Colleen Johnston and Vincent Bridges Trash Laura and cassiopaea
Last installment of Vinnie's elaborate "life story"
Last installment of Vinnie's elaborate "life story"
Date sent: Mon, 30 Apr 2001 18:37:47 -0400
Subject: Mind Games
From: Vincent Bridges <abooks@ac.net>
Hi,
Mind Games - Part three C
Montauk, Mind Control, Magnitite and the Holy Grail,
or:
Who is that Shadow being and why is he following me?
Welcome to this week's installment of Mind Games, in which I discover the
true nature of the evil with which we are confronted. Warning, some of this gets
a little rough, and does not make for good bedtime reading.
My first program survivor was doing well. We had recovered as much memory as we
needed to allow her to integrate. Dr. P. had verified much of her story, and
other parts were independently verifiable. So, I was feeling pretty good about
it. My practice was going well in general, proving every day some my basic
theories of how the mind/body/spirit complex worked. I was gaining credibility
with the Bowman Gray Med School's MPD clinic, and all was looking bright.
And then, my second program survivor showed up. She presented as a fairly
straight forward incest/sexual abuse victim. Her father had severe
undiagnosed MPD, which he resolved by the unusual step of becoming a
trans-sexual, and several of his alters had viciously raped and tortured his
daughter. She had been suffering from an odd form of dis-associative disorder,
not quite full-blown MPD, and had been having these spontaneous trances in which
she self-mutillated. She would write SATAN with a razor blade on her arm or leg.
Now this was not good, obviously, but it was terribly upsetting to her, as
she was pursuing a career in acting and modeling. Scars of SATAN just don't make
it in Vogue, so...
She had had a lot of therapy, and once we got our approach straight, she
made a lot of progress. To a point. Then we began to hit things that looked,
from my point of view, like sophisticated post hypnotic suggestion. I'd seen
similar things in my first survivor, but these were very slick. The Wall of
Chyna, my client named it as a take off on her professional identity.
So, I began to research, calling in every contact and favor I had or could
borrow and in about three months of twice weekly sessions, we had most of it
defused. It was the worst roller-coaster ride of my career.
At the end of it, I had to face it. Spies, as in my first survivor, were one
thing, but what had been done to this young lady was far beyond rational
comprehension. The supernatural explanation led directly back to my own heart of
darkness encounter a decade earlier. And I found out why Dr. P. had thought it
so amusing that I didn't know the people on the boat...
To put it bluntly, I was left wrestling with the question of what did
Satanism and Nazi black magic have to do with the government mind control
program? They obviously did, but why?
Briefly, the important pieces of her story:
Her father was a top exec at Ford at the time, and, as he was into a variety of
things that would indicate that he was a program person from an earlier wave, we
shouldn't be too surprised that he turned his seven year old daughter, whom he
had already been molesting for several years, over to the tender mercies of the
program. Between seven and eleven, my client was programmed to be a multiple not
for any espionage purposes, but to see if she could "channel" the Evil One.
Now, I had already had several ritual abuse survivors, one from a Christian cult
that would make you sick, and a few garden variety satanist using the imagery to
make the sin of what ever seem more wicked. But never anything like this.
You see, I didn't really believe in the devil, or evil as a concrete concept for
that matter. It was ignorance, disharmony, chaos, whatever, but evil, as a
conscious choice, as a mode of existence, was fortunately or unfortunately
beyond my comprehension. I suppose that's what saved me in California. I reacted
to what I thought was their delusions but I never thought that there was
anything more to what they believed than that. I sensed the evil, but I couldn't
grasp its reality. Even when my first program survivor had asked, I replied as
if I believed in her devil, which I did, not as if I believed in the Devil.
My client changed all that. What had been done to her, and the reason it was
done, was simply Evil, and I either believed her story or I didn't. At the point
that I was seriously struggling with this, several strange things happened to
convince me that her story was true, but that it was also just another iceberg
tip.
The first thing was what I call a "Dr. Strange" case. I had a reputation in the
area as a psychic ghost-buster spiritual emergency kind of guy, and I
occasionally got calls about various paranormal activities. One day a detective
in a neighboring county called with a problem. He had a guy who knew had
committed murder, but the body and the weapon were missing, and without a
connection they weren't going to be able to hold him. They had 48 hours to find
something or turn him loose. So, they called around looking for a psychic,
anything right, and got directed to me because of my dowsing work. They wanted
me to dowse for the body.
Well, I said that it'd take too long to dowse, since they had no clue where the
body might be, but I might be able to pick up something from the man's personal
items. Big mistake.
So, I'm escorted to the man's house, which they have been searching for
days, and given his old sweaty athletic shoe to work with. They did not tell me
that they suspected that he had been wearing that shoe on the day of the murder.
I put my hand in, relaxed and started to feel...
Everything he felt, leading up to, during and after the murder. We found the ax
hidden with his Bible in the shed, and with a little luck, they found the body.
He didn't know where he was during the attack, and didn't know very clearly what
he had done with the body. The reason - it wasn't him doing the murder. It was
what I can only call a demon.
There had been a hint of something weird about the case from the very
beginning. The guy had been turned in by his wife after a domestic violence
incident in which she had backed over him with the car. Frightened, she told the
cops about his obsession with the then missing girl and that she thought he had
done it. She gave them permission to search, but wouldn't press charges on the
domestic assault. He was in the hospital, under guard, and was healing so fast
that the hospital was going to turn him loose in a day or so. If the cops didn't
charge him with the murder, he was sure to come back, destroy any evidence and
perhaps kill his wife and kids this time.
With the ax and the body, they charged him with the murder. And then
something really strange happened. His amazing healing powers disappeared
and in less than a week he was dead. In one week he went from ready to be
released to dead from the same injuries. The demon had moved on.
Well, I knew the demon had moved on because he paid me a visit. You see,
when I became aware of him through the guy's shoe, he also became aware of
me. And he was not happy.
It started one night with strange smells, rotting flesh and worse. Then this
almost palpable sense of fear and dread literally descended. Darlene, with her
childhood background in Spiritualism, figured it out before I did. We retreated
to the temple, battened down the psychic hatches and rode it out, rather like a
bad acid trip, until morning. Fortunately, it never came back.
Darlene just read this and commented that I had left out all the good stuff: The
huge black dog at the window, the telephone ringing at 3am, the strange noises
coming from the empty apartment next door, and so on. She also points out that
the demon became aware of me because I didn't take the proper precautions before
I stuck my hand in the guy's shoe. As usual, she is correct.
And then, within a month of this experience, I got two more program
survivors as clients. One was from western North Carolina with an already
checkered past. Her last therapist had written a book about her and then
left her high and dry to deal with the fallout of a none too clever
pseudonym. The other was from San Francisco and had stories about the
Presidio child abuse scandal, and my old "friends" from the boat, Michael
and Lillith Aquino. Needless to say, both of these came very close to home.
A year or so later, I got another one, from Wisconsin. By that time, I was
connected with the abuse survivor community, and could identify the
patterns. But the discussion within our little fringe therapy community was
divided over the reality of what we were finding. For every "espionage" type we
uncovered, we'd find an average of five of the satanic type. Deeper screens? A
shift in the programming material itself? The Son of Sam case would suggest that
satanism was a part of basic Greenbaum programming, but why didn't show it up in
other obvious Greenbaum types?
Of my five clients, the first was an espionage type, and the other four,
with some quirks that we will get to in a moment, were satanist. Michigan
was deep corporate elite strata satanism, NC was country ignorance and
family witchcraft, SF was military intelligence satanism, and Wisconsin was pure
Aryan Bund SS nazi satanism. All five were multi-generational situations, yet
each family was widely separated in geography and class from the others. The
close ones, Michigan and Wisconsin and DC and NC, were separated by extreme
class gaps and therefore unlikely to ever come in contact. The only thing that
really connected them was the pattern of the abuse and the use to which those
who imposed it on them wanted to make of it. They were all created MPD for the
purpose of embodying or channeling what their handlers understood as the Evil
One.
The quirk I mentioned is that in all four satanism cases, there was contact, of
some sort, with one or more intelligence agencies. It was either in the family,
in the institutions where the programming abuse took place, or, in the NC case,
an out and out contact from somebody that sounded like a cross between FBI and
MIB.
I also had a dozen or so possibles, and one of those, having to do with
Jacksonville and one of the first UFO cases, has strange ties to Laura's own
story. But I still didn't understand the connection between the satanism branch
of the Program and the Greenbaum.
(Just as I came back to this a few minutes ago, my Michigan survivor called me.
I had not heard from her in a few years, and she called to tell me she was still
doing well. In this field complete success stories are rare, and she is one.
She's now a writer, see Rena's Promise, Random House I think, for an example of
her work.)
And then, synchronistically, the connecting piece was dropped in my lap.
An old friend that I knew had intelligence connections - the guy I mentioned in
our discussion of Dean's background - called me up with a strange story. He
thought that if anybody might have a clue what was going on, it would be me. A
friend of his wife's, going back to Pentagon days, had gone crazy and started
accusing everyone of being a satanist and under mind control. Her husband had
had to take their kids away from her and she was on the run, calling them from
phone booths along the highway. Could I help?
She called me the next day from a phone booth in Maryland, and we talked
enough to convince her that I would take her story seriously. So she hopped in
her car and drove straight through to Winston-Salem. She got to my office around
six and we talked to midnight, when she left to hide somewhere, she wouldn't say
where or how, and then came back the next day and talked for another four hours
or so. Then she got in her car and left. I never saw her again, alive.
What she told me was so bizarre that at first I figured it had to be a
plant. They wanted to see what I'd do with such stuff, and then flatten me
when I used it. And remember, this was 1993, pre X-files...
She had been in the Program since the mid-50s, what she called the "Stepford
Wives" division. Girls with looks and good grades from selected backgrounds were
fast-tracked to prep schools and finishing schools, where they received some
basic programming, and then "sold off" to Intel and other government types as
wives. Many of them ended up married to NASA geeks for the sole purpose of
spying on them. Early on, she figured out the game and played along until her
handlers discovered she was virtually immune to hypnotic programming. That
earned her truly special attention.
The issue of hypnotic immunity was the fly in the ointment for the larger
reaches of the program. If a significant number of citizens were flatly
immune to your best efforts, then mass control was unlikely. Somebody would
always resist. So this poor lady became a guinea pig for the full range of
Program experimentation.
They learned that while she couldn't be successfully programmed, she could
be broken. She was put back into circulation, while her pregnancies were
monitored and genetically tampered with, causing mis-carriages and abnormal
births. Two children survived, both boys, one 13 and the other five in 1993.
They had been experimented on since the day they were born, and the eldest, like
his mother, was resistant. The youngest however was something else, perhaps
literally.
And here's where all the threads of our story converge on the Gordian knot
nexus point of maximum weirdness. When they wanted her for something, she
simply hit her up with drugs to knock her out and did it to her. However,
over time, she developed a tolerance for the drugs and would be half awake
for the last few hours of whatever. And so she woke up one night in 1987 to find
herself having sex with something that looked like a cross between Night on Bald
Mountain and an iguana. She freaked and a group of people held her down while
"it" finished. Several of the people she remembered enough to identify. One was
her husband, another was Michael Aquino.
When her son was born, after a painful nine months, the husband was beside
himself with glee. He got a promotion, they moved to a gated compound in
West Virginia, and even she was treated marginally better. And then the
tests began. People flew in from around the planet to run a battery of tests on
her infant son. She was being kept drugged more and more heavily, several times
causing near overdoses. Finally, she figured out that was what they wanted her
to do, and tried to go cold turkey.
It was too much and she completely fell apart and spent two years in a state
hospital. With an incredible amount of determination she fought her way out,
made a deal with her husband to come home, spent six months playing Stepford
wife, her favorite derogatory term, while she planned her escape. Two weeks
before, she had done it, grabbed her oldest son and split the compound. She had
a suitcase full of cash and an untraceable car and would have made it except she
trusted the wrong people. They caught her, but they were Company guys, and so
they took the kid back to his father and let her go. Why? She wasn't sure.
We reached this point just before mid-night that first night, and after she left
I sat in my office for a long time pondering that question. I woke my friends
up, and they were uncertain how she got their number. He remembered her husband
all right, but his wife hadn't been in touch with her in 20 years. They had no
idea how she got their current number. It was unlisted.
So, they let her go, and she came, indirectly, straight to me. I was not
comforted by the thought. But was her story true, or just a clever trap for an
over zealous researcher? That I couldn't figure out.
When she came back the next day, I asked her how she got my friend's number. She
said it was in her address book, so she assumed she had looked it up at some
point. OK... So I questioned her about the reality of her memories, and she
admitted that they were fuzzy with gaps caused by the drugs. But she was sure
about the thing that raped her. We went back over her story and it matched,
nothing grew or changed in the telling, although certain little details emerged.
Her youngest son had been a vicious sociopath by the age of three for instance.
By the time she left, I was almost convinced. But the questions why and how she
got to me were still unanswered. We talked about what she wanted to do next. Her
plan was to get a lawyer and sue for custody of the eldest son, and blow the
thing wide open in court when she revealed the father of her youngest and her
entire story. She had been on the phone already and there was a lawyer in
California that wanted to take the case. She was on her way to meet him from
there, driving straight through and stopping only to sleep.
She never made it. A few days later I got a call from a detective in Memphis who
wanted to know if I knew anything about her. She had been found dead in a motel
room under suspicious circumstances and she had my card. I explained as much as
could, and he wanted to know about suicide. I said she was distraught enough to
have any number of accidents, but she'd never commit suicide, she was on a
mission. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, obviously, because he repeatedly
pressed me on why I thought that and did know what her mission was? Finally, he
got it that I wasn't going to help his case, so he hung up.
One strange thing though. I was getting ready to move my office to Chapel
Hill and had let my cards run out. The lady had certainly never picked one
up in my office. So where did the one the detective in Memphis described to me
come from?
And then, in October 1993, I got the following letter. It had no heading or
letter head and bore a Las Vegas postmark.
Hi Vince,
Good to hear from old friends, what they're doing and all, isn't it? We've
been admiring your work, and we must tell you that we couldn't be more
pleased. Doubt you would have been so effective even if you had taken our
offer.
Christopher
So there it is, I thought. These guys are still fucking with me, whatever
this was supposed to mean. It could mean that the whole thing was a set up,
right back to Dr. P. and the Melchizedek crowd. Even my sample of clients could
all have been planted to see how I did in following the dots.
Well, I fell into a months long Sherlockian funk, that fortunately coincided
with our several moves so I had time to think as I packed and unpacked endless
boxes of books. Then one day, I got it. They had sent me samples of the truth
because that was what they wanted. That was part of their plan for me since the
beginning in a way. The question was, what would I do once I had the truth?
Reveal it and take the flack? Join up back up out of despair? What? And then it
hit me. They didn't care which I did, they would make it work out to their
benefit either way.
So I did neither. My new partner and I worked out a plan. She would take the
professional flack and work within the emerging treatment community to get the
word out and to find more cases so we could see if my sample was skewed or
accurate, or even if the whole thing was another form of mind control. I went to
work on the technical end looking for therapies and gizmos that would aid in the
recovery process.
We worked at it until early 1997, when everything fell apart due to heavy
pressure on my partner. Psychic attacks, Love Bite vampires and office
break-ins forced a change. I went into semi-retirement, retreating to Mt.G. with
a few remaining clients who were willing to drive. One them was my last survivor
family, although I didn't know it then. They were from a town in E. Texas that
just seemed to pop up no matter which end of all this you started from.
OK, More later,
V.
