CHAPTER ONE: Dreams
“Okay, gang,” said the cutesy-voiced woman who always wore too much blush, “to wrap up the session today, we’re going to go around the group and share your week’s worth of dreams I asked you to jot down. Let’s start with Dewey .”
A heavy-set man in his sixties with wiry, unkempt hair stood up quickly, dabbing his head with a handkerchief laughing nervously. “Another satellite dream,” he glanced at the woman briefly. She nodded encouragingly. “I wrote it down,” he cleared his throat. “As most of you know, I used to be a physicist, then…” he waved his hand in the air, “all of this…anyway…the dream. I was in the same war as all the other dreams and the objective was always to disassemble or destroy the source, which were the satellites. I was the one they chose to figure it out. So I came up with a plan, and I knew it would work; finally, we’d be done with all this shit. So I presented to the guys who were going to kill the machines. All of a sudden, they started calling me a terrorist, saying I was conspiring against them. They said I was going to dungeon below and my punishment was that…I had to…I…had…to,” his voiced cracked, “I had to partake in an orgy with people who disturbingly resembled my immediate family. ”The woman with the cutesy voice passed out into the Ficus, as men in military uniforms kicked in the emergency exit doors spraying with Dewey lemon guns. While they pummeled and dragged him from the room, Dewey kept screaming about cloaked beings astral travelling through the red portal confiscating his brain for confidential reasons. The room was amiss for at least five minutes. Once the woman was revived and the Ficus was set aright, the group found their seats and reconvened.
“Alright gang, I think I’m okay now. We have time for one more. Since Clem will be leaving us later today, let’s end with his dream and call it a day.”
A very diminished looking man in his mid-thirties stood up, swatting his mousy-brown hair out of his eyes. His manner was brusque, and slightly annoyed. “Name’s Clem Gorky. I sell shoestrings out of my car. Used to be a ventriloquist- wasn’t really my thing. My…fourth or fifth time here in bedlam,” he laughed at shot a glance at the blush woman who looked slightly scolding. “Anyhow, here’s my dream sequence, part one. Once I fell asleep, I decided to attend my first TARGETED INDIVIDUALS convention. I thought I was going to walk into a bunch of Princess Leia’s neck-chained to Jabba’s nutsack, or several full metal jacket tinfoil jarhead schizophrenics jabbering about psychotronic laser tag.
Instead, I was directed to the anti-torture advocates table where I was offered a free pair of anti-UV light goggles, while a complete stranger recited a complete analysis of my vital signs, including, to my pleasant surprise (mortification) what my pre-cum was stimping at. It was at a seven.
Some guy in an all-black suit got all in my face and was like,’-And the restroom is all the way down the hallway to your right, since you were wondering.’
So, I go, ’How the f–?’
He says,’Remote Neural Monitoring. It’s said to either save the world, or completely revolutionalize crime.’
So, again, I was like, ‘What the f–?’
Dude was like, ‘We can read your mind.’
“Clem,” The cutesy-voice woman sugarly interrupted, yet, he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.
‘Who the f–?’
‘Everyone except you, it seems,’ he snarkily chortled. The dude chortled. Snarkily.” He thought he heard some of them stifle laughter.
“Lucindra.” Her nostril flared slightly.
“Right. Sorry, sounds so similar, easy to confuse—“
“I thought,” she sweetly faked, “we agreed no more of that sort of talk.”
“I thought,” he imitated her, “we were talking about our dreams. That was my dream.”
“Always those themes, though, right? Always when we’re in group? We can extend your stay a bit if you’re not feeling well, or if you need some more individual attention.”
He felt his legs wobble, in spite of himself, and dropped into his seat silently. He thought about how Parabel was probably waiting in the car just outside ready to take him home.
Blushing cutesy-voice smiled and tilted her head. “There we go.”
Never had he hated her more in that moment than he ever had.
Once group let out, a security officer guard lightly held onto the inside of his bicep and escorted him to check out. He saw Parabel and her son waiting down the hall, scratched his signature, and headed their way, avoiding the audacity of the blushing bitch calling after him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and thought, “I am gonna kill this cunt.”
Instantly, he was thrown against the wall; his head jarred so violently that it slammed forward and backward three or more times. The security officer guard’s voice was in the back of Clem’s neck threatening gruffly, “What did you just say?”
“I, I didn’t say anything…”
“Did you just threaten that woman?”
“No, I didn’t say a fucking word.”
“Watch how you’re talking to me, boy.”
The officer let him go as the cunt approached. “Clem, sweetie, I just wanted to wish you luck and let you know that if it gets too difficult or crazy out there for you, you’re always welcome back.”
He said and thought nothing. Parabel yelled about the car running and he turned and followed her out. Just as his hand hit the door, the dread of rushing footsteps made him spin around, ready to be drug back in. It was Dewey.
“Hey, buddy,” Dewey panted, his still red, watering eyes glancing over his shoulder, “listen, they don’t know I’m out yet.”
“How are your eyes?”
“Fine, fine,” he laughed dismissively. “Clem, listen, remember what we talked about, okay? No imaginary conversations, no threats, nothing offensive, and I don’t just mean in your head. Hell, just to be safe, I don’t even pray anymore.”
“There’s nothing left to pray to, Dewey.”
“Aw, hell, Clem, it’s not all like that. Anyhow, I’ll send you some good pamphlets I found about stopping intrusive thoughts and stuff like that. Now, I like ya, but I don’t want to see you back here, okay?” He laughed good-naturedly and gave Clem a pat on the back.
“How much longer are they keeping you?”
“God knows, buddy, God knows. I’ve still got all my physics books and projects from my old job to keep me occupied, don’t worry about me.”
Clem felt a pang rip in his chest; a cross between anger and tears. Instead, he attempted a sympathetic smile, and got into the car.
A neon yellow billboard caught his eye as they drove away. “What the hell is that?”
“Some new thing they got going on. Taking all the loonies out of their bins and making a show out of it, like a circus or whatever.”
“Like a circus…”
“Yeah. Exhibits, tricks, and all that, I guess. Kids get in for free and there’s rides and games and stuff, so I was thinking about going if I didn’t have to work.”
CHAPTER TWO: Taming the Iguana
Mozart was streaming from the little booth far removed from all of the other exhibits. The set up was rickety and dusty, lingering on the brink of Vaudeville if it weren’t so cartoonish and crass.
It was told that an old eccentric who called himself an alchemist and part-time iguana tamer retrieved top secret military devices on the black market for his own experiments on nights spent tucked away in his laboratory of sparks and strange smelling smoke.
Above his podium were signs reading, ‘Telepathy is possible,’ and ‘Subliminally control, break-down, and defeat your enemies.’ Fliers were passed around to the packed crowd about the alchemist, his background, his empirically-tested experiments and how the community could be safer and more orderly if everyone were to participate. ‘It is my belief, that these tools could bring humanity to a new height, evolutionally. There will be no limits, no boundaries on the access of the human mind. What the greatest religions and philosophies have named the interconnectedness of all things will be finally possible, uniting human beings instead of separating us. Once and for all, we will reach the apex of our potential.
A very large iguana was perched upon the podium, glaring at the audience while his owner spoke. “…and it is a very complicated, a very prolonged process when attempting to mentally break-down a living organism. This sort of deterioration brings about severe instability and unpredictability throughout, yet is absolutely crucial for evil-doers and those who refuse to comply.” The iguana hopped onto his shoulder. “Iguanas are the most difficult creatures to tame, I have found in my experiments. They are masters of adaptation. Every cell in their bodies alter in order to survive their environments. Human beings are different in many ways, which you will witness shortly in the upcoming demonstrations. They key though with people is to introduce or induce fear and/or pain.
When we attempt to break down a human being, there are a few things to consider. First, the mental health starting point. Is the person regressing or advancing? Obviously we use techniques and tools to exacerbate regression, and impede progress.
Secondly, we find one’s breaking point then develop methods to accelerate the process. Some of my personal favorites by the way of methods are public shaming and systematic dehumanization. This includes making the most personal, private human needs and functions available for public exposure and scrutiny. Urination and defecation, masturbation and sex, thoughts, sleep are not off-limits and can be accessed by the public. From this, a sort of calculated infantilization occurs, which is, in essence, is regression, the goal.
Third, we call their integrity into question, we call them liars, we dig up their pasts, their secrets and covertly blackmail them with this information. We criminalize perverse, strange, abnormal thoughts and behaviors that are otherwise harmless, for, who among us does not think evil thoughts which contradict who we really are? That is not the point, however in the process. What is normal is abnormal, what is abnormal is criminal and will be punished. Again, fear is crucial.
“Fourth, we replace the individual’s ever-changing reality with mixed messages, blatant untruths. What was once impossible is now possible. They are in shock, they are paranoid. Scared, uninformed people are the easiest to manipulate and control.
“Fifth, we ask for volunteers. We get as many people involved as possible to further exacerbate a growing level of paranoia and unreality. They begin to doubt and lose trust in the own judgements and perceptions. Also, if there are a large number of people involved, the person will experience a growing pressure to conform, to surrender themselves to the greater good.
“Sixth, this is the point in the process that is crucial for our side. We must have physical proof that the target deserves these levels of scrutiny and surveillance. They are unstable mentally, they are violent, they are a danger to themselves and others- yet we need evidence. The ways that we evoke these behaviors are from the previously mentioned methods and techniques: violation of privacy, public shaming and exposure, systematic dehumanization and infantilization. The key is for it all to remain undetectable, under the radar, to provoke the person by making it seem that it is an innate danger and instability of the targeted individual rather than from our group.
“Who could withstand being monitored in one’s own home, one’s own mind? Stripped of their humanity, of basic human needs and privacy, who would not react with fear, anger and violence? Who could resist surrendering to a more powerful mass? Who could keep their sense of self intact, keep their religions, maintain a concise sense of right and wrong? Not many, in fact, I have actually known none, in all the years I have conducted these experiments. Each person is different. Each breaks at his or her own pace, some more quickly than others. No matter, they will change regardless. Even the strongest ones are damaged in one way or another.”
Several audience members raised their hands, but most were entranced.
The iguana tamer drew a dramatic breath and took the reptile into his arms gazing into the creature’s eyes. “Now what does all of this have to do with iguanas? “ He exhaled sentimentally, set the iguana down, cantered across the stage and turned up the classical music.
A pudgy middle aged woman with a large nose and dark circles under her eyes that were even visible to the audience was wheeled as the scientist conducted an imaginary orchestra. “Ah, yes, here is one of my favorite cases,” he began, “number eight-two-eight-thirteen, she has been one of the most difficult, yet…we have been victorious. Supposedly a background of domestic violence, supposedly history of sexual abuse, etc., etc.,” he was rolling his eyes, and his hands, “which, in our case, helped us immensely. So, with this this advantage, a head start, we will call it, we broke into her dreams then planted synthetic dreams and thoughts as an attempt to make her believe they originated from her own psyche. We re-created incidents of childhood trauma, attempted to trigger mental, as well as, body memories of sexual trauma. We used direct energy weapons on her genital and anal regions mostly, but also in various other areas that pertained to the messages we were trying to convey. We had one team who monitored her night and day within her own home. She shit herself three times, she wears false teeth, her tits look like she’s ninety years old, she has cellulite and a double chin, etc., etc. We covertly made all of this information public and available for the public to access and participate. When she tried to cover herself, we upped the exposure even more, made a game of it. Because all of her past sexual trauma was being triggered, many sexual dysfunctions occurred. Sexual dysfunctions, disturbing responses we named arousal, which, really,” he winked to the crowd and chuckled, “which really was repulsion and panic most likely. We deemed her abusive husband, whom she resided with at the time, a hero, in fact, he really helped us more than he knows. She went to him to help her, tried to explain what was happening but he did not believe her because everything we were doing to her remained undetectable. So he called her crazy, a schizophrenic, paranoid delusional, threatened to call the police and the mental ward, to have her child taken from her, said she was talking to walls, and of course people couldn’t see inside their house. We got the community involved and we prevailed.”
A man from the audience stood up and angrily approached the stage, “What the hell is wrong with you?” he squinted. “Why the fuck would you do that to this woman?”
“You, sir, are looking at a dangerous woman.”
“You’re the ones who are fucking dangerous.”
“She is insane, unfit for society.”
“The get her some help.”
The scientist laughed and shook his head. “There is no helping this one. Here, let me demonstrate.” She turned to the woman. “Tell the gentleman why you are here.”
She suddenly looked frantic and tried to inch toward the man. “Everyone in this city has a hole in the back of my head. I don’t participate, I do, however, believe it all started with a poet. I dream pirated radio stations stealing information christened communication. I am much more direct. I am not for public use. None of us are. I am a hostage of more than my own deprivation. Even the universe has betrayed me.” She began to cry. “Get them out of me, block the signal, burn them, drop them from a burning atmosphere. All I’ve ever wanted, even more than the truth, is to love and be loved, to not be harmed. The trap is always fucking set. They are called MK Ultra. They are a terrorist organization, they—“
The alchemist grabbed the back of her chair and moved her center stage. “That’s quite enough now.” He looked at the man in the audience. “Completely mad. And so we begin.”
“We have made some recent discoveries, scientifically, that , as I stated before, will bring us even closer our fullest potential. First, I can make this woman do whatever I want her to do with this.” He held up what appeared to be a television remote. “Simple, it appears at first, but let’s see what we can do with her.” He walked about ten feet from the woman.
“Say if I wanted her to look over at the podium, and there are large monitors that you can all can see it up close, I press this button, and invisibly, and due to a lot of science and physics yuck,” there was a pause as he lifted the remote and pressed the button, “she looks at the podium.”
On the overhead projector screens everyone was watching up close the woman’s face. The scientist paused, then said, “aaaand, she looks at the podium.” The woman’s eyes moved to the podium and instantly looked away.” He sighed, “Ah yes, the difficult one.” He spoke to the crowd graciously, “So sorry, it will only be a moment.” He walked to the back of the stage, calling behind the curtains. “Jimmy, yes, come out, we need a hand. Not complying again.” The man held up what looked like a TV remote and pointed it at the woman. She jumped in her seat and grimaced, “Ow, ow, ow…”
“We will give her just a moment…”
The woman gazed at the far wall, as a security officer and rescue crew rushed her briefly to check her pulse. The scientist continued to answer questions from the crowd, ‘And you, yes, gentleman with the scarf.”
“What did that guy Jimmy do to her with that remote thing?”
“We use several tools, actually, in order to get some of our patients to settle down, we find that pain is the most effective method, unfortunate but necessary. We have had our very own doctors and law officials research and approve them, there is maybe the sensation of a misquito bite, but some are more sensitive than others, but we are not responsible, nor could we ever actually know how they will react. These methods have been around for many, many years, previously conspiracy theories and recently declassified. I will go over it more in depth in the upcoming presentation, but since you asked, a quick answer would be that we use Direct Energy Weapons, and HAARP energy. Too complex, of course,” he slightly laughed, “to explain now. Mostly, we attack the nerve endings, and there are a myriad of feelings that occur. Some patients have reported feeling quick, sharp stings. Others have experienced deep, throbbing aches, some accompanied by sharpness, ummm… there have been burning sensations, a tingling, almost as if your arm ‘falls asleep’, as it they call it. We can replicate muscle spasms anywhere on the body. We are currently working on new technology that basically makes the remote holder a sort of puppeteer, meaning that , by the push of a button, I can make your arm move. I could make your leg kick. And there are,” he glanced backward conspiratorally then back at the man again, “I can make you talk.”
“There’s no way, that is impossible.”
“We thought so also initially, but research is still in progress for those, very advanced, very anticipated toys.”
“Why are you doing this to people?”
He glanced back to the woman again, “I think we may continue now with the show. Do remember that there is a raffle contest, face painting, and goodies for the kids.”
TO BE CONTINUED….