I was working from an excerpt from The Air Loom Gang, and it was even more damning about the state of mind control in Parliment in 1796 than it is here. I highly recommend the book, link to the right.
And I have no idea how to get rid of the lines that were placed in the file near the end; not in Open Office Writer or in Blogspot.
Introduction
I am using two allegorical tales, both true events, to introduce my highly unsusal state of being as a resident of the Chelsea Apartments.
The Potemkin Village Metaphor
Potemkin villages were, purportedly, fake settlements erected at the direction of Russian minister Grigori Potemkin to fool Empress Catherine II during her tour of Crimea in 1787. According to this story, Potemkin, had hollow facades of villages constructed along the desolate banks of the Dnieper River in order to impress the monarch and her travel party with the value of her new conquests, thus enhancing his standing in the empress's eyes. The term, "Potemkin Village" has come to mean, especially in a political context, any elaborate hollow or false construct, physical or figurative, meant to hide an undesirable or potentially damaging situation.
The Air Loom Gang
by Mike Jay, from the diary of James Tilley Mathews, abridged excerpt.
On 30 December 1796, one man was on a unique mission – and in unique and unprecedented jeopardy. His mission was taking him through the packed thoroughfares of London, the world’s only city of a million inhabitants, to the House of Commons, the most public place in Britain where truth, once spoken, could not be ignored. The jeopardy, by contrast, emanated from the most private place in London: an underground cellar concealed somewhere beneath the paving, cobbles and pipes of the central streets whose existence was, as far as he knew, a secret to everyone but him.
He approached the House seemingly unnoticed, yet he was well aware that it would nonetheless require a powerful effort of will for him to reach it. There was no one pursuing him, and on-one to block his way. But neither of these was necessary to engender the jeopardy he faced, which was generated by something new both to science and to history: a machine which operated invisibly, from a distance, and with irresistible force.
He knew that, in the darkness of its basement cellar, the machine was in operation. Although the cellar was dank and airless, the windmill sails that powered the device were turning slowly, filling it with its mysterious charge. Its rows of hooped brass barrels hissed quietly, conspiratorially, as their chambers began to fill with pressurized gasses. Its wooden levers creaked as the warp of its central loom, or Air Loom, was tensed by magnetic currents.
The machine was building towards full power. Its gases and fluids agitated ever more intensely, producing a muffled cacophony of swishing and crashing sounds like ocean turbulence in a subterranean cavern. The smell was foul beyond belief, noxious gases and corrosive acid ripped apart and recombined in the magnetic flux. “Factitious airs” – gasses that had never existed naturally – hissed ominously into life, jets of pressure forcing them through tube valves, sending them out like sightless eels into their new world. A pair of gloved hands worked in silence, modulating the keys on the machine like organ stops, focusing an invisible force out through the cellar’s solid stone walls and down the London streets, where it passed without resistance through houses and crowds, infallibly seeking out its targets in the House of Commons.
As he climbed the steep, crowded stairs to the public gallery the man began to feel a turbulence in the air around him, and a probing pressure around his mouth, sucking at his breath. He could taste copper in his saliva. He knew what this meant: the bellows on the machine’s controls were being delicately primed, feeling for the rhythm of his breathing and attempting to synchronize with it. Each time he filled his lungs he felt a little more of the magnetic fluid seeping into them, into his bloodstream and brain. Each breath dulled his mind a little, like a shadow passing over the sun.
But he also knew what to do, he opened his mouth and held his breath for as long as he could, then took in a sharp, unexpected draught of air. The lever of the bellows, at its lowest arc, was raised immediately, but the magnetic fluid seeped out too slowly to reach him. The machine, he had discovered, could be temporarily fooled in this way. He expelled the breath from his lungs sharply, sucked it in again immediately and held his mouth wide open, like a suffocating fish. He could hear a faint, frustrated hissing around him as it searched again for his rhythm. The people on the stairs looked at him oddly, so he clutched his chest in a pantomime of asthmatic attack
He reached the public gallery and jostled his way into earshot and towards a seat. Both House and gallery were packed. There were nearly three hundred MPs in attendance for a debate that would surely be crucial to the nation's political future.
The man in the gallery watched as the Speaker called for silence for the Debate on the King’s Message Respecting the Rupture of the Negotiation with France to begin. He opened the floor to the Prime Minister, William Pitt. The Prime Minister, introduced a raft of draconian anti-Terror legislation. The hard-won right of habeas corpus was reined in, allowing suspected revolutionaries to be interred without trial.
The man in the gallery knew Pitt. He had met with him in private session, though there was no question that Pitt would now deny it. But he also knew that this was not really Pitt speaking. As the Prime Minister’s chest rose and fell with magisterial rhythm, he sensed the mysterious bellows breathing from afar; Pitt was under the control of the machine.
Many had suspected that the political disasters of the past few years had a hidden cause. The bloodiness of French mob rule was something unnatural, irrational, something which had never been seen before. How had the Terror erupted from such humane and enlightened beginnings? The man in the gallery knew that the strings were being manipulated not by men alone, but by the Air Loom machine.
The Air Loom had been constructed by the Jacobins in Paris around the time of their coup d’état in 1793. Just as they had corrupted ideals to their despotic ends, so had they corrupted republican science. The secret of its power was pneumatic chemistry, the chemistry of invisible elements recently christened “gases”, a science that had been developed by some of the greatest geniuses of the Revolution.
The Air Loom’s power was pneumatic, but its effects were accomplished by harnessing the mysterious magnetism which ran through all living things, a technique popularized in pre-Revolutionary France by the Viennese doctor Franz Anton Mesmer. Mesmerism could cure disease, twist and constrict the body, control the speech and brain, all without the subject even being aware of it. The Air Loom used its pneumatic force to expand these powers far beyond those of even the most skilled human mesmerist. Man had made a machine that could turn men themselves into machines.
My Story as a Resident in the Chelsea Apartments
I live in the Chelsea as a 54 year old Potemkin Villager at the dispensation of a modern day equivalent of the Air Loom Gang, replete with false fronts from family, thought-to-be-friends, past employers and public mobbing, aka. gangstalking. Other Air-Loom like experiences in the past six years have been sudden and strange smells, overwhelming metallic tastes in my mouth, unbidden muscle spasms, unwarranted erratic breathing and abiding wispy trails and clouds of magnetic energy in the form of masers and plasma beams, corroborated by three independent instruments measuring magnetic anomalies of over 200 Gauss in late 2002. All major phenomenon have been witnessed by other parties.
My knowledge of being a Potemkin Villager began in April 2002, when my work colleagues were behaving oddly for the prior week, as it seemed there was some significant news to come. And my thought-to-be girlfriend was also behaving diffidently. By way of phone call, my ex-wife also added to the strangeness. I couldn't possibly imagine what connected these diverse aspects of my life, but I was to find out.
It began with a weekday high tech invasion of my apartment in Seattle. Most of the interaction was by way of sound, plasma and maser beams. Maser beams are similar to lasers, but are coherent magnetic beams. My recall of the event is fragmented, but I was aware of being carried into my apartment by six men beforehand. And I also encountered at least one person who blocked my toilet with a balloon, and for some unexplained reason I allowed this to occur. The next day I went to work, and no one asked where I had been, as they seemed to know.
It wasn't my imagination, the toilet was indeed blocked the next day, and needed a plumbers snake to clear it. And even now, nearly six years later, I get two or more toilet blockages a week when it had been a rare event before. I can only assume the frequency of this and all other unconventional phenomenon and coincidences that I routinely experience is a result of the equivalent of the present day Air Loom Gang. In current day language, it is the application of action-at-a-distance methods, by unconventional physical means to control gravitation, physicality, materiality, and mind- all of which are energetically interdependent.
This, I learned from a research foray into physics theory; there are some significant physical world discrepancies that our understanding of electromagnetism does not explain, and which have been published since at least the 1930's by Thomas Townsend Brown. His term was electro-gravitic dynamics. There is no widely accepted theory that unifies Newtonian physics (large body gravitation) with that of quantum physics, (very small bodies at or below the molecular level).
As part of this unfolding of this story and while being in the grasp of remotely applied magnetic energy, I came to realize that although this overt harassment, as I call it, has been covertly applied since birth, and that all the events and activities I which took part in were orchestrated as an applied dynamic Potemkin Village with the full collusion and participation from my family, schools and employers. Once I began to retrospectively study the harassment methodologies and apply them to all those oddities of the past, then much more of it made sense. Those conspiratorial grins of seeming friends that accompanied my misunderstanding of the moment; “its nothing” they would say. And then there was the whites of the eyes of others that appeared scared, even though I had done or said anything that was remotely threatening. It all began to make sense, and there was a reason I was always the last person on the bus that anyone would sit beside, it was by covert orchestration, and it still is. Ever since that high tech invasion of April 2002, I have been down a rabbit hole that has no end in sight, now nearly six years later.
At first I did not know why I was so important to so many in such a undeclared and furtive manner. There was some indication that the color of what I ate and my clothing was important. There were many assaults in 2002 with light beam weaponry. There was intense head pain that precluded anything else, save running from it or blocking it with my arms, and maser and plasma beams being shot at me from vehicles, either while walking or driving. I could get relief from the headpain if I drove my vehicle, and so these massive vehicle convoys came to cluster around me while driving up and down the I-5 freeway from Olympia to the border. Each night over several weeks there was at least a 100 vehicles that would cluster behind me and would pass by one at a time, and then form a cluster ahead of me. It was highly organized, methodical and repititous. Even though harassed through the nights, and sleep deprived, I was fully fuctional at work.
Other assaults included noises that increased in volume from every source. Then I was tricked into visiting the hospital by two thought-to-be friends as if it were of clinical origin. There, the seeming patients acted like fulltime gangstalkers by circulating around or mobbing me, popping from behind every corner or door as I approached it. Even the staff was in on the act; one Asian staff member was in a mid hallway over-extended reach position each time I returned from outside. I noted this anomalous behavior in my journal and it immediately stopped. I asked the doctor if I was being kept in a densified magnetic field, and he would not look at me when he said “no”. I got the real answer then. To his credit, he did say two years later that I was being persecuted.
No medications seemed to make any difference, and were not correlated with any less suspicion about being subjected to ongoing gangstalking. The entirety of this encompassing net of orchestration wasn't fully appreciated until I was apprehended by the Saanich Police for no stated reason, twice at gunpoint. Then when I wanted to retrieve my belongings from Seattle the INS Border Guard pulled their weapons on me all to provide a piece of paper to say I needed to be seen by the US Consulate's doctor. As it happened, there is no such designated doctor. My brother who was to help me move somehow made a last minute excuse not to accompany me. Other more direct incursions have been a street assault, belligerent pedestrains not making way on the sidewalks and having bicycle wheels put in my face.
Now that the harassment has “settled down” to having driven me out of employment and back to Victoria and living with the aid of a rent subsidy in the Chelsea, my life can be categorized into the following main phenomenon groups with supporting details.Here is a rundown of the major everyday events that I claim are part of an orchestrated Potemkin Village that is arranged around me 24/7/365.
Vehicular & Ambulatory Gangstalking
Everywhere I go in public I have extra numbers of individuals swarming around me whether walking or driving, and invariably clothing color and vehicle color are arranged.
The gangstalking vehicles are arranged with the silver grey, white and black vehicles first, then mid-grey vehicles are added in, then these will accompany added red, green and brown colored vehicles. Navy blue, and mid-blue colors are added later, and may accompany the few orange or yellow colored vehicles. This is applied in iterative waves of vehicle formations, sometimes in file, sometimes two or more abreast, and invariably hiding or blocking one color from the other, mixing in yet more permutations of color, vehicle type, mobile and parked.
The same happens in my ambulatory visits to grocery stores and the gym; intial passes of those wearing “starter” (reference) clothing colors of black, white and mid-greys are later mixed in with the bolder yellows, reds and browns. Though rare, some gangstalkers have made repeated appearance as in various guises as an executive, vagrant, fireman, and indeterminantly casually dressed, sometimes calling excessive attention to themselves, in both Seattle and Victoria.
Current Environmental Events
noise campaigns, selectively applied and usually coincidental with my activities or other noises, and are often excessive augmentations of extant activity,
application of extra-gravitational energies to foil my movements, have me drop items on the floor, surreptiticiously move objects (including my vehicle when I owned one), or co-opt fine motor control of my fingers, including myriad typos far in excess of my finger pecking days since using computers in 1974,
the above two events define the major play of my tormentors; to infuriate me all day long and have me vocalize this with their selected vocabulary,
reading and other cognitive “misperceptions”, inserted into mind that began for the first time ever in 2005 when greater mind control capability became apparent, and continues at a rate of 100 times or more per day,
dynamic application of dithering my judgement, recall, planning, speech, syntax, motivation and coordination on a preplanned basis, (often coincident with noise events),
selectively applied transitory vision impairments, simultaneously applied to specific events such as seeing someone for the first time in the day, noise events, reading a person's name.
remotely applied sabotage of electronic devices, both field strength meters and consumer electronics (e.g. CD players, headphones),
a disproportionate number of itches and skin lesions that are uncharacteristically persistent,
redirection of my attention faculties to spurious and irrelevant objects,
plasma beams ghosting from shapes and objects onscreen and physical objects.
Computer & Financial Intrusions
constant invasion, monitoring and sabotage of my computer and online activities, including covert changes and deletions of computer files,
four successive income tax reassessments over the same matter, winning my case each time when I never had a reassessment in paying taxes before,
Appearance Changes
age regression becoming significantly younger,
skin thinning on both sides of my hands,
my back was straightened changing my walking gait,
asymmetric facial appearance,
spontaneous bleeding on the top of my nose, and facial pores and not from any shaving activity
As a further part of this all-encompassing net of a scripted existence, there are endless “designed coincidences”. These are coincidences with respect to what I know or am thinking, ranging from the use of an usual word over a few days in readiness for mention by someone else, to seeming coordination with world events such as the assassination of Benazir Bhutto.
Perhaps one of the salient perceptions I’ve heard is the observation that reality is that which, when you cease to believe in it, still exists. Many of the above events are highly improbable as a single occurence, and yet they re-occur consistently. Cummulatively, there would be even less likelihood, and yet, I am the only one who applies any objective analysis as to this collective improbability and conveys this to family or clinicians. In response, they simply don't reply and go mute at some seeming pre-set point.
Being the subject of nonconsensual human experimentation and organized harassment lands me with a group of individuals who call ourselves TI's, or Targeted Individuals. I have spoken to many of them, emailed some, participated in forums and conference calls, read their books, and they all describe much of the same kinds of events as I experience. They arrange conference calls seven days a week from activism initiatives all the way to commiseration as to the nature of the applied technologies and harassor's objectives.
Human nonconsensual experimentation has had a long and deep history since the 1930's with the Tuskagee syphilis story, WWII obviously, in the 1950's the Duplessis Orphans in Quebec and the US atomic fall-out testing, the 1960's with the CIA by LSD spiking of unwitting subject's drink, and the 1990 Gulf War as the lastmost known example.
And lest it be any surprise, it plainly clear that one objective of my tormentor's is 100% mind control, only more stealthily than that of the Air Loom Gang. Based on my cummulative experiences, and seeing greater control exercised in forcing me to do things I wouldn't ordinarily think, recall, do or say, that 100% mind control is nearly accomplished. They appear to be working on my brainstem area judging by the recent maser strikes in my neck above my Adam's apple.
I am a virtual prisoner in a virtual democracy, living a pre-scripted Potemkin Village existence subject to continued villanous, illegal and depraved machinations and incursions that reach as far as one's thoughts on a full time basis. I have been fucked over enough by anyone's account, and this vile, outrageous and abusive mendacity must be terminated now.
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