Earlier today I did a post about thread that developed on a Northwest Music Archive Facebook page based on an inquiry I’d made, and how several of my posts – posts asking important questions – were deleted and the thread shut down by a moderator. There is a whole thing with me getting shut down on music history online communities worth deeper exploration. But anyway, I thought, what the heck, I’ll try again.
This time I posted something about my family’s links to Hendrix. There have been plenty of other posts about Hendrix and lots of personal reminiscence on the site so I thought maybe it would be ok. But no dice. It posted momentarily, was immediately pulled and put into “pending” and then it was deleted.
Fortunately, I kept a record. Here is what I had posted:
“One more thin gypsy thief” – A photo of Aunt Marge in the Canturbury Inn, Ocean Shores, Washington, probably right around Christmas 1970. She was a nurse at Swedish Hospital, as was my Grandma Helen. Through the 1980s had a time share at Canturbury, and one at the Polynesian Resort next door.
My Grandpa Harold was a counselor at Garfield High School for decades. He was Jimi Hendrix’s high school counselor. He kicked Jimi out of school for truancy. Seemed to know the Hendrix family, but was never interviewed for any books. The photo of Aunt Marge was always kept in a photo album with a lock of my hair in an envelope marked “Sept 1970”
Of Jimi Hendrix’s return to Garfield High School in 198, my grandpa said, “all I can say is he looked very sleepy.”
Aunt Marge at Canturbury Inn Ocean Shores, Washington 1970
I have talked about this image elsewhere, but I’m going to talk about it here in hopes that it will help me illustrate a few points about first, my links to Washington state, Seattle, the music industry, and Nirvana – and second, in hopes that it will help me show a few things about the nature of CIA-driven mind control practices and their links to families, to the entertainment industry, and to the practice of medicine and psychology.
First – just to get this out of the way – the term “mind control” is really not the right term. I’m talking about something that is more like total control – control of business, control of industry, control of human relationships, control of human behavior, and control of human bodies from birth to death – and often the deaths are horrible. Cancer. Car accidents. Drownings. Strokes. Overdoses. Suicides. Shootings. The list goes on and on. I can explain, for all practical purposes, exactly how these things occur. I can provide forensic evidence to support my explanations – at least I could do that, before my equipment was sabotaged. Nonetheless, I made videos.
The only thing I have not done, because I do not personally have access to the technology, is to reconstruct or repeat these things in a laboratory situation. But even if I could – would it matter? How much proof is enough?
Nonetheless, this is too important to simply ignore, and it’s a key part of the story I’m trying to clarify here.
The photo shown here is my father’s sister, my Aunt Marge. She, and my father’s mother, Helen, were nurses at Swedish Hospital, which, according to Wikipedia, is “the largest nonprofit health provider in the Seattle metropolitan area.” Both my aunt and my grandmother worked their entire careers at Swedish Hospital.
The photo was taken, I am almost certain, around Christmas 1970. You can see on the caption that the photo was developed in February 1971. The location of the photo is a room at the Canturbury Inn in Ocean Shores, Washington, a time share that as far as I know, they still own to this day. I visited there in 2006 with my father and my daughter and took some photos and that’s why I recognize the location. Also, I believe I was there when this photo was taken. I was born March 29, 1968. So that means I was VERY young. Do I remember this photo being taken. I’m honestly not sure. What I will say is that I have experienced memories and recollections going back much further than most people do. Sometimes these memories come and go. Often I can remember remembering something, if that makes sense. Maybe that is how memory works anyway – you recall something over and over, and it stays in your memory.
There are other weird things about my memory though, and I could write pages on this so I’ll try to stay focused on what I’m trying to get across.
I’ve been trying to reconstruct the past lately, largely because I was trying to help Chris’ story get out, and get out properly. What I’ve run into again and again is false information thrown out by people who should know better. False dates. False stories. In some cases, the false stories would appear to be corroborated by other people – a false script. And this isn’t just to do with Chris – it’s come up with others as well, including Kurt Cobain, Courtney Love, and possibly Kat Bjelland. Sometimes the false stories – including corroborated false stories – are salacious – meaning – if I repeated them thinking they were true, and lots of people knew they weren’t true, or they were shown to be untrue, it would make me look like a jerk and a liar. So over the years, I’ve learned to, whenever possible, seek corroborating evidence from primary sources like documents or newspaper articles.
There is this whole thing with musicians who fictionalize their backgrounds or turn everything into a joke (Seattle bands of the 1980s and 1990s were particularly known for pulling stunts of various sorts) – and while that may have its place in show business, it’s not the same as reality. That said, I have literally had people say to me – and I’m talking about educated people who should know better – that reality is subjective – like, entirely subjective. And we can just pick our own reality. Those people are linked to the CIA.
The photo shown, of Aunt Marge before a fireplace, wearing a blue raincoat and red go go boots, was for years in a family photo album which also contained a lock of my hair in an envelope marked “Sept 1970.” I have spoken at length about why I believe the photo to be the real inspiration behind the Leonard Cohen song “Famous Blue Raincoat” – and while I won’t get into it here, all one really has to do is to entertain the idea that Cohen saw the photo, knew something about Marge, and her background, knew about the lock of my hair – and then carefully examine the lyrics to Famous Blue Raincoat, a song that takes the form of a letter.
There are a few more things that are likely pertinent here – last time we drove to Ocean Shores I experienced the sensation of having weird flashbacks along the road – like I had been there a lot. But I don’t really remember being there a lot. Also, if you look at a map, Ocean Shores is a pretty isolated area. We would have been going there from Seattle. In order to get to Ocean Shores from Seattle, you drive through Olympia which is the capitol of Washington State and the location of Evergreen State College which I have asserted and shown evidence – is and has been an experimental testing ground for CIA mind control technologies (it’s also where I thought I wanted to go to school in the 1980s). And after Olympia, you drive through Montesano/Aberdeen, where Kurt Cobain grew up.
Up until maybe some time in the 1980s apparently my family also had a time share at the Polynesian Resort next door to the Canterbury – this is where Kurt Cobain worked as a janitor, probably around 1987.
My grandfather was a high school counselor at Garfield High School in Seattle. He was Jimi Hendrix’s high school counselor. He said that he was forced to kick Jimi Hendrix out of high school for truancy. While this was no secret, and he remembered Jimi Hendrix, and had thoughts about his upbringing and so forth no one ever interviewed my grandfather about his links to the Hendrix family. I mention this here because I now know that Hendrix was murdered by the FBI/CIA and that like the death of Kurt Cobain, this murder was something a lot of people knew was going to happen ahead of time, kept quiet, and likely profited from. And I believe this is alluded to in the Leonard Cohen line “I see you there with the rose in your teeth – one more thin gypsy thief” – Hendrix’s last band was called band of gypsies. That said, there may be other – more literal – gypsy (Romani) links. I had a childhood friend named Michele who often dressed as a gypsy for Halloween. She is linked into all of this.
I have memories of what I believe to have been tests given to me as a very young child by adult strangers in what seem to have been hotel rooms. Of course, as a child it all seems like play and games, but there were things about this that made it stand out, and one of the things I’m getting at is that sometimes when things are weird or intense they stand out in your memory. One of the tests was a shell game – where there are three cups or something, and an object beneath the cup, and the cups are shuffled around, and you have to guess where the object is. What I remember about that, was I didn’t pay any attention whatsoever to how the cups or shells were being moved around. I spaced out. And then when I was asked to pick which cup hid the object, I just picked, and I seemed to keep getting it right. And the guy doing the test seemed really amazed about this. So it made me feel special. That was the kind of thing that was going on. Another thing that I remember were these paper cut-outs in box-shapes with animal designs on them like cows and stuff that you were supposed to fold together into 3-D shapes but as I recall at the time I was a bit too young to do those puzzles myself. There were other instances like this off and on through my childhood but these very early ones I thought about a lot because they seemed so detached from anything else that was happening in my life. As a semi-related note, all through my childhood, before the days of caller ID – when the telephone rang, I used to be really good at intuitively guessing who was calling. I was also good at the paper – rock – scissors game.
Ok so there’s that. And then there’s one more memory that I should share here which happened, probably in 1971. What I remember is this – my mom sent me outside to play. I think she may have given me some kind of costumes we had – they were animal costumes. I walked outside. This was on Edgewood Road in Eureka, California. We lived in this house (the address today is 3462 Edgewood Road – was slightly different back then) and behind the house was a copse of trees and I think maybe a dirt driveway or pathway, and it must have recently rained because there were puddles everywhere. As I walked out there, at first I was by myself, and I thought I heard my mother call my name in the distance – but then I thought it must have been the wind. I don’t know how many people experienced this kind of thing as a child (or adult) but I know Chris also experienced it, and I experienced it several times. But what it did here, I think, is alert my attention and heighten my awareness to the events that followed. At some point, another little girl showed up, and then – and I think this was after the girl appeared – a couple of older boys appeared. The girl had a new raincoat that she was proud of. And somehow the boys got the raincoat from her – either they asked to see it, or took it from her. And then they proceeded to defile the raincoat – the only thing I really remember this image of the older boy, who by now had thrown the girls rain coat into a puddle, and was swirling it around in the mud with a stick, saying “there’s the brand new rain coat, all messed up in the mud.”
I would have just thought this was something that just happened, except in 2017 I saw this movie called Colossal which triggered a whole flood of flashback memories to all kinds of time periods of my life, including a lot from the early 1970s, including that incident. Except there was, as there usually is, mergers of different kinds going on, so the raincoat became a diorama of Seoul (this links to a later childhood memory having to do with making models of California missions – and as usual the web starts expanding). Anyway, in Colossal, the protagonist, Gloria, has her diorama crushed by a boy, and this somehow engenders anger which gives her this “power” and so forth. This is part of what’s going on with trauma based mind control, but it’s only a small part. Because it appears that repeated traumas can also cause memory loss, and paralysis as well (aka going to “the sunken place”) So it looks like what was going on in Chris’ life, and in my life, were these two opposing forces deliberately setting up intense or traumatic situations – where there was a questionable boundary between what is real, and what is theatre – trying to achieve opposite goals. One group was trying to put us to sleep, and another group trying to wake us up – or maybe it was just as often the same group, simply being paid or influenced by others farther up in the hierarchy. And of course, the more they stole from us, or intended to steal, the more likely they were to want to put us to sleep, or ultimately, to get us killed. And they finally did kill Chris.
Ultimately, blurring the line between fantasy and reality is extremely dangerous. The psychology of the boy who cried wolf is a big part of this. Everything is ok, until it’s really not ok anymore – but if there has been a lot of play acting and false alarms up to that point, action, when it really needs to be taken, is paralyzed. And if it’s not paralyzed by psychology, it’s paralyzed by threats and/or payoffs.
Cohen’s song may also link to this raincoat incident that happened to me. The idea of a raincoat mushed up in the mud. And for that matter, the imagery of the hat flying into the mud puddle in the heart shaped box video may also be linked.
I am basically certain that Cobain’s stomach problems were the result of covert implants linked to the CIA, and possibly to my own family members (who are linked to the CIA). I also believe that his heroin addiction and his suicide were instigated by the CIA working through medical systems. And Chris’ cancer was also created by the CIA working through medical systems.
Beginning in 2015 I was contacting the FBI asking them for help. In 2019 I told the FBI specifically that our lives were in danger. All this seemed to do was to make things worse. It has since become clear that the CIA is working under the protection of, hand in hand, with the FBI in these things.
One of the last scenes of Colossal shows the main character, Gloria, standing in a blue-tinged rain, wearing an open raincoat.
