Mind Controlled Celebrities (Page 11 of 18)

But as I learn more and more I look back and think "Huh" a lot.  For instance, my uncle was a Mormon bishop who everybody admired and beleived was the holiest of holy men.  And he was, well, a dork.  Then, when I was 12, he was excommunicated after it was discovered he was having sexual relationships with women in his church.  In the Mormon church there are what are called "Bishop's Meetings" wherein you meet personally with the bishop, like a Catholic confessional.  He was using those appointments for sexual trysts.  Supposedly all consensual.  No minors.

But that isn't the weird part.  The weird part, looking back, is that he was a military man, too.  He worked for the air national guard (or maybe the air force) and what he did--while overseas--was classified.  And after the excommunication his personality changed almost night and day.  But, again, I suppose that's normal when a person's double life is exposed.  Yet the military connection stands out because, looking back, he never seemed like a military guy.

And, here in Utah, in a state that's 65% Mormon, I've heard many stories about kids being sexually abused in church primary classes.  But you rationalize it.  You say, Well, that happens everywhere.  Every church has sicko pedophiles.  But then you remember the Springmeier stuff, the Icke stuff, and you wonder, Hmmm, how close am I to this stuff?

My friend R.'s best friend insists that her dad, a Mormon and a Mason, took her to the Masonic temple and that she was ritually abused there. And then my wife and I meet one of the tourguides for the Masonic temple at the bar and he seems nice--definitely off, but nice.  And so I rethink.  And rethink again.

And then my wife and I meet one of the tourguides for the Masonic temple at the bar and he seems nice--definitely off, but nice.  And so I rethink.  And rethink again.

A Family Mystery

Ever since I was about 9 years old, I grew up with a certain "family mystery" that almost reads like the opening scene in a horror movie, except that in this case it was a real event. As a result my parents only mentioned it to me once or twice, and we never told anyone else. Before we get into exactly what was seen on that pivotal night, let us set up the players on stage, with the names changed for obvious reasons.

Several members of the Masonic Order were known to be living on our wooded, relaxed suburban street, most of them in middle age or early senior citizens. One branch of Masonry is known as "Scottish Rite," and it may or may not be relevant that for many years a bagpipe group would rehearse and march down at the end of the street in full Scottish kilts and regalia, later marching in parades with Masons, Shriners and other "lodge" groups, which seemed to be quite boring, donating money here and there to the children and otherwise just a bunch of old fogeys who got together once in a while.

Two doors down on our side of the street was a man named Gino Frazelli, who was the friendly local proprietor of a shoe repair shop. Dad always went to Gino’s shop when he needed work done on his office shoes. There was a persistent rumor that Gino was a Mafia boss, based on other people who had ended up interacting with him when getting involved with illegal gambling. Gino had interesting 20-foot tall hedges that almost completely obscured his backyard from view on either side, with a fence inside the hedges as well, and it was very common to smell greasy cigar smoke blowing through during his frequent weekend parties. From what little I could see, there were usually about six men sitting around the glass picnic table, all smoking cigars, with their wives on the porch by the grill and the kids frolicking in the pool.

Another four doors down from Gino lived the Morrisons. There was a strange crime that happened there after I had already left home. The wife had gotten tired of Mr. Morrison’s alcoholism and finally decided to leave him. She called on the phone and said that she was going to arrive at a certain time and get some of her stuff, and she wanted him not to be there when she came. He was waiting for her in the kitchen with a shotgun, relieved her of a good portion of the area above the shoulders and then took care of himself the same way immediately thereafter. When I heard about this it seemed to be just another sign of how "these things really do happen in America all the time." This family had always been very secretive, and their daughter Vanessa was the biggest bully / tomboy on the whole street while I was growing up as a kid – I never felt like I could trust her. She was a compulsive liar.

Directly across the street from our house was the Murphy family, who ran the largest used-car dealership in town. We really knew very little about Mr. Murphy, as he was seldomly home, but Mrs. Murphy would chat with Mom from time to time and both of the Murphys were very friendly. They had a basketball hoop for their kids mounted on the garage, and the kids were a lot older than me and always kept strictly to themselves.

From our view, to the right of the Murphy’s was the Fleischer’s, and on any given afternoon the wife Pat could be outside, tending her little flower gardens and bushes, and she would often speak with Mom with a dirt-clumped trowel in her hand and a goofy senior-citizen’s sun hat on her head. Mr. Fleischer was known to be a member of the Masonic Order, which didn’t seem to be anything important. It was very common to see about six or more graying people gathered on their front porch on any given weekend, just hanging out and talking. They were obviously very social.

On the opposite, left side of the Murphys’ house across the street was the Steinbergs, another elderly couple where the husband was known to be a proud member of the Masonic Order. Peggy Steinberg always seemed as if she had a few "screws loose," as she wore a perpetual frown as if she was constantly feeling intense frustration about something. She seemed so drawn up inside herself that she rarely took in the world around her, and her shoulders were crunched up giving her a noticeable dowager’s hump and stiffness to her walk. Peggy’s most annoying quirk was her complete fixation on her white toy poodle Binky. She would let Binky run free outside, which was strange in and of itself, and then open the front door and call Binky in an obnoxious high-pitched voice for as long as five minutes at a time, and this would happen several times a week.

Finally, as you went farther down our street, the houses got increasingly fancy until at the very end, two blocks down, you came to the woods. In order to enter the woods, you had to pass to the right of a rather substantial mansion, owned by a prominent local family, the Browns. For our own little area, the Browns had power. The husband owned and ran two different businesses – he owned the largest heating oil supplier for the town, and he also owned the largest local bank in town, which was not named after him. He seemed to have inherited these businesses from his own father, who was also still a part of them. The wife Sandy ran for a prominent position in local government and won without a problem, helped along by a well-funded campaign.

The strangest thing about the Browns was what they did each Halloween. The road to their house took you through the woods a bit, so you had to really want that candy if you were going to go there – but you knew that you’d get a full-sized bar, so it was worth the trip. Each year they mounted speakers in the trees in the woods that would be playing rather ominous-sounding Halloween recordings – sounds of people getting eaten alive by packs of dogs, haunting ghostly cries, people getting torn apart by growling monsters, et cetera, set to strange, dissonant organ music. It was loud enough to be heard for blocks and blocks, and was just about deafening as you got close. It naturally attracted the attention of the neighborhood kids and we all knew that it really was quite scary, as much as we tried to brush it off as stupid. You HAD to go down there for Halloween.

The punch line was that when you’d actually get to the door, Sandy would be standing there dressed as a witch, complete with full costume, full makeup and a warty green nose and chin. She would do the witch voice and stay in character the whole time. Next to her was an inert, fake-looking scarecrow, slumped somewhat carelessly into the chair with visible hay sticking out of his neck, arms drooping over the chair arms. Right while you were grabbing onto the witch’s candy, the scarecrow would give a sudden "BAH!" and reach out his arms at you. It was obviously Mr. Brown, in a very good disguise. I jumped an entire foot off the ground the first time this happened to me and almost dropped all my candy. Trying to breathe, I said, "Wow, that was a great scare," and for some bizarre reason, I remember telling Sandy right after this, "When I get old enough, I’ll vote for you." She seemed almost disappointed in me that I had gotten her to break her role, but she said, "Thank you."

Now the stage is set, and the players assigned their various roles. One weeknight, Mom and Dad stayed up rather late, after 1:00 am. They had already turned the lights off in the room and were just quietly listening to music. Dad just happened to look out his bedroom window to the street below, and that is when the horror show began.

It started with Mr. and Mrs. Fleischer, from across the street to the right. Here they were walking down the street in the dark, looking very wooden and robotic, not even slightly swinging their arms as they went, Mrs. Fleischer holding some cloth package in her arms like a pizza. They showed no signs of vitality or emotion – it was almost as if they were "sleepwalking zombies." Dad watched, thinking this was very curious, as suddenly it got a whole lot worse. The Fleischers turned a quick, perfect 90-degree angle on the street and began walking straight down the driveway of the Murphy’s house directly across from us. There were no lights on in the Murphy’s house, inside or outside. By this point Dad had already attracted Mom’s attention, and being a horror movie veteran, he said, "Don’t move… just watch."

Mom and Dad became super-hyper-paranoid, hearts threatening to explode out of their chests, as they watched Pat and her husband open up the side door of the Murphy’s house and walk right in, without knocking. And it got worse, as next came Mr. and Mrs. Steinberg. Their arms did not swing, they did not talk to each other and they moved just as hypnotically as the Fleischer’s had. Mrs. Fleischer also carried a similar package in a similar fashion. They also made a robotic turn into the driveway and entered the pitch-black house without knocking.

Soon thereafter came Gino Frazelli and his wife, and they also walked like zombies, carried the package, did the awkward turn and entered the Murphy’s without knocking. Lastly came a couple who appeared to be the Browns, though by this point Mom and Dad were so frightened that they could hardly even breathe. They conducted the same movements, and then it was – thankfully – over. But no lights ever came on, and my parents had no idea what they were doing in there.

Both my parents admitted that they were "totally freaked out" by this, feeling as if all time had stopped in those few minutes, which seemed to stretch into eternity. They had to tell someone, but again, Dad’s horror movie background and natural paranoia made both of them agree that "there’s something really f-ing strange about all this and I think it would be a very good idea if we never, ever mentioned this to anyone."   They did share it with me, making it clear that we might be in some kind of real danger if I ever mentioned it to anyone else, especially any of the families who were involved.  My parents quickly forgot about it, and only brought it up one other time thereafter.  It was as if it never happened. Nonetheless, if I mention it to them now, they can remember it quite vividly. And more than the actual events themselves, they remember the fear, and the thousands of unanswered questions that it raised in their minds.

http://www.greatdreams.com/political/media02.html

One spiritual principle is that if you can get a person angry at God, you can get that person to commit any sin. Great effort is taken, via staged events to make the victim being programmed certain that God has rejected them. For instance, some victims had someone play God and walk away from them when they needed help in a life & death situation.

...the anti-God/religious programming of some Monarch slaves. The Monarch slaves are repeatedly warned that God is cruel and judgmental, and that He wants to destroy them for the wicked things they have done. Bible verses that tell of the wrath of God & God’s anger are read to the victim.

...It must be designed to do
something very nasty, because it's dead wrong.