and conditioning to separate ourselves from the pains. Also making us nearly unstoppable by any normal means.
Drugs, hypnosis, sounds, flashing pictures to forcibly opened eyes also were used to condition and program us. I still feel that hypnosis cannot make someone do things they are naturally set against. But I was highly talented and they wouldn't shock my brain. Instead, it was easier to deceive me into believing I was killing somebody who was very, very bad and I had no problems with my conscience and considered that I was indeed making the world a slightly better place and sparing more "victims" grief. To their thinking, this limited my usefulness in certain scenarios.
Next were advanced martial arts training and tactics from various experts and masters. It involved nearly every weapon you can think of and a few that you can't, including some of the most unbelievably devastating "kiai's" (shouts) that have been the last sounds to violate a man's ears. In between missions, or during times when I was not amenable to some of the missions as given, I was used to share these techniques with other Ultras, Deltas, Rangers, Recons, Berets and whoever needed the extra edge. Everything in our conditioning and training was designed to take our "edge" to yet another level, to make us more efficient and survivable soldiers. We were literally driven to keep honing our edge to ultra-sharp. Failure was never an acceptable option in any mission.
There was "the chair". This was used to either implant false memories like spending your summer on a farm with your favorite uncles, while training and/or serving in a mission. And/or remove any memories in a debriefing and replace them with something a bit more innocuous. These generally fall apart with contradictory livid dreams where the imagery gets overlaid and you wake up wondering what the hell is the link between these things. Over time, the real memories seem to return... mostly.
All sorts of variations in training, drugs used, genetics, ultra-steroids, bionics, implants and more are used in many programs. But almost all of them will include much of what I've listed here" - John Stormm
The Dark Art of the Happy Accidents
by Master John Stormm, MK Ultra SurvivorI've heard plenty of tales about the CIA's heart attack guns, cobra poison, microwave beamings and many other clandestine murder methods. As a former MK Ultra, I'm no stranger to these things. In fact, I'm a past master of the "happy accidents", and I've trained others in many of these techniques during my tenure as an Ultra. I don't much care for the term "super soldier", because it gives this image of soldiers in uniform, with uniform tactics as if they were all cut from the same cookie cutter. They weren't looking for a sameness in us. Enemies learned to recognize G-men in cheap haircuts and Langley farm boys a mile off. Certain operating procedures also made many agent's moves predictable enough to catch them all too quickly. I had different teachers, and I, myself became a teacher to others. Allow me to elaborate on this.
First, you should understand what a "happy accident" really is. It's a hit, an assassination carried out that is made to look like the death was either natural causes or a simple household accident. They do not really require much special equipment as much as special skill sets to carry these out. I can go through a metal detector or a strip search and carry out such a mission seconds later. The desirable thing about the happy accident is that, no fingers get pointed at anyone, no foul play is suspected, all evidence points to simple accidental death or natural causes and no homicide investigations ever come of these. Our government has its "plausible deniability" for these actions. They've never admitted to ever employing an assassin before. I'll attempt to describe what a couple classic examples of this kind of hit is like in this essay, to give you a better idea of what this all entails.
My mark is a well protected and powerful man in a Third World country, where a 6'5" tall, 200 pound, blond haired, blue eyed man will stand out like a beacon. He lives in a walled compound in a small city. I make my way through the shadowy backstreets at night, completely covered in my flat black ninja gi, or suit, much like the one you see in the pictures here. Only a slit for my eyes, and my finger tips are exposed and there's nothing to reflect light in any way to draw anyone's eyes to my presence. My moves are always crouched and silent, so that my size and reach cannot be accurately gauged, even if someone was so unfortunate as to spot me. When I stop, I crouch and draw my fingers into my gauntlets and angle my face downwards, so that my eyes and skin are shadowed and my silhouette isn't man shaped. I blend in with all the non-human shaped shadows so that even if someone is near, they have no reason to suspect my presence. I never wear cologne and rinse thoroughly with plain water before hand. I have no recognizable smell.
The wall to the compound is brick and concrete and about eight feet high, with razor wire coiled across its top. I am capable of running up the side of a wall and entering an open, second story window on an average day for me. I had grabbed a small piece of a carpet remnant out of some trash in a back alley, across the street and I tossed it over the razor wire and backed off, across the street to see if it drew any attention. It went unnoticed. I ran up the wall and vaulted to the shadowy garden below without a sound. I blended my shadow in with the bushes and trees and observed the layout for a while. About 80 feet to my left was an in ground, well lit swimming pool. It was bordered on the far side by a pool house, that held all the pumps, pool toys, chemicals and a dressing room. Above that, was a deck, with a low railing that was accessed by French doors to the second floor of the house. It was about ten feet to the top of that railing. Two men were arguing up on the deck. Apparently, the one with his back to the railing had had too much to drink and was demanding the other bring him a sandwich. As luck would have it, the drunk was my mark.
It was a warm night and the French doors stayed open, as the second man went inside to get the sandwiches. My mark stayed leaning on the banister, with his drink in hand and his back to me. As soon as the second man was well inside, and no eyes but mine on my mark, I ran silently across the yard, up the wall of the pool house and grabbed my mark by his head. My right hand covered his mouth and nose, while my left grabbed the back of his hair and twisted violently as I yanked him over the banister with me to the concrete pool deck, ten feet below. I stayed on top as he hit the deck, head first making the sound of a flowerpot being broken inside a wet blanket. I wasted no time checking him, but tuck-and-rolled into a sprint back for the garden wall, snatched my carper remnant and redeposited it in the trash in the alley across the street. Only seconds elapsed from the time his partner was out of sight. I made my way, back to the outskirts of town and rejoined my unit and we moved on to another job. Nobody saw a tall blond. Nobody even imagined that man was assassinated. No sirens or police or embarrassing investigations were ever made. He simply had too much to drink and fell off the balcony and fractured his skull on impact, killing him instantly. All the armed protection bought with drug money couldn't save him and nobody had to struggle to keep any witnesses alive for his trial. But this is one of the simpler hits that come off as a happy accident. These require fatal skull fractures, broken necks, crushed larynx and set up to look like a fall down the stairs, slipping in the shower, falling off a ladder or a car accident. There's another style drawn from an ancient art called Dim Mak, or Poisoned Hand.
To best understand the principles behind this type of assassination, you need to understand that anything you learn to heal in any style of medicine, can be used to the opposite effect just as well. The same pharmacist, who prepares a medicine to heal you, can prepare a slightly different mixture to kill you or make you worse off. The art of Dim Mak, comes from the Oriental healing systems of Shiatsu and Acupuncture. Pressure or stimulation of various linked points of your body's nervous system can balance or even imbalance your metabolism to heal or to kill you.
For instance, you are hypertensive and it is causing a strain on your blood pressure and other body functions are effected by this stress and imbalance of its forces. The Shiatsu practitioner will apply pressure and/or deep message to various effected parts of your body, and somewhere as they start seeing a good effect, they will apply a pressure or stimulate six points, beginning at the base of your skull, just along either side of your cervical vertebrate. This sends the message to your medulla oblongata, that controls your body's involuntary functions, that whatever is going on, right now in your body, that it needs to maintain that order. Your blood pressure levels out and things start going back to normal, where any damage that you did can begin to heal properly. But for our happy accident, we are not going to heal you. We're going to kill you, and we will kill you subtly and slowly, over a short period of time to ensure we get away with our crime. Here's an example of how that might work out:
Keep in mind, what I said about those six points at the base of your skull and how I use them as the programming key for your involuntary functions. Now I want you to think about the first sensations you get, after the sole of your foot hits water in a big temperature change, cold or warm. Usually, if you didn't urinate before you touched the water, you will have to now. I just use this to point out how certain nerves on the sole of are linked to kidney and bladder activity. As a trained assassin, I am going to hand pick certain times of the day and certain conditions that will best help me effect you into kidney failure. Here's how another style of hit would take place in yet another rural area...
It's about 5am in the morning. My mark is a business man who launders money very well for yet another monster and a silent partner in his manifold crimes. He's well armed, but doesn't normally keep armed thugs to protect him, unless there's an active threat from the cops or rival cartels. He has decorative crushed white stones for his back patio and it makes noise when you try to walk across it. This man is known to sleep lightly. I colored my hair and gave my face the appearance of an unshaven swarthiness. Filthy clothes and the smell of booze all over me as I staggered and sang with a slur all the way up the alley way behind his house. Dogs bark at me and irritated sleep people yell at me to shut up. I make no appearance at trying to be sneaky and I know I'll be gone long before any cops can show up. I stagger into his backyard patio and call out for Stella in a loud stage whisper. He comes out with his handgun and tells me to go home and sleep it off, as there is no Stella here. I stagger up to him, apologizing profusely in the same loud and friendly whisper. His feet are bare and planted on uneven cold stones (not sharp). As I get close enough, I stumble a little and step on his right foot, and accidentally elbow him in his kidneys as I try to regain my balance and slap my hand across the back of his neck to pull myself up. He smacks me with the gun and pushes me away angrily and I stagger off, still apologizing and making shushing noises. Here's what happened to him...
He's been some time in bed already and hadn't voided all night yet. His kidneys have been working overtime, while he was asleep. The cool stones under his feet were stimulating them to an even greater degree and then his kidneys were in total violation when they got accidentally bruised by the clumsy drunk. The hand slap on those six points at the base of his skull, told his medulla that whatever was currently going on with his kidneys, that it was to maintain that state of function. They would fail within weeks of this encounter, and he was living far enough away from any serious medical centers where he wasn't going to be getting dialysis. Assuming that he was aware what was going on with them. Had he known early, what I had done, another shiatsu or acupuncturist could have undone my effect and saved his kidneys.
The same things could have been done to create a heart failure, a stroke or even cerebral edema (brain swelling), such as Bruce Lee died of. I chose the kidneys for this example in an effort to not be irresponsible with what kind of fatal information going out in a public forum. You can better understand how easily and practical these techniques can be, as opposed to heart attack guns and wild technical gear that is difficult to get past customs or various security screenings. In the hands of a trained assassin, we can walk bare assed into a secure nudist colony and still carry out a hit completely undetected. It's rarely the fellow with the big rifle case that you have to worry about, if the right people want you dead and still get away with their crimes.
MK Ultras come in many different styles and skill sets, depending upon their natural talents and those talents and skills programmed into them to serve their masters. I know that many of us are cross trained in a number of disciplines, as I've trained others in a variety of these skills as well. I'm a crack shot with a rifle or a pistol, as well as swords, knives, shuriken, darts, dirks or just my bare hands and fingertips. I've a knowledge of medicines and poisons, field surgery, electronics and survival tactics. We are trained to have an edge or even many edges under all sorts of circumstances and if we are not carrying weapons with us, to find them or make them where ever we happen to be. We are trained to track down and destroy our targets by any means and survive to escape and do it again as needed. We are expensive to replace. But we are not all created and trained uniformly as "super soldiers" of the same types. A great many "throw aways" are programmed to simply grab some guns and equipment and go shooting up a place and even take their own life rather than give away their master's intent to have killed at least one specific mark in a room full of what is apparently random victims. But those are yet another story to tell.
Bio from John's website:
"I was born in 1953 in a family of hereditary witches that count their ancestry all too many centuries ago in ancient Tara. I was raised and trained in the craft, as the only male witch in my family by my grandmother. I now have grandchildren of my own. I began serious martial arts training in 1963. My sensei became my father figure and I strove for perfection, holding a Second Degree Black Belt in Mas Oyamas Karate, and a master’s ranking in Chinese Kenpo. By the early 1970’s, between training for tournaments and running my own small chain of studios, I took Radio & TV Broadcasting at El Paso Community College in Colorado Springs, CO. This gave me my first good taste of journalism. Thirty plus years later, and dying to write some of these experiences in a book, I wrote an entire series in the Witch Clan theme. These are character driven stories with true to life characters, and experiences melded into an entertaining fantasy. My first full length novel in this series is “Matriarch of the Witch Clan.” Readers are encouraged to visit our website at http:///www.witchclan.com to correspond with the author or get information on the next release. I and my family sponsor and are also registered as "Witches of the World" at The Witches Voice (witchvox.com)and can be found in their archives." -from DDP bio
The Long View of Witchery
By John StormmI've been wanting to write this for sometime now about the most ancient origins of witchery. I understand that it only seems relevant in the contexts of all of the ancient wyrding families and there’s not many among the general populace that are even allowed much knowledge of these things, or have enough interest to pursue them as a study. The excerpt below, from the Book of Enoch, among others of this type is a great starting point to trace a number of common facts about these ancient elite clans today and even to school the paranormally talented among the general masses as to how they came by such “humanly impossible” genetic traits. I intend to show you that this ancient dusty tome of knowledge is indeed very relevant to many of you and why the powers-that-be in this present darkness fear you finding out all this and what they have done for ages to keep you all disconnected from your own true powers. As I am of such a lineage myself and trained in the craft from a child: I say none of this lightly.
Book of Enoch Chapter 7
1 It happened after the sons of men had multiplied in those days, that daughters were born to them, elegant and beautiful.
2 And when the angels, (3) the sons of heaven, beheld them, they became enamoured of them, saying to each other, Come, let us select for ourselves wives from the progeny of men, and let us beget children.
(3) An Aramaic text reads "Watchers" here (J.T. Milik, Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976], p. 167).
3 Then their leader Samyaza said to them; I fear that you may perhaps be indisposed to the performance of this enterprise;
4 And that I alone shall suffer for so grievous a crime.
5 But they answered him and said; We all swear;
6 And bind ourselves by mutual execrations, that we will not change our intention, but execute our projected undertaking.
7 Then they swore all together, and all bound themselves by mutual execrations. Their whole number was two hundred, who descended upon Ardis, (4) which is the top of mount Armon.
(4) Upon Ardis. Or, "in the days of Jared" (R.H. Charles, ed. and trans., The Book of Enoch [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1893], p. 63).
8 That mountain therefore was called Armon, because they had sworn upon it, (5) and bound themselves by mutual execrations.
(5) Mt. Armon, or Mt. Hermon, derives its name from the Hebrew word herem, a curse (Charles, p. 63).
9 These are the names of their chiefs: Samyaza, who was their leader, Urakabarameel, Akibeel, Tamiel, Ramuel, Danel, Azkeel, Saraknyal, Asael, Armers, Batraal, Anane, Zavebe, Samsaveel, Ertael, Turel, Yomyael, Arazyal. These were the prefects of the two hundred angels, and the remainder were all with them. (6)
(6) The Aramaic texts preserve an earlier list of names of these Watchers: Semihazah; Artqoph; Ramtel; Kokabel; Ramel; Danieal; Zeqiel; Baraqel; Asael; Hermoni; Matarel; Ananel; Stawel; Samsiel; Sahriel; Tummiel; Turiel; Yomiel; Yhaddiel (Milik, p. 151).
10 Then they took wives, each choosing for himself; whom they began to approach, and with whom they cohabited; teaching them sorcery, incantations, and the dividing of roots and trees.
11 And the women conceiving brought forth giants, (7)
(7) The Greek texts vary considerably from the Ethiopic text here. One Greek manuscript adds to this section, "And they [the women] bore to them [the Watchers] three races–first, the great giants. The giants brought forth [some say "slew"] the Naphelim, and the Naphelim brought forth [or "slew"] the Elioud. And they existed, increasing in power according to their greatness." See the account in the Book of Jubilees.
*End of excerpt here*
There’s a great deal more pertinent information in this book and others, concerning the impact of this upon human history. Even the book of Genesis, chapter six has something to say about this. You don’t even have to be of judeo-christian ethnicity to understand that the writings do indeed have some merit to them. For when one speaks of angels, watchers, gods, demi-gods, fae folk and the likes; they speak of powerful, intelligent creatures that are not necessarily “of this earth” as you may understand it.
Every culture on the planet has its ancient tales of someone coming down and interacting and even breeding with humans to produce extraordinarily talented offspring. In fact, nearly every royal line anywhere on the planet, believes themselves to be the descendants of these gods and not fully human in themselves and that this bloodline gives them their “mandate from the heavens” to rule the masses under them. The mundane tend to believe it is merely a privilege that comes from being born into a wealthy royal family, but the truth of this matter goes deeper than just in name alone. It is in their blood and DNA!
To better allow you to relate to what this truly means; I need to diverge from these ancient royal lines for a moment and set this in your laps, a lot closer to home than you may have ever suspected. It’s not just a coincidence as you’ll learn later in this essay.
Simply by the fact that you’re interest is piqued enough that you are taking the time to read this treatise; it is apparent to someone like myself that there are certain mysteries you’ve encountered in your own experience, that have cued you to the idea that there may indeed be more to learn on that subject. Being a witch of some sixty years at this point, I’ve known witches of all types and backgrounds and whether they are brought up and trained in some ancient wyrding clans or find their ways on their own: they all have some things in common. They all possess talents and perceptions beyond the simple dogmatic five senses that humans are only supposed to have. There is something beyond sight, sound, taste, smell and touch that gives them information that others never seem to be aware of, and they are correct often enough to know that whether or not they can understand how this is so: it is still very true. Hence they explore all the hidden highways and byways they can in search of more information to bring it all together for themselves and try to become more fully what they were always intended to be. It is my hope this essay will bring you a whole lot closer to the truth and dispel the illusions for you. You’ll still be learning more and more for the rest of your lives, but at least you’ll understand where it comes from and who has kept so much from you, why they do it and how to circumvent them. Now back to our ancient royal pains in our hindnesses.
Through many means these days; more and more is coming to light about the thirteen ancient Illuminati families. They are easy to pick out. You simply need only look to the wealthiest and most powerful families on the planet today, who have been the ruling classes for most of your recorded histories. As corrupt as those writings are, there is still much truth in them. These are but a remnant of a great deal more ancient wyrding folk than you are being led to believe. Remember in our Enochian transcript, there were at least 200 rebel watchers/angels/ extra-terrestrials starting hybrid families here. So 13 clans are a meager number to represent the whole of that truth. Remember also that many kings were known to sire bastards among the common folk on a very regular basis and many families boast royal ties to this very day. Those royal bloodlines brought a great many more things than just wealth and privilege. These are gifted people, and one of the mainline gifts is "domination".
At this point, it occurs to me that you might not be familiar with the word “wyrd” (pronounced: weerd). Perhaps you’ve guessed that our modern “weird” may be a derivative of it. You’d be right! For all those things that happen, that defy the imposed logic of the church and narrow minded academics: we call them weird, because they are mysterious and an unknown quantity. Wyrding families are those ancient lines possessing talents for things that normal humans have found to be impossible to them. Just understanding this simple fact alone will make a good many things begin to make more sense to you than they have before now. Someone else in your family may have gifts like precognition, telepathy, telekinesis, domination, dreams, visions, healing gifts and so on. Further research into your family tree may show that others before them were so gifted as well. You may even find you are distantly related to some king or queen of some renown or the Rockefellers, Morgans, Rothschilds, Merovingians, pharaohs or such. Genetic traits may skip entire generations, but never entirely disappear. Yes, I’m more than suggesting that if you have any of these talents that your bloodline is not entirely human either. Many of the most prominent Celtic clans boast tales of nonhuman intermarriages in their deep dark past. The McCleods and Monroes come to mind right off the start. If you ever wondered exactly why so many of today’s royal lines inbreed so much, even knowing that some of the children will be impaired: it is because it is worth it to them to produce the single child who will come out with the most “watcher traits” fully intact to rule society with.
Have you ever met a person who could sell anyone anything? This trait is called “domination”. It is one of the most coveted of royal traits, but many royal bastards have spread that gene throughout the general populace and while they’ll never be allowed as heir to the thrones of the world, they will be superior used car salesmen or such. These people, when they believe in something strongly, effect everyone nearby to feel likewise. Whether they are afraid, infatuated, happy, sorrowful, angry or such can move a crowd to feel likewise simply by being present. It is a leadership quality, that does not necessarily require any good values or common sense to control crowds. This is what makes royals believe it is THEIR mandate to rule over you: Because they CAN! Have you ever studied certain politicians and world leaders with scandalous records of lies and misdeeds, but every time they stand up and open their mouths and utter nonsense: there are no lack of suckers who will obey every word as if they could do no wrong? Domination! The alpha male or female who leads the pack; some may be because they are the wisest and strongest and best choice for a leader for the rest to thrive with. But you’ll find many of those who weirdly (wyrdly) enough, do no such thing but to benefit themselves at everyone else’s’ expense. This is where I need to give you another general history lesson, in order to understand where some of our present day madness has originated.
It might surprise you to know that libraries existed all over the earth many thousands of years before Ben Franklin invented the type you use commonly today. They operated a bit differently, but they were the repositories for all of the world’s knowledge and science. If a city had a library, it also had a university, because it now had “curriculum”. A scholar, sage or mage could study the writings within, or if they wished to have a copy they could pay a scribe to copy it for them. As for many of the higher degrees in our universities today: the adage of “publish or perish” was a very important part of preserving the knowledge to benefit the world as a whole for years to come. Just as today we have post graduate studies and doctorates, the ancient universities had “mystery schools” and various factions of sages and magi who studied and earned their degrees in these. It is important for you to understand that in order to partake of these temples of higher learning, one had to swear an oath, much like the doctors swear the Hippocratic oaths in the field of medicine to this day. No dark, occult and mysterious oaths like you hear about from Freemasons and Illuminists these days. Essentially they had to swear to use everything they learned in these higher learning centers to benefit their communities and not to just themselves at the expense of others. Witches, druids, wizards, magi and scholars of all sorts came to these centers of knowledge to round out their training to better help their people. Celtic witches and druids, in a society that distinguished its separate clans by colored tartans and such, no longer wore their own clan’s tartans, but the neutral black or white as they were sworn to serve ALL of the clans and not merely the ones they favored. They could confirm chieftains and kings, but could not become such themselves. This kept power in a healthy balance. It is in these times that another kind of term was coined in the native Gaelic for the unscrupulous magi who took the same oaths, but used their knowledge to rule others for their own greedy ends. They named such magi “warlocks”, literally “oath breakers”.
It should also be noted, in ancient times and even more so in the feudal system that came long afterwards; the chieftains and kings were the chief patrons or defenders of their faiths or religions, whatever deities or beliefs they chose. I need you to understand that fact, so that you can better understand what happened to a very new religion that blossomed in the First Century. Many, many gentiles/pagans had heard the teachings and deeds of one called Jesus of Nazareth. This is not to argue pro or con about the man, but to better illustrate what had happened to make things turn out quite like they did. In the days immediately following, these “Christians” shared all things in common. They still celebrated the Jewish feast of Passover together. They represented their faith with the sign of a fish, and the idea of a priesthood over the laity was an anathema called “the doctrine of the Nicolaitans”
Revelation 2:15-16
" So hast thou also them that hold the doctrine of the Nicolaitans, (lit. - "priesthood over laity) which thing I hate. Repent; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth."
It is not important that you subscribe to these scriptures as just to note that it was enough a concern in the early church to be recorded as such. Around the Third Century, a pagan king, Constantine; wanting to revive his declining empire: gathered together his favored counselors in the Council of Nicea (where they get their Nicean creed) and decided what of the many, many books would be the canon for all the religious belief today, what would be acceptable faith and what would be heresy. Again, I must remind you that this was a pagan king of the ancient Babylonian mystery schools and would not even allow himself to be baptized as a “Christian” until on his death bed. Being of such a mystery school and using his knowledge of controlling the masses and doing so for his own grandification at the expense of the lives of others defines him as a “warlock” in the Gaelic tongue. But who would survive calling him that to his face?
Now many zealots for the faith will point at me and declare me the heretic and witch that I truly am. I would not deny it for I know a witch’s true power in our society has always been our unbroken will and word. But I will simply point out the changes this warlock made to the religion he hijacked to boost his own power over the masses: Now, Seramis was portrayed as Mary and worshipped. Tammuz who’s sign was the “T” now crossed the breasts of the petitioners as the sign of the cross of Jesus. The Easter eggs that symbolized fertility in the ancient pagan religion now became the Christian rite and Passover was abolished as a cursed thing of the Jews “who killed our Lord”, forgetting it was Romans too. In fact a good many pagan holidays were renamed and altered to benefit a magical priesthood who could perform much magic on these celebrations and bring in the wealth and power of the masses. They took a simple faith and doctrine of love and acceptance and turned it into a massive, powerful force to be wielded by a single man from Rome. Warlocks were indoctrinated as feudal lords over their own diocese and made wealthy on the fat of the land and the common folk were made subject to them under pain of excommunication and painful death. This is quite the accomplishment using all of the craft. But it didn’t just end there. Greed and lust for power never does!
Unlike the myth that humble priests and missionaries brought this new faith to the barbaric pagans of our homelands; it actually came to us “top down” by them visiting the seats of power that they truly lusted after. The nobility of the lands and much as Constantine proclaimed his Roman Legions as “Christians”, no matter what they really believed, so did the nobles and kings who were thus swayed to build churches and name their serfs as “Christians” as well. Interestingly enough in this history lesson, the word they used for Celts were “barbarians” in the translations, but the words used in their histories as written was “indomitus” or “someone not dominated”. But I digress.
But there still existed many of the Old Ways, witches, druids and other breeds of magi (the root for “magi-strate”) who still understood what a “warlock” truly is and still had much wisdom and power where they lived and worked. Now through the ranks of this new religion a propaganda began to be circulated among the congregants; that we had so much power over our people because we had made pacts with the devil and kissed his backside in foul ceremonies to grant our evil desires. It became the foulest of death sentences to be found not as a faithful member of the local diocese and our numbers dwindled more and more over the following centuries as more and more succumbed to the warlocks’ illusions of godhood. Many families like my own, escaped to the wildernesses where the superstitious feared to go and lived off the land or hid in plain sight by adapting Christian terminology for our talents and craft.
These warlock elites were not so all-powerful as to contend outright with other genuinely talented magi of any sort, and neither were those of the wyrding royal blood, so the lies and propaganda had to be built to enormous proportions against us and those poor bastards fathered by the “blue bloods” of their day. You’ll find these edicts easy to spot in their doctrines and dogmas to this very day. When someone exercised any talents beyond the five doctrinally accepted human senses, it now became a sign that they had either made their own pact with Lucifer to receive such power or had done some foul deed that brought on demonic possession. As it was, this could be very embarrassing for such faithful members of the church and royal families, so another explanation of “sainthood” and the gifts of the Holy Spirit were also rendered to secure their lives and positions. Interestingly enough, the Scriptural interpretation of a ‘saint’ was simply a “believer”, as First Century believers did not call themselves “Christians” but ‘saints’. Just as the term “witch” no longer means “wise one” as our language dictates, but the warlock definition of a “devil worshipper”, and “warlock” is no longer and “oath breaker” but a male witch (devil worshipper) and now a “saint” was a higher form of Christian, much as an archangel is higher than an angel. The lies and deceit were building to greater and greater proportions, but no matter as these talented warlocks could dominate any thought out of their heads every Sunday or make a special visit to reinforce the lies as gospel truth.
You must also understand that the hierarchies of priest, bishops, cardinals and popes, even as they serve themselves; serve higher or greater powers than themselves with a plan that works in increments over the centuries until full world domination is achieved. In subjecting the people to all these false beliefs and chaining them to material world illusions, they prevent any and all of you from further exploring what you really are and limiting your power to make you easier dominated by them. Many of you fear the word witch or witchcraft for the condemnation to a burning hell that you’ve been conditioned over many, many generations to believe would be the end of you for even considering this. I must confess that I was always worried over my obvious Nephilim ancestry as a damning factor in my existence for the larger portion of my lifetime. Even the Book of Enoch says we were totally cursed and without any chance of redemption for the next 70 generations after the fact.
Book of Enoch Chapter 10
15 To Michael likewise the Lord said, Go and announce his crime to Samyaza, and to the others who are with him, who have been associated with women, that they might be polluted with all their impurity. And when all their sons shall be slain, when they shall see the perdition of their beloved, bind them for seventy generations underneath the earth, even to the day of judgment, and of consummation, until the judgment, the effect of which will last for ever, be completed.
16 Then shall they be taken away into the lowest depths of the fire in torments; and in confinement shall they be shut up for ever.
17 Immediately after this shall he, (14) together with them, burn and perish; they shall be bound until the consummation of many generations.
(14) He. I.e., Samyaza.
18 Destroy all the souls addicted to dalliance, (15) and the offspring of the Watchers, for they have tyrannized over mankind.
The latest estimation of that 70th generation of cursed hybrids ended over 3000 years ago. The only condemnation you could have today as a descendant of such is the same as any full blooded human as what you earn for yourself by the choices you make and not an accident of your birth. But did you notice verse 18 in the above excerpt? It would appear that the present evil paradigm that holds the world you know in thrall through paper talismans with occult symbology, otherwise known as “paper currency” that has no other value at all, are still indeed quite damned and for the most righteous of reasons. Note also how men and women today have been separated and disconnected from anything natural in this world:
Instead of the beauty of a healthy body and a generous soul, women are subjected to tortures of unnatural footwear that destroy their feet over the span of years. Constricting corsets, brassieres, waxings, paintings, meaningless social niceties. And the men are taught from youth that to be strong they must measure their strength in what they can destroy or what they can buy. Everything in this evil paradigm that has any value, has a warlock value in dollars and cents or it is considered worthless. If you don’t believe it, the next time someone asks you in a social setting what you do for a living: tell them you flip hamburgers at McDonald’s, or Walmart, or mop floors and watch how fast they gather around someone else. Even the so called justice system hinges on those same talismans for power. Every crime or infraction has a listed dollar value. And as poor as they treat people of color, even a black man can quite literally get away with murder if he has the money to pay. If not… he’s a dead man! No question. The system is designed so that ONLY the elite can become wealthy and succeed in this material plane. But even so, they are losing out on their power too, and can ONLY maintain it as such as long as you believe those talismans will give you power and keep your focus on the lowest plane of existence: the material plane.
I am a Danaan “witch of the blood“. I am not a religious man, but I am a spiritual man. I do not seek to proselytize you all into witches like me. I seek to help you break their chains and shake them off for yourselves. I can’t do it for you. You must evolve and grow on your own steam and find your own power. I can only point out the fence that has been holding you inside the box. Any physicist will tell you that an atom is 99.9999% empty space. Since you and everything else in the universe is comprised of atoms, with like charged particles that by rights should fly apart rather than hold together: it is apparent that the TRUE substance of the universe is not matter or material things, but consciousness. God is not a cranky old white man sitting on a throne somewhere.
Colossians 1:16-17
" For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist."
Take away the mystical, religious double talk and see that consciousness for exactly what it is. Having a consciousness of your own, step up to the universe and take your rightful places as sons and daughters of the omnipresent Creator in spite of anyone’s paltry religious views and find your power. Because the powers-that-be in this present evil paradigm can only bully you as long as you believe they are better and more powerful than you. All those paper talismans or signed edicts put together add up to nothing but your own slavery to the falsest of gods. The Lakota Sioux have a saying: Mitakuye Oyasin! We are all of us related! The substance of this world is only an illusion that you are destined to rise above or be crushed beneath. You start choosing your own path and destiny for yourself and let no man rob you of your own divine power to do so. Quit thinking of truth in terms of religious doctrine and dogma. I have shown you where it came from and no good can come of it. Reach out of the box and out of yourself and touch that consciousness that holds the atoms together within you and cry out: DADDY! Or MOM! As you will, but know you belong to something and someone far greater than a tyrant! I am your brother, John Stormm.
Related Programs: (Thumper?)
"A remake of my first MK testimony, with a few more substantiative clips mixed in.
Here are the links to the full length, YouTube clips that YouTube *refuses* to let me add to my testimony, as it makes what I'm saying look a great deal LESS like lunatic fringe, conspiracy theory, when the corroborating evidence is included, side-by-side. The main reason I had originally put them in, was to SHOW you that I was not just spouting off, but am intensely familiar with these documentations of the same. So, I'll include them here:
Here's an example of some malfunctioning, MK Ultra swedish twins to give you an idea of the strength and powerful bone structure (not massive girls here): What kind of strength and punishment we have and can withstand. Note: The gal in the red, got hit TWICE by speeding traffic and it took 5 or 6 police to even hold onto her.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-bIWm08eJc
This mainline video was not in my testimony, but it documents a lot of facts about these programs. It mentions doctors, CIA and others. Many of whom NEVER ever answered anything for their crimes against us, and many of these names and institutions are STILL in business TODAY!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNv_VOn4puY
This is one I used: At about 2:20 minutes into this video, you will see the *exact* clinics, CIA building and medical center where *I* had been worked over since early childhood:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XejWdru-alc
This is the clip on bone strengthening..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yENNqRJ2mu0
-taken from this site including Mr.Stormm
Mind Kontrolled Populace
By John Stormm, MK Ultra SurvivorThis treatise is my personal endorsement for the “State Of Mind” video as promoted by InfoWars.com. I have not, and will not receive ANY kind of renumeration for my endorsement from them in ANY way. They probably only barely know I exist, if at all. But I have a personal testimony of MK Ultra abuse and experience, and as I’ve been actively trying to show people how bad things REALLY get with this program, I felt it my duty to tell you that I fully understand what this video is trying to show you here and I’ve known it to be true from the first day of my life on this earth to the present day. For me, this documentary confirms and validates information I’ve been wrestling with my entire life. You’ll understand what I mean as this progresses. Many of these techniques it documents were developed right here in Rochester, New York and used on people like myself.
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. -Friedrich Nietzsche
This is me, in my dark place. A place of darkness and pain that began the day I left the womb and was put up for adoption by my birth mother. It was also my first day in the MK Ultra program in the Summer of 1953. They kept us always fearful and anxious so that we became acclimated to the constant, heavy flow of adrenalin in our systems. Quick, jerky, nervous movements that were developed into a faster, stronger agent of that darkened place. This will sound like the height of arrogance, but you must understand that candidates with the highest potentials were chosen and developed to become their masters’ most irresistible and unstoppable forces. Besides a well developed brain for a multicity of talents, I also had great intellect, or a genius IQ. I know, most people love to make that claim to fame. Many are merely bright, clever or brilliant. I’d grown up with those criticisms around me. I did not view myself as a “super soldier” but a gifted “secret agent”. In many ways, this was my handler’s undoing. As they were looking into all the darkest places of the human psyche to create someone like me, I was gazing into them and studying them and exploiting their weaknesses to gain my freedom from that awful place.
There comes a time in a captive’s life that they realize that no outside help is ever coming to save them. Many become spiritually, emotionally or physically broken individuals. My body constantly craved calcium to keep building itself upon my skeletal frame, hardened and strengthened by micro-fracturing to invoke a medical phenomena called Wolf’s Law. I learned to speak German with a Bavarian accent from my many former Nazi doctors, overseeing my development as an Ultra. I took mental notes of the most learned men I was exposed to. The abyss they gazed into, gazed back and calculated them like so much mathematics. Heavy electro-shock directed to pads placed over separate muscle groups would contract my muscles to pulses and make them denser and stronger than normal. Normal was not a term that applied to anything I was, or was to become. That was never their intention. A sensory deprivation tank enclosed me in luke warm, saline darkness and instead of “containing” me, it forced me to leave my corporeal body and leave the tank into places I would much rather be, and getting more input and information to feed my constantly working, growing mind. I was no stranger to all the latest methods of sleep teaching or indoctrination. Much of the indoctrination did have it’s affect on me. I could not be forced or coerced into something I did not want or like, but I could be indoctrinated or deceived into believing it was exactly what I wanted. I was never permitted to see, or even know that I had a living father somewhere. I was told he went to Korea and was promptly shot down by a Chinese missile and was never aware that he had ever fathered a child by the time he died. I was made to hate my estate as a bastard, and this drove me into a blood feud with the Chinese over the loss of my father. This worked fine for them as a manipulative tool to get me to work acts of extreme prejudice against anything the Communist Chinese were involved in. The more I could kill, the better I was told that I would feel about it. I learned and mastered more than a few Chinese martial disciplines to best understand and defeat my enemies. I was not just a fast, powerful “grunt” of a soldier. I was a wizard and a tactician in all aspects of making war against America’s enemies.
Deep inside all of that programming, a mind still lived and plotted its own freedom and satisfaction with life. When I got to “walls” or obstacles in my life, I used the tools of my masters, to master myself and solve my own fears and inadequacies. I bought 5-15 minute looped cassette tapes, turned up the volume and put the headphones under my pillow on many nights and re-programmed myself to my own priorities and needs. Martial arts training was learning tactics like tools for a tool chest, and manifold repetition turned those techniques into body memory and “second nature”. A master was required to be able to execute perfect, focused technique without having to take the time to think about doing it. As Bruce Lee would later be known to say: “It hits all by itself.”
In field work, as a working “ninja” or Ultra operative. I learned that many of the techniques I learned were useless in actual practice under severe conditions. A wheel kick that was merely a “popper” had little effect except to piss off an already dangerous opponent. I had to train myself to throw that out as useless to me and automatically use only the most deadly and debilitating techniques I knew, and keep them to the fore front of my brain. Every move I’d make in my sped up version of time would be lethal and effective against any number of skilled opponents. My re-programming of my martial skills impressed my masters, and I was sent about to train this skill set to others in this field. They did not like me thinking for myself like this, except where it benefited themselves. When I could go out, time after time and inerrantly pull off a nearly impossible mission, I had to be given more leeway to grow into my capabilities. Those capabilities were beyond their own and for all their efforts to indoctrinate me into an Aryan ideology, this fact told me they were not only not superior to anyone, but they were afraid of and worshipped those they believed had actually made it to that state. I never felt that I reached my best limits, so that wasn’t me. And it certainly wasn’t them.
I say NONE of this to impress you with my formidability. I say this as an MK Ultra survivor. My experience was one of pain, darkness, shame and constantly overcoming the paralysis of my own fears. I was not a “superman” in my own eyes. I was Frankenstein’s Monster. A damned THING. A slave to men whom I could break like twigs for their pleasure and profiting and never my own. If I didn’t KNOW that for myself, I would never have gotten even this much of my dubious freedom. I say all of this to make YOU understand the programming and enslavement CAN be beaten. Like me, NOBODY is going to come and rescue you from their clutches. I’d be still doing their will if I believed that. I know that once you are aware of what the truth REALLY is, there is little or no way to bring you back under the power of their lies. Once you know their tools for getting you to do what THEY want, you can use those same tools to help yourself grow into your own capabilities to do what YOU want, and what YOU want to become or grow into. They broke hundreds and THOUSANDS of innocent, unknowing people into corpses or worse, gibbering idiots, and with no remorse what so ever! But SOME of us cannot be contained or broken so easily, and I’ve rubbed elbows with a good many of you non-Ultras out there. I know them when I see them. This is my message of help and hope to other slaves, lying in chains, pain and darkness. How strongly do you yearn to be FREE? REALLY FREE! Not just imaginarily. Take a gander at this video and remember that I came out through the worst of this, and I’m not any better than any of you. I grew into the environment I was made to endure. Most of the sharpest black people I count as my friends, have much the same kind of testimony. It’s NOT a “racial” thing. It’s a SPIRIT thing! And if anything, I came through all this just to show someone like you where YOUR power really is and to take it back and lock up your slave masters with it. Take my cue, PLEASE!
Men Staring At Goats
by John Stormm, MK Ultra SurvivorIf you've ever seen the movie/comedy, "Men Who Stare At Goats", with a host of bright stars like George Clooney and such in it. You probably remember that it was a comedy, based upon a true account of the American military's dabbling into the paranormal, to look for real world weapons applications. The movie parodies this program to ridiculousness, and for many in this paradigm we live in, it is the stuff of crazy people. It is not a subject that I am even comfortable speaking about as I will here, because there's a much deeper reality to it than most perceive, and in places, I only barely touch that. Things have happened in the course of my MK Ultra experience that I cannot fully account for, and I have the damnedest times even getting people to listen or understand the parts that are concrete solid and easily explained about this program. It's a VERY documented and known program, even though the government, in the personage of CIA Director, Richard Helms, had destroyed the bulk of the files and records of the people they used and experimented on back in 1973, just prior to being investigated in a Congressional Hearing. This hearing was instigated by the many victims of this program and their doctors, after it become known via the Freedom of Information Act, that they were NOT delusional about the things they claimed disabled them in one form or another. For an Ultra like me, it represented validation and acceptance into the "normal" world. When people would understand something of how I got this way, and not just think I was nuts.
No matter how many times I showed off, doing the things that most people thought were "crazy", or "just one of those things" and performed them time after time after time and again, it couldn't possibly have been because I was worked over in a secret government black project at a well known, local hospital. That was "a delusion", and though I was talented and nearly indestructible, I was merely a lucky fool and that was that. Crazy people can be abnormally strong and appear to be rational in their insanity. Being a known martial arts master of over 50 years experience and exposure as a teacher to very many people, in countless exhibitions, a lot of what I do is relegated to those weird, unexplainable things that Shaolin monks are capable of doing in chop socky flicks, and this is an acceptable explanation for my abnormalities. I could tell people, potential students that I can teach and condition them to be able to do many of the things they've seen me do. But most back away from that offer with no little fear in their eyes. They can't imagine that I might be right. Though I *have* taught and helped condition *some* exceptional students to do just that. It is NOT a grandiose or delusional promise made by a mad man. I am not merely a Black Belt karate instructor, I am a master teacher of my skill sets. I am widely known by many other master teachers of various martial disciplines by name, face or reputation. No matter what Richard Helms destroyed of my past records: I exist and am a fully capable "super soldier" and around the city I've spent the larger portion of my life in, and around the globe where I've visited, there are many witnesses to deeds which you will no doubt describe as "larger than life". Those are my "normal" as an MK Ultra survivor.
Until a number of years ago, especially after the fiasco of the Congressional Hearing on this program that I had such high hopes for; this was not a topic that I cared to discuss much. I'm sensitive on levels that most cannot begin to comprehend and the stories draw that same reaction of "this poor fool is delusional". I would say: If you ever harbored the idea that yourself and a gang of twenty of your toughest friends could survive longer than five minutes in a locked room with me, at my worst... it is not I that is delusional. What I have done in full out combat fighting, under worse circumstances is NOT imaginary. No soldier can EVER forget such experiences and it leaves a mark on them FOREVER! That's not 'delusional'. That is called PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You may be saying even now: That it is just not possible for anyone to do the things we give personal testimony about in these interviews and such. It is not possible for YOU to do these things! Nobody ever trained and traumatized you to fight for your life or die trying and let you watch your peers wind up dead or worse for trying and failing. But for many of us, life has never allowed us the comforts and securities that you can take for granted. There's a life and death reason why the government destroyed the records of the atrocities they committed upon American children. They fear being put to death for the sheer magnitude of their crimes!
From around 2005, some long time friends kept telling me about the testimonies of a man named Duncan O'Finioan that they perused on the Internet speaking of the MK Ultra program. "DUDE! This guy looks and sounds so much like YOU that it CAN'T be a coincidence!" The name really never rang a bell at the time. I was working on my Witch Clan fantasy series and very busy writing, and too busy to get my hopes up that anyone will ever be able to see and understand what had happened to my life here. But they never relented, and eventually I took the time to view one of his Project Camelot interviews. The name didn't ring a bell, but he talked about things that nobody but a survivor of that program could know, and I knew that face and build from an early age. When he spoke of spending summers with a favorite uncle, and coming back home with skill sets that he couldn't explain, I understood how that happened in great detail. When I saw videos of him working techniques he had no knowledge of learning, I knew EXACTLY where and how he learned them, and I knew from whom he learned them, and SOME (not all) he learned from me. Who was also reportedly spending a summer with a favorite uncle. Except that I knew where I was and what I was doing for the lion's share of that time span.
For me, my skill sets came from a number of master teachers as well, and I've had some of the best in the world. And when I objected to certain types of missions, I had to "earn my keep" to prevent me being relegated to the types of institutions and cruel experimentations that the "throw aways" in this program wound up in. I would constantly be reminded of how much money was invested in me and that they expected a full return on their investment. I was NEVER referred to as a "person", but an "asset", "a piece of government property". So I shared my training with others in the Ultra programs, Deltas, Rangers, Recons, Green Berets and etc. who were also used in deadly clandestine missions. Duncan was about seven years my junior, and he had an exceptional focus when he took in his lessons, as if his life depended upon every last detail. It DID! And like me, if he failed, it would not be pleasant at all and death would probably be a better end than what we could anticipate in this monstrous life we were forced into. In so many ways, he was more a brother than my little brother was, because I could relate on the deepest levels what motivated him and understand him like I understood my own soul.
Now, if I wanted a "hook" to draw my audience into this lengthy diatribe, I probably should have put this part in the first paragraph to help hold your attention. But I really have long lost any cares about getting the average, herd mentality, MK Sheeple to understand this part of my life. You can't MAKE somebody understand or relate. If you're that interested and going this far into my essay here, then you'll probably have more than just an idea. I've managed to make a few people see and look into some of these things and they are beginning to see that I've more than a small clue of what I've been talking about all this time about "super soldiers" from these programs. There's a lot of really bizarre testimonies from other Ultras and such from these programs, that just go beyond weird. What troubles me most is, that I can't really tell you for a fact that they are "delusional" in what they are claiming. The fact is, there's some really weird shit going on in these programs that I can't give as easy an explanation for as some of the other things I've claimed and shown in some of my YouTube clips or demonstrated in martial arts exhibitions, and I want to touch upon some of that. It's not really for YOUR benefits that I do, but for MINE. I've learned that when I take the time to put vague thoughts and notions into structured language, that they begin to be clearer for me and better understood. I can't trust myself to the machinations of any old head shrinker, as my lifetime has been one of abuse from some of the brightest monsters of modern psychiatry in our lifetime. I am speaking of Dr. Sydney Gottlieb, Dr. Ewen Cameron, Dr. George Estabrooks, Dr. Michael Orn, Dr. Louis Jolyan West and many others through the Rockefeller Eugenics Group and CIA black programs in Building 400 on the University of Rochester Medical Center campus. You probably have no idea, how much danger I brought upon myself naming those names and places. I've been in life threatening situations most of my life as a matter of course. But I know if you check through other credible sources that you will find that this is not some mental aberration, but solid historical fact, no matter how many records Helms destroyed, there are many other records that place these men and projects in this area at these times. I was there, and I was an exceptional prodigy of a test subject.
I will be getting into the Men Staring At Goats part of this story. But I don't want to leave you with the ridiculous comedic pictures the movie was designed to make you imagine when such things get brought up by whistle blowers and such. What I want you to have a real understanding of how such things really came about in the course of these black project experiments on REAL children in this country and others. It was a funny movie, and I enjoyed laughing at it too. But it is NOT the reality of what these experiments entailed upon those of us they were imposed upon. I did NOT volunteer. I had only two choices of "very, very bad" or "much, MUCH worse" if I didn't allow these things to be done to me. That was not the least bit funny. It scarred us in ways that most will never understand. Sometimes even literally. I've explained in some of my testimonies about how they strengthened and hardened our skeletal structures to incredible degrees through a known physical process known as Wolf's Law. I've described how the trauma made us accelerate faster via adrenalin overloads, and how they made our musculature much denser and stronger through strong electric shocks spread through various muscle groups. I've mentioned the increased intelligence and genius IQs found in the most successful of us, but not so much of how that was accomplished in us. I've briefly mentioned being used in "remote viewing" and even some techniques as to how that may be done by many of you. And maybe a little bit about forcing us out of our bodies to gain input by immersing us into sensory deprivation tanks. If you do your own research into these things, you will find many of your own links leading back to the MK Ultra and related projects and universities that participated in them as well. But I didn't say much on how they'd scar our brain stems, to increase the likelihood of such phenomena in us.
I was inducted into this program, almost immediately after I was born, on July 31st, 1953. On the back of my neck is something my mother always described as my "strawberries" or a "birth mark". They change color with the seasons, I'm told. But I've got three or four "birth marks" on a few parts of my body, that are different in appearance and nature than these. These are from doctors (those saintly men you worship as paragons of humanity) purposely scarring this infant's brain stem, to increase their capacity for having a 'photographic' or eidetic memory. Most people can only remember back to about eight or nine years old in their lives, if that. I remember back ALL of my life. I remember nearly everything I've ever seen or read at any age. My personal concept of time is NOT linear or sequential. I remember everything as if they only happened a week ago. It doesn't imply that I understood every last thing, but it is a permanent part of my memory of my lifetime and my own awareness. But for little islands of all too brief happiness, love and security; it is a virtual sea of darkness, fear, anxiety, stress and deadly violence. That is the life I adapted to, to survive and try to grow into my own man through. I cannot begin to describe the bone shivering dread that overwhelms me when I see those places and relive those times in my memories, but like before: I struggle to overcome them because I must, or there is no hope for me at all. Failure is not an option that anyone wants to contemplate in an environment such as MK Ultra has forced us to endure. And as rough as my life has been and is now, I feel most fortunate to command my own soul to this day and time. It is my hope that many of you will find your own for yourselves, by considering what some of the things I am speaking freely about here, relate to you and yours.
I want to come back to the most bizarre experiments alluded to in "Staring At Goats", and for that I need to come back to my brother in arms, Duncan O'Finioan... "my little brother from another mother" as I like to say. This is NOT to be condescending towards him in any way. In very profound ways, he is like a hero to me, for his speaking out and reliving every time he shares his experiences, to what amounts to a crowd of bored fools, looking for an enthralling tale to tickle their ears. All in hopes of reaching that one or two souls in that crowd, for whom the "little light comes on" when he touches upon the proper sequence for them. His speaking had goaded me to re-examine some things I had put "on the back burner" ages ago and didn't want to revisit unless I could get something productive out of the anxiety it causes just to look at it again. I'm sure there are a myriad of veterans out there, who can relate to NEVER EVER talking about the things they see and relive again and again in their nightmares. People say: "Talk about them. Get them out again. It's good for you!" NO! It's not good at all, and those things that burn themselves that intensely into your brain, NEVER lessen or decrease in their impact no matter how often you speak or relive them, or how much time has passed. That is the difference between something that gives you PTSD, and just another bad day at the office.
Duncan, and Dave Corso (another Ultra from the early days of this program) have shared a story about an incursion into Cambodia, at a time when Nixon was telling the world that we had no people in Cambodia or Laos. In that testimony, they speak of a group of little more than Ultra children had joined hands and created a "killing field" that extended quite a ways out from their pick-up point via helicopter. I know how absolutely delusional that may sound to nearly all of you. It is far too fantastic or incredible to believe. I would say these men should be wearing monogrammed straight jackets in a high rent rubber room, except I know something about this that I've hardly ever shared and barely understood for myself. I too, had been on missions in Cambodia back in those days.
My mission was two fold: It was known that the Vietcong were crossing the border from their Ho Chi Minh trail to avoid the American troops trying to break their supply lines. A number of highly trained Ultras and similar Ops were hidden in the jungles and creating our own terror upon their troops by quietly and covertly decimating their numbers in highly unconventional ways. My particular forte was in Ninja tactics. This is not an extravagant fantasy claim. This is a skill set I have been known to possess and teach for many decades. When a Cong would fall too far behind the group, they would be yanked into the jungle shadows only to be found much later with their necks broken and their heads facing the wrong directions on their corpses. As grisly as this seems, it assured that they were truly dead and not just paralyzed by the broken neck to speak about it later as it constricted their windpipes shut in the twisting of the neck. It served to help make them fearful of crossing into Cambodian or Laotian territory to continue carrying their war to us in South Vietnam. There was also the well funded and armed Khmer Rouge to consider, and Cambodian nationals needed my specific training in being able to combat and arm themselves from Khmer Rouge weapons and stockpiles since we couldn't just outright fund and supply them to fight their end of their own war. But after the idiotic multiple US bombings of Batambang, I became problematic about having anything to do with the monstrous killings of civilians as "collateral damage", and that we especially had no such rights to carry out on a people we were not legitimately at war with. For my portion of mind control to fight and kill as I did in good conscience, I had to believe in what I was doing was to help people in some way. I can kill murdering bastards all day long and not lose a moment's sleep over it. My strikes are as "surgical" as they get. This was atrocious. So, to keep their investments paying off in deadly premiums, I was offered the option of joining forces with a few Alphabet Agencies, in tracking down and killing some of the more notorious drug cartels in Central America. This had the added benefit of being able to spend more time at home with my karate studios after only a couple weeks at a time out in the field.
This was in the 1976-77 term of CIA Director Geo. H.W. Bush, and I was attached to a professional mercenary (contractors) group known as the Disney Toons. My call sign was: Thumper. Well, that COULD have been worse. Towards the end of my actions there, I had the distinct feeling that I was being set up and sold out, as sometimes our marks would know we were coming and from what directions. In one such campaign, my luck ran out and I was captured near the Mexican border, where Belize and Guatemala touch it. I do not have a recollection of how much time had passed, but I was chained naked to a metal box springs and shocked with electrical probes and worked over with a gold club, a putter. In my mind, I simply went to another place as I had been conditioned to do since I was a baby, when awful things were happening to me. I'm sure there are some of you who understand how this happens. You did not come to this unpleasant an understand through an easy means. I'd come back when they were finished or tired of whipping on a dead horse, as it were, and I'd grip the edges of the bed springs and work the metal until it fatigued enough to break and slip my bindings loose enough to get myself free. I was in very bad shape from my trials there and hadn't eaten or drank in I don't know how long. But I remember fully sneaking up and killing two men in the hacienda that I was held in. I made it quick and lethal especially because I was weak and depleted and hadn't much hope that I could sustain much of a good fight out rightly upon the professional killers who had held me captive. I only remember killing the two. I was being held in a populated, remote compound. I do not recall how I got out of it. I remember walking through a lot of wilderness like I was on auto-pilot, one foot in front of the other, endlessly until I came to a place where I could be picked up and get help. It was sometime, before my unit told me that the "cleaning ladies" went to clean out the nest I was held in, only to find that every last person in that place was already deader than disco when they got there. Somehow, some part of me took over and finished the job that I, in no way had the physical strength left to do alone at the time. I had wondered about that for many years with no idea, until I heard Duncan and Dave relate their story of the Cambodian incursion.
Even then, I did not want to accept or believe it, but this is not the kind of thing that any man would forget. Except I DID forget certain key parts of it. I examine many aspects of my training and conditioning in the parts I fully remember of MK Ultra, and I'm looking for things that some how correspond to this kind of killing. Now that goofy movie, Men Who Stare At Goats comes to mind. But that is hardly the light hearted, goofy memories I have of this kind of conditioning. Most of our training and such was trauma based. We were made to be terrified of the results if we failed to accomplish the things we were commanded to do. There ARE fates worse than death, and we knew ALL of them intimately! To get me to leave my body to remote view or astral project, if you will, I was locked in a sensory deprivation tank until the only way to escape the blackness of non-existence, I had to reach out of myself to the realms of light and input, and be able to describe things that could be proven by my master's research or target areas. To remote view, or psychically track down a criminal and take him out, I had to see a file, photos and information peculiar to that one person and obsess over them day and night. To think as they would think and see what they would see, and know intimately those motives they had to do the things they were known to do. I would know where they were at moment by moment and track them down and my life would not be free of them until they were dead. This is not your typical New Age blissful way to learn these skills. It is ALL dark and traumatic and indelibly printed upon all of us who survived them.
So, it stands to reason that we did not simply sit in a room and stare at goats until they died. We had to have some kind of urgent, life threatening connections in order to generate that kind of responses. Everything in nature is "cause and effect". Not just mere whim and a command given. But darker and deeper!
Now this is the part of my essay, that is my version of "therapy", to help me make either explain or at least make some sense of the more bizarre aspects of my experiences. This is where I search all those painful memories for something that sheds some light in all of those deep, dark places in my life experience in this present paradigm. What parts of those strange and evil experiences would be needed to condition a person such as I to be able to do such incredible things? It may help you, to figure out what parts of these "super soldier" testimonies are credible for yourselves or not. But actually, this is for my own benefit to get a few more things out of those dark places and into the light where I can better understand them for myself. It is not an easy life, living with so much pain and darkness in it. I have to reconcile myself with all that I can uncover of it. As I said earlier in this: Just because I remember nearly everything, it doesn't mean that I understand all of it. I just store it away until I have more information to weigh with it at a later date. This is one of those times for me. As you are looking into these things too, I'll share what I can. Try not to tell me what you *think* really happened. You have no clue how far this has gone and what I, or the others have lived through. This is me trying to heal myself of yet another grievous personal injury. I have lived a large portion of my life, alone in the dark, and I've learned to rely on the one person who always has my best interests and survival at heart....ME!
I focus on the things that made remote viewing a mark to their death, The intensity and obsessive focus and trauma that pushed me beyond myself to do these things as if it were "natural" for me. Staring an animal or a person to death, without touching them, by merely focusing on it is far too trivial a thing to make that kind of connection work to any appreciable degree. I know that because it almost never has before for me. I remember the things and images of my early childhood, where fear or trauma based connections were begun and made. I remember being locked in a dark, nasty old, rat and spider infested basement as a punishment for some slight on my part as a boy. Alone in the dark, but this was unlike the tank, because I could sense the "lights" of nearly every living creature in the house. I knew the moment when Grandma would get home and let me out. I knew where others were in the house, and I knew, whether I could see them or not, where all the rats and spiders were crawling. I had found a wounded mallard duck in my Grandma's backyard one autumn and it came to me and I befriended it and called him "Ducky Boy". Of course, I wanted to keep him. My step father wanted to eat him. But I was determined to be his protector until he could heal. So, as the weather got quite cold, we kept him in my Grandma's basement. It was one of those old, converted from coal-to-oil furnaces and still had the rough hewn wooden bin and chute where the coal used to be delivered. A very dark place with a single weak electric bulb to light it and of course, nobody wanted to pay the electric bill to keep it lit all the time. And when the house was quiet and nobody there to protect the duck, the rats tried their best to get him. Big city, sewer rats. When I was aware of his distress, I would come down and sit with him in the dark and keep them at bay. I learned to despise them, and I didn't like the spiders much either. They all served to make both his and my life more difficult to protect or be nice enough to consider ourselves as "living well", and not just more hell in the dark. I had learned early in my craft lessons, that anything I could feel, I could transmit to others. Fear, infatuation, pain and all of these came most naturally for me. I couldn't let the cats into the basement to get the rats, because they would also be interested in the duck. I could keep them away with fear or threat of pain, but I had to leave him alone down there sometime, and they'd be back at him again and again until they had him worn down enough to eat him. The ONLY way to save the duck was to kill the rats. Setting traps or poison would only make it more dangerous for him too. And I learned something else to make the rats dead. I remember how badly it made the basement stink after they died down there. Eventually my step father, under the guise of setting Ducky Boy free, sold him to a Puerto Rican man to cook and eat. Not that I could fault that over much. But I digress.
The next step in the conditioning came in hating reptiles and such. Looking back, I find this unreasonable and unacceptable. But such is not what I was taught and conditioned for at the time. I was tormented in many nightmares with a seven foot tall "frogman" (not the scuba type) who would grab me and try to drag me back down into my grandmother's basement. It made a good night's sleep hard to come by, and I always had these dark circles under my eyes from so much of this sort of thing back then. It was hard to live and be sociable around people who could not understand these things, so I sought out the wilderness areas, by the Genesee River, the swamps and woods around Durand Eastman and Seneca Parks. And seeing the frogs looking at me, as if they knew what the monster frogman wanted to do to me. There were a lot of amphibian carcasses for the snapping turtles and herons to eat back then. I think from these and experiences like these is where I learned to reach deep within and find the inspiration to kill to preserve myself or those I loved. There are a good deal more "dreams" and instances where my fears and phobias were preyed upon until I found it within me to conquer them. But it would simply make this essay all the more tedious and verbose to endure. It was also at this time when my doctors and handlers began treating me more with "kid gloves" as if I were some kind of venomous serpent that they had to be careful about getting past a certain point of fear or dread. For me, if I knew I could kill it, I had no good reason to fear it. I hated fear. Where as certain creatures like themselves, seemed to feed on all that fear, I hated the taste and smell of it and even less so in myself. Duncan had mentioned that this sort of killing field was stored in some aspect of our "alters", and programmed to be initiated only in specific instances and be virtually unreachable to us any other way.
How is it, that we can speak about these things, and not be murdered by the spooks for it? It is obviously not fantasy, because if you're REALLY paying attention to this, and not some shill trying to find any lame excuse to allegedly debunk it, you'll know there's plenty enough evidence to suggest that we at least know or understand intimately the things we are telling you. Back when I was trying to disassociate myself from my murderous masters, they sent a few spooks to "lean on me". I defended myself and left their easily identifiable bodies laying about where certain officials would be asking very pointed, and diplomatically sensitive and embarrassing questions. For me, that wasn't more than a training exercise. But what kind of threat would trigger an even more difficult to explain "killing field"? I'll bet they've plenty to fear on those counts and tread very lightly. We could leave more bodies laying about than the Jonestown Massacre and not even be aware that we were triggered to it. And that field was very selective in who was effected in Duncan and Dave's experience in Cambodia. The people piloting the chopper, and the people they were trying to extract were not effected by it, but the surrounding hostiles WERE! For myself, at the very least, the entire compound where I was held and tortured was decimated to the last man. I hadn't heard anyone else locally was effected by this or not. But my tormentors never survived. Though I often wonder why it didn't trigger while or before they all got too busy torturing me. But I'm sure that I have much more to re-examine and explore to find and claim my own control over that piece of programming as I have with all the rest of it. Who knows how much more I'll discover hidden away inside? For yourselves, this will be an interesting story anyway.
MK Reflections on PTSD
by John StormmI’ve been having my own PTSD bad time. I get overcome with all the feelings of the evil things that happened to me in all of the darkness and pain of MK Ultra conditioning since infancy. All of the times when nobody could see me, or hear me cry out until I sounded more animal than human. Nobody ever came to rescue ANY of us. No authorities would hear or even listen to our complaints. Congressional hearings brought only token apologies and sometimes cash awards to the survivors' families. But the programs never really stopped and they continued breaking down human beings to make monsters for themselves. They wanted to make me the perfect predator.
What kind of predator can take out an 800 pound tiger to near extinction: an under 200 pound human. They're natural born predators, but these doctors were trying to make me into a predator's predator. Someone who could hunt down and destroy a heavily armed and protected predator anywhere in the world with "extreme prejudice". That means to judge them as worthy of death upon seeing them. I developed very well for them, but not as they expected me to.
"Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche
I was remembering trying to cloak myself in this very darkness from the monster makers. You see; for some children, the closet monster or the monster under the bed is a seriously real issue. Mine spoke German among themselves as they poked, prodded, dislocated my bones and took samples of my blood and tissue. When I was 17 year old and in the Navy, because of my ludicrous delusion that it would keep the monster makers off of me; I could swear there was more of me in Petri dishes and test tubes than there was in my shoes. I wasn't far off the mark with that. I wanted to serve my country... correctly. But that really wasn't what was happening with me. I went into battle believing it was "Good Guys vs. Bad Guys" and I learned it was really ""Bad Guys vs. Worse Guys". I was working for the "Worst Guys". The monster makers. When they studied me in the darkness of my own abyss, I was gazing into theirs. I felt like a "damned thing" for a very long part of my life with them. I learned to hate with an unholy passion and a cold, cold focus. But I was growing to hate my handlers: the evilest people I knew of in the whole world. If I was going to make the world any better of a place to live because of the monster I've killed... I should take out the proper monsters first! This is the point where all their programming had started canceling out itself.
I was programmed and trained to wage my war in a way that no one can properly prepare for. Direct and to the point and as long as I know who and what my mark is: I can view them from any place in the world as a trained remote viewer and take them out with hardcore martial skills. I can shoot them behind walls without a funny scope because I can feel them there. Once someone like me is sent in, it is nearly a 100% chance, no matter who you are that you will be found, your vulnerabilities found and exploited and left for dead. In martial arts expos and demos, I would use my Chinese boxing skills to punch through four separate inch and a half hardwood planks in one second. Four black belts would stand around me and hold out their planks and the audience would shout in unison: "One thousand one" to time me as each board was destroyed by my fists before the shout finished. Of the idiots in the crowd, I'd hear two kinds of remarks: "That's pretty good if I ever get attacked by a gang of boards in a dark alley some night." Or: "Boards don't hit back." As if this were a trifling thing. But those who have fought or sparred me understood what it really meant in the art of making war: The human skull is far thinner than those planks and/or bricks and contains far more delicate organs. In that single, split second: four men would be irrevocably dead before they could do anything to me and another minute would be more than I need to kill any of their compatriots that would be so unfortunate as to be present. Bone fragments blasted into one's cerebrum are as fatal as a point blank .45 to the brain. Just as fast. Just as deadly and not a fraction of a second wasted on having to locate or reload a gun. That's the kind of monster I was made to be and I helped train others like me. Some of us were hyped up on chemicals, steroids, bionics and eugenics. As well as some healthy American males dedicated to being their best as a warrior for their country. But all of us capable of great carnage in a very short space in time. Where ever our punches land: bones are blasted into fragments and driven deep in their tissue. There's no fighting back from one of those. We rarely needed to hit more than once to destroy our marks, and when you can do that four times in a second and multiple targets: you truly ARE the weapon! Everything I need to take out a well protected drug lord or such will pass a strip search with no problem. Except if it offends me too much. That can be fatal for somebody. We're trained to use any and all weapons and how to make explosives out of nearly anything as well. We are all about killing very well protected men, quickly and efficiently with whatever we find handy.
It's a strange feeling to walk into a hostile environment and feel Death enter the fray at your side. Time stretches out and everything around you moves in a hypnotic slow motion. Your vision goes funny and telemetric. Your hearing becomes acute even through the roar of gunfire you can hear hearts beating like drumming under feather pillows. You can smell the sweat and even the fear and the sweet, coppery taste of adrenalin in their blood. You are arm in arm with Death, and never in your life have you ever been so much ALIVE! I've seen men turn into adrenalin junkies for this sensation. Myself included, for a while. But they never "fractured" me like they did the others. They could detach from their own humanity and become cold blooded killing machines and even enjoy it, and completely forget about it later. I had an IQ of 160 and a very strong will. It runs in the family, no less. I "compartmentalized" my thinking and my psyche. I could shut a part of myself in a "compartment" and use that as needed. But it was always a part of me as a whole and I was never disconnected from it. It mattered to me what I did and why. The irony of it astounds me to this day. Near the end of my active career, they sent out their monster and a human being started busting out. In fact, that's when I started breaking with programming and why my career ended. I wouldn't be directed by my handlers. They became my marks. When the spooks moved in to get me into line: I left a trail of bodies in self defense.
I guess someone had seen that coming, because my last couple missions all went south as though they knew I was coming and from where. There was one really bad time that I always wondered just how messed up I was: I had got captured in Central America. Exactly where that was; I don't know. How I got caught there; I don't know. How long they tortured me, chained naked to a metal box springs and shocked with electric probes; I don't know. What I do remember was withdrawing into that same old timeless, dark place. Every spasm would help me bend and fatigue the metal at the edge of the box springs until it broke in my grip and I could slip my cuff loose from it. I remember getting loose and I remember instantly killing the first two men I met as I left the room. I do not remember how everyone else in that compound got killed. But I was the only one left alive after that. I remember wandering through the desert on like I was on autopilot: one foot in front of the other until I got somewhere where I could be helped. My next mission was some months after that and had several points where we were under attack and nobody should have even had a clue that we would be coming or how we would get there. The truth of that matter became very apparent: we were "assets" to be sold and traded for "favors" with those same murdering drug lords. I cut loose and got out. It was almost 15 years before I heard the news of how after we killed those bastards, the clean-up squads would come in and instead of burning all the drugs: They packed it up and shipped it in their own customs free aircraft in American airports and sell that poison on our own city streets at a great profit for themselves. It was and is distressing to know how much I didn't know about our own government and CIA. It gets worse for me with every nasty little deal that I learn about.
In PTSD, also known by many other names over the centuries: Shell Shock, Soldier's Heart and more: What happens to the soldier's brain is that the adrenalin has kicked in and amped up every thing they are experiencing, much as I described earlier in this essay. It's as if the voltage is raised to such a degree that EVERYTHING of the horrors of war or tortures survived is indelibly imprinted upon their brains and every time they try to close their eyes or find rest in their sleep: those images and sensations return every bit as intense as if they were happening all over again and they NEVER go away. Veterans will drink or drug themselves senseless just for a few hours of reprieve from reliving these horrors. For smaller traumas, you can talk it out with somebody. Revisit the events and make enough sense out of them to ease the hurting and move on. But it's NEVER true of PTSD. Whether you try to talk it out or not, you continue to relive these in your mind over and over and with the same intensity as when they were new. Most soldiers won't want to talk about these things. Ever. I'm trying to deal with my own ghosts here, and to be honest with you: Mine won't go away or lessen their impact on my raw nerves either. My conscience isn't too badly scarred because I understand that I was doing my conscientious best to serve my country and the lies and deceit are the sole property of our most evil, hidden government. I also figure that if I try to get this out of my craw here, that *maybe*, just maybe my diatribe here might help someone else understand what is going on with their returning soldier or help the soldier help themselves sort out all the wreckage for some truth. It won't "cure" me of it and neither will it cure them. But it may help them understand and help each other better.
As a hereditary witch of an ancient wyrding family, it has been my love of studying our own cultural anthropology. Sometimes I give lengthy lectures on these topics as I get invited to do so. With the preceding paragraph; I noted that since it cannot be cured that it can be lessened, at least a little. A little bit of relief can go a long, long ways to just get a decent night's rest and make it easier to cope with a new day afterwards. In this twisted age we live in where these horrors are far more common and increased than ever before: I have some old, old advice about a "balm for soldier's heart" that no government and very few doctors will ever share with you. It *should* be common knowledge as this has been in Celtic history and discovered in the tombs of our kings and chieftains and documented for well over the last 5000 years (or longer!): Marijuana. Pot. That's correct! When our ancient ancestors came home from their campaigns; everyone gathered in the chieftain's longhouse for divvying up the spoils as pay among the participants and publicly recognizing them for their valor in combat. They feasted and drank ale, mead and a had good long smoke or even a tea, or food made of this very familiar herb of the field. It has been found to lessen the rawness and edginess of the battle on its returning heroes. It lightened the turmoil. The battles being over or won, the soldiers needed to slow back down and re-acclimate to village life in their respective clans. There has NEVER been found recorded ANYWHERE of anyone suffering from debilitating side effects, sickness or death from the use of this plant. As much as this present evil paradigm has exploited us all in their lies and deceptions and unscrupulous money making schemes against their own poorly educated populace; I need to share with you that you, yourselves are the descendants of those same people and it has been a part of our culture long, long before all this lying trash got incubated into existence and started ruling rather than representing you. When you see a soldier toking a joint or a bong or however they partake of this: DON"T treat them as criminal trash or dopers because of it. They *thought* they were doing all they did for YOU. If you wanted to help even a little bit, you might find and share some with them and show them how much you really and truly appreciate their sacrifice. There doesn't have to be a single visible wound or scar to know they've been wounded and scarred for life. I'm not saying to smoke one's life away in a stupor: professional soldiers use moderation in all things as a rule of thumb. I'm just trying to help you understand why these things are so. -John Stormm, MK Ultra survivor
LINKS:
BookRix Publishing
http://www.bookrix.com/-stormm/books.html
