reply to post by aleon1018
I had to clean up after a decapitated relative/friend's head once. I screamed; they laughed. It was just for a minute, as one of the men took over
with an angry look.
I thought the head belonged to one person when I saw it and cried out the name, before realizing that it was one of his friends or brothers, as the
lips were not those of Tomin, but the face of one I relate to him but too fuzzy. I was both grateful it wasn't him and guilty for not knowing the
name of who it exactly
was. I hadn't seen them in so long. They used to tease me about my "Katu" butt-whatever that means.
The head was stored in the forward compartment of a dingy in rainy choppy seas of the Puget Sound in 85 or 86. Had to have been 85 as the rot was of a
scent. It got thrown in the water. It was in a white grocery bag. We were on our way to another boat. Damn boats.
Recently, I detailed a dingy. It about killed me.
I didn't see him killed. It was out of nowhere.
It smelled like it had been a month before. I'm guessing at this. The brain was scented pungently as chitlins, as I would learn some many years later
the first time I smelled chitlins. They had made me go to the compartment and 'get the bag there'. *tears* and there it was.
It was on our way to what turned out to be the floating hideout of alleged bomber Inderjit Reyat. He was hiding under a boat couch. I knew him from
being held hostage in the days and weeks predeeding.
My life was hostage-but this was very different.
The boat's name, I was told, meant something like Eastern Star. (or something similar). It *may have* been named The Estrella
. I only remember
asking compulsively out loud "blah blah blah what does that mean" to myself as we were about to board it at a run from the sea.
Later, I met the Society for Creative Anacronism, when I was put away to shut up, and learned the term Estrella there as well. I don't know if that
was the word-but similar.
I wondered if it could have been hollywood magic, special effects, ect, about Tomin's friend. I wondered if it were a mold stuffed with pig. I now
wonder 'a little' which of what and timeline complications in the way that...
(uh-I don't know how to word this. I've been off my timeline; I don't know how that effects my people in the way that a kid looking for her folks
might be concerned about)
But, Tomin was later shot in the neck during a pick up of me, and he knew and called my name he knew me by. And that there means something...
whether we had moved back, or he had been taken through, or, worse, its some big (expletive) game, or that a few years off hadn't changed something
I don't know. Sometimes I get close to pinning it.
Sorry thinking out loud.
been on sets, and in audiences, and you know, on all the common tours; we were[/] associated to film and screen and radio. From the
Gutterhood to Hollywood to Bollywood and Callygirlhood and Murdergirlandguyhood and Newsmediahood and Newspaperhood and Bookhood (I haven't spent
much time re-calling on that last one) and FilmExterminationWithWitnessPresentHood. Cameraman.
eh. I worry when people worry about 'implanted' memories. One of my handlers on occassion tried to 'implant' me with false memories to cover their
hits. This involved 'telling" me what "I supposedly did" "and how" .
For instance: "first you walked down the road...then you...ect"
More often various ongoing tortures so I'd forget and see what was in front of me.
Usually I just watched strange happenings surrounding the information that would indicate to me that I was being framed up. Hairs plucked, or being
sent to a location; being forced to write letters, or provide false testimony.
I did what I had to to not get someone killed moment by moment while working within the boundries I was given. That was my carrot.
I've never killed. anyone. anything. I can't even hunt. -not while on my normal and natural timeline-
Almost I had to, almost once. I almost did--but not because of 'programming', because I was handed a gun and told to after being given some jacked
up shot that made me throw up, the air become heavy and booming, and odd visual drippies.
The man was beautiful.
He had been kidnapped off of a street in Portland or Vancouver,WA.
I had not been enrolled in preschool yet, that I remember. Though, I was older than preschool aged.
I was told and shown the trigger. And left there standing alone some feet away from this beautiful, beautiful man, in a somewhat sunken highway median
field. Who just slowly turned his head and looked in my eyes with his back to me, his hands duct taped behind his back, before turning his head away.
The children of the man who was forced at gunsho..point to grab him--"just to shake him up" were on the air planes that were bombed down some years
Well..their violin case picture showed up in an author's book on the crime. His kids had been at his gravesite in N WA to watch him be shot and
buried in an unmarked grave-before being taken in by his killer. Actually-I don't remember which one shot that one. It was dark. It was scary. It was
unexpected. I would try to find it-but I am scared of there.
A meadow....er...grove. The ground was hardpacked soft silted, dry but for the rain. He was my uncle's friend. My uncle was later. N WA. They tried
to make me shoot that one too. I waited instead to be shot. Then I cleaned his brains from the floor.
I hope that was movie majic. It could have been. I didn't see the shot. I didn't see who shot him. I was moved to behind a wall and brought back in
after. He was being attempted framed for some plane bombings.
His sister and kids were hurt or killed with acid later. That was real. And unexpected. Always-unexpected. I tried to find the building recently.
Back to the median:
The handler took it back and did the deed, saying to me "That some day I will teach you too". And then shot him.
It's good to be brain damaged, in the sense that I would not Ultra. Or maybe that was never my purpose. (I really don't want anyone coming and
trying to prove their medicine, ya know?). I can't imagine how traumatic it must be to wake up and know that you killed someone.
I do know what it is like to be 'robbed' of one's memory. After some of these many things I was taken under the table to a psychologist. He called
it a 'cover' and described that it would lift in 20 years like a sheet. That it goes on like a sheet and that it lifts as a sheet. But, he didn't
finish the procedure, cause when I told him about the planes he then got killed.
A different man under the table (I think that one was under the table) did. I don't know what he was told had happened to the other psychologist. He
wasn't allowed to speak privately with me.
I don't feel very right speaking to the weird dreamlike off timeline or off world things such as foriegn wars that *technically* took place before
ever I was born. I don't mind-it's just a trip. I prefer the solid that others are able to be on the same page with. I can't do anything about what
only a handful of people can get at-why bother?
I'm driven by the want to help people who have been harmed by my situation.
In consideration of the whole "If you took '___' and you've had experiences then it is only because you were on '___'" discreditation speal-- the
shot came after those things happened; both before and after the shot. It's what they did to cover their back side.
Besides--I wasn't "Worth" drugs, so they were not wasted on me.
They said that.
Later they were, a little to make me forget what I saw. Forgetting was a weird process for me, I'd remember but usually their were huge traumas in
the following days-or trips-or moves-or airplanes-or work ect; then no frame of reference.