Chapter 4 — My Targeted Adolescence
And this is when I was attacked and victimized as I explained earlier.
After the covert implant attack in my bedroom in 1965, I went from an absolutely outstanding student in 5th grade to mediocrity, loneliness, and problems with my health.
My summers were spent wandering the streets of Tidewater on my bicycle, going as far as Virginia Beach on occasion and even Chesapeake Beach on two occasions. That was ludicrous! Seeing that they were ten miles from the house and the traffic in the Norfolk area was heavy.
But there in my targeted world, it was an escape – to load up my bicycle basket with a few snacks in the morning, tools for the trip, and take off for destination unknown.
Many times I would pedal the three-mile ride to the Airport, where I would catch turtles and ride the trails in the botanical gardens.
But I did have fun. And when the sun went down, I often loaded back up the bike and ended my day at Norfolk International Park where the Triple-A Tidewater Tides played baseball.
The attack would destroy the best years of my life: I would suffer ten years of receiving subliminal music emanations to my head – songs that repeated themselves over and over. Worse, I became distracted easily and could no longer concentrate on my schoolwork.
My life would continue on its downward spiral. My school grades dropped. I couldn’t make the transition to eighth grade at Taylor Junior High School. And I had few friends.
Something wasn’t right. I wasn’t dumb, because I had outstanding grades all through elementary school. In the seventh grade, I actually passed a test that put me in an accelerated math class program taking algebra a year earlier than everyone else. But I certainly wasn’t capable of good grades with the targeting.
I knew I needed to go to work so I got a newspaper route, and I started working at a gas station. I suppose now this is what I was programmed to do: flunk school and go to work.
Here is where I learned to grease car fittings, change oil, and fix tires. I’d sweep off the whole service lot area, wash windows, and empty garbage cans along with waiting on customers. I’d be filthy at the end of the day but loved every minute of it.
I started off at 35 cents an hour. When I left the station at 17, I was making $1.25/hour. I was cheap labor for sure. But it was good for me. And then I could afford to buy my own food.
But now I understand why mom did not stock the refrigerator: there was the threat of poison. Dad would have never done such a thing, but the perpetrators would try and make it look like it because he was an exterminator. And the perpetrators always want to further a divorce and create some kind of suspicious actions between the man and wife.
I’m continually amazed to this day how a person can open their refrigerator and not give the least thought of something being drugged
Nothing could be trusted at home. Still can’t fifty years later. I’ve been carrying a good part of my food for at least ten years.
The first thing I believe they were drugging was my salt. When I started carrying my own salt with me, I started to heal. And then I began to figure it all out.
Most electronically targeted victims claim the perpetrators poison their foods if not only to induce physical sickness but accentuate the remote electronic targeting. If it had not been for my knowledge about activated charcoal neutralizing poisons, I’d be dead for sure.
Perhaps since you are reading this book, you have started to put together events in your life that may have indeed been programmed. The first thing that happens is you get angry, and then you want justice, as many of us victims.
Were all these strange happenings the products of divorce? Not hardly. The targeting of my family has begun in earnest. These perpetrators want to separate us, and then slow kill us, which is what happened to all of us.
I was clued in one day when I tried to hook up an old bum friend for a date with mom.
He may have dressed in rags, but he was smart: he was a former electrician at the Navy Yard.
A chain smoker originally from North Carolina, he came to Norfolk to get a job at the Navy yard like many people did during the war. But he was anything but stupid. He had an old Chevrolet in mint condition in his garage. He also had an old truck up until the time he got crazier. And he was stockpiling silver quarters and dollar certificates long before anyone else ever thought about it. I saw his stash one day when he invited me into his house. Far as I know, I was the only person who ever had gone into those secret quarters.
And I had seen him dress well on occasion, clothes far from his daily one-piece set of work overalls that had holes in them.
The man was a victim. He had been under psychiatric care for years, and everyone in the neighborhood called him crazy. I knew he was not crazy, from spending hours talking with him near the drug store and listening to his stories.
After mom and him went out, the next day he made a remark I never forgot: “They are going to kill you and your mother.”
I did not reply, but I knew he would not lie. I could only wonder about his statement however as the years passed. Now I know the perpetrators and their technology have the power to make people say something with a forced speech program.
I’ve seen the patent on it, and I’ve experienced the continual pulsations to my neck and my vocal chords.
Those of you who grew up in small towns and had close families may not understand how secret activities like these can happen, but when a family is in a large metropolis such as the Norfolk area, where there are a lot of covert agencies, such as the FBI, CIA, Armed Forces Defense intelligence agencies, and God knows what other clandestine agencies and corporations exist including foreign entities, evil exists!
I mean, who knows what your neighbor is doing or where he works?
Or what about the milkman coming to your door? Or how about the diaper service guy coming to pick up the diapers?
In the city, you learn to beware.
If the same covert involuntarily needling of my body had not occurred years later, I would have never figured out my family was being targeted.
But when I awoke one morning in the back of my pickup truck at the Emerald Isle fishing pier in 2004 to find the right side of my body paralyzed, I put the story all together. I could barely walk after this injection to my nervous system and I still suffer today from that event.
The perpetrators knew I was going there. They knew I had figured out the targeting program. And they knew I was going to expose it, because I was putting people together in different parts of the country with my petition.
After the attack I visited another nearby fishing pier, and when I walked down the pier a man who was sullenly smoking a cigarette with an arm on the wooden rail looked over at me and said, “I hear you’ve been having a little trouble.”
I had never seen the man in my life, but obviously he had participated in my attack.
I probably never should have gone to this area, but I wanted to not only take a break and go fishing, but a girl from Atlantic Beach, N.C. had signed the petition, and I wanted to talk with her and learn more about the targeting.