Targeted Individuals Faith Group Needed: Christian Defense Org.?

Who will heed the call, for I am exhausted and tired and older.

I formed the victims of electronic harassment and stalking group in 2004 as I gathered signatures from my Petition to Cease and Ban Direct Energy Programs and Surveillance of Humans for several purposes.

  1. Separate the perpetrators on the Yahoo talk forum from the real victims (which it did).
  2. Form a team to identify the perpetrators and get rid of the targeting.
  3. Provide moral support for each other and put contacts together within certain regions of the country (and the world in some instances).

However, the targeting escalated, and as a result, support groups formed mainly on surviving the assault. (And many new victims were unprepared to work as a team and did not fully understand the targeting.)

Some victims had been so isolated most of their lives, they didn’t understand how to work with another person they could actually trust for a common mission: they had been so deceived, had personal issues that would need fixed, and some even needed constant care.

But some were ready for activism, with faith restored for an agenda to get the targeting stopped, the covert implants identified and banned, the perpetrators jailed for misuse of communications, practicing medicine without a license, stop involuntary medical or drug experimentation, and get laws enacted that ban any radiating device from interfering with humans and their right to live in peace and pursue happiness as declared by God and our nation’s Declaration of Independence.

But there been little success,: mainly because God’s name has not been invoked.


Activism to Get Targeting Stopped is Vain without God

Activism is taking place without God, and nothing is being done either in prayer or worship (other than a couple of calls which are focused mainly on personal issues).

People: unless God’s name is invoked, there will be no freedom from Satan.

That’s just the way it is, and there are examples such as David defeating Goliath, Daniel defeating Nebuchadnezzar, Moses victory over Pharoah and the golden calf worhippers, etc . . . ; in all cases, there was also a support group .

So we need a faith group. If you haven’t got no faith, then get it!

In whatever religion you worship. But get your personal issues taken care so you can help out with the external ones.

This group has computer experts, weaponry experts, environmentalists, domestic relations experts, maintenance experts, legal experts, physiological experts, war veterans, teachers, nurses, crafters, homemakers, transporters, laborers, and speakers, but unless God’s name is invoked and humility is employed in working as a team, there will be no success.

With a holy God as leader, victory is imminent, with everyone participating in humble obedience to complete the work – and we know that what God has started will be completed.

So consider the agenda – do your part and commune with each other for God’s law and power to overcome the perpetrators, identify the adverse energy sources, get justice, peace, good health, and compensation for the unjust attacks.

God heard the petition of the people who were enslaved thousands of years ago and he will hear our petition and act for worship free of distraction.

We need a faith group to end the targeting.

I have broken the ice to keep victims out of psychiatric units, jail, depression, and the bondage of the devil, but am older now and pray someone has the faith and vision to get a faith group formed for defense (and offense) against this targeting.

You are not being targeted because of some investigation, stealing an orange, reporting some crime, etc . . . — you are being targeted because of your generational background, faith, and love for life in the purest form.

And the devil is looking for sacrifices other than accepting the one of Jesus.

That said, this is a killing program.

If that doesn’t convince you to get busy, possibly some of the victims who have died will, so check out Pam’s plea below.


Victim Takes Life/U. S. Presidential Commission Refused to Help

Pam Anderson took her life on September 8, 2011, putting an end to remote electronic targeting of her body she was claiming to be receiving at the will of the U.S. Government and covert contractors.

Many victim friends say Pam was manipulated by the targeting to commit suicide. She went with a friend to a firing range and pulled the trigger of a handgun at herself while her friend was in the restroom.

Pam had pleaded with the thirteen member panel of the U. S. Presidential Commission on Bio-ethics for help by her letter of 3/27/11, shortly before a public hearing:

This letter is a statement making you aware of the fact that I, Pamela June Anderson, a citizen of the United States of America, have been a victim of nonconsensual and illegal experimentation and extensive psychological operations. Extending from Mkultra subprojects. I was chosen at birth and placed in one of these programs which I believe started as subproject 119 and Cointelpro projects dating back to the 1950’s. I am requesting an immediate Congressional Investigation”.


No, our help will not come from the government: our help cometh from God, and may our group come together in prayer and get this killing program stopped, send the perpetrators back to hell from where they came, and get compensation.


Meanwhile, I will at least try and consolidate important ti news for activism.




Persecuted but not Forsaken: Chapter 7

Chapter 7 — Mom’s Targeting, 1974

My Army term of enlistment expired December 29, 1973, so I went to live with mom at her apartment in Ocean View until I could find a place to live.

I didn’t have any idea what to do for a living; it took me some time to adjust to civilian life.

The first couple of weeks found me going out with a friend to old drinking spots and playing pool. And then we’d ride around to visit friends in the old neighborhood. I’d stay over my buddy’s parent’s house on weekends.

That friend today is targeted heavily, with all kinds of electrical problems in his house, health problems, and he hasn’t worked since he was younger. I always wondered why he walked with his head and shoulders at an angle, and now I know: he was implanted, which causes the muscles to tighten up on one side of the body. And he always had the bed-wetting problems like most victims.

The dumbest thing I did about this time was refusing to see Kitty, who I had dated for years. I now know that was manipulated and the perpetrators would have their plan to set me up with a girl that I had little in common with, and one whose last name would synonymous with righteousness, such as one might describe me.

The perpetrators assign names to individuals and then get them to perform a work that epitomizes the name.

To give a broad example, like the name of a tennis player whose name would be Loberly (lob the ball).

I see this all the time, and the public doesn’t understand the program and what is happening.

Anyway, after a few weeks staying with mom and getting some unemployment pay, I started sharing an apartment with a guy from the old neighborhood. One night we double-dated some girls, and that’s how I met Doris.

My roommate moved out shortly thereafter, and Doris, wanting to escape her mother’s dominance, moved in. After all, I needed help with the rent.

Doris Johnson was a couple years younger than I, but at that time was a sweet, bubbly, innocent girl that wanted big things in her life. She admitted to not being the smartest woman alive, for she barely passed high school.

I learned right off how little she knew about homemaking when she came into the living room one morning and asked me what I wanted for breakfast.

Eggs and pancakes will be fine,” I responded.

She walked back into the kitchen and I didn’t hear anything for about ten minutes, wondering what she was doing.

Meekly she came back into the living room, “I don’t know how to cook eggs.”

So much for having a girlfriend that knew how to cook. So I taught her lots about cooking and gave her a good cookbook for Christmas.

I really don’t think it was her that voluntarily changed for the worse, but these perpetrators changed her behavior somewhere along the way — emphatically nine years later when she went to New Jersey and represented the state in a beauty pageant sponsored by a Big and Beautiful Women organization. She came home a very different person, full of swelling pride and arrogance, especially since she finished eighth or so.

Anyway, Doris had got a job at a local grocery store paying union wages, so that was really good. We were in love, enjoyed our dates at the disco parlors at Virginia Beach, movies, and eating at the cafeterias.

I went to work for a Telephone Inter-connect company located in Chesapeake. The company installed PBX systems all over the Southeast United States and I would go as far west as Missouri where three of us technicians installed telephone systems in various motels.

Days Inn was a big client. But I tired of traveling, and after all, I had just got out of the Army. The pay wasn’t that great either at $3.00 per hour, but I did enjoy using the meal ticket.

I saved up some money and bought me a 1957 Chevrolet, which used a lot of gas. Not a big deal back then, except the Arab oil embargo took place about this time.

Now that Doris and I became situated, the devil would cause trouble.

Mother came over to the apartment one morning paranoid as ever and wanted me to spend time with her.

Bang, bang, bang, went the door early one morning.

I think someone is bothering me at the apartment.”

Who?” I responded.

Nervous, pale, and shaking her head from side to side, “I don’t know what is going on,” she murmured

Well, I’ll come over check things out.”

She suspected someone was stalking her, had done something to the gas stove (which they had with the pilot valve open and the smell of gas being emitted), and she couldn’t sleep. Nothing would calm her down.

Questioning her more revealed she had been dating the 75 year old doctor who was from Maryland.

I have no doubt he was contracted to implant her with a remote sensing device. She was never the same from that time period on, constantly humming some high pitched tune, nervous, paranoid, fidgety, and suspicious of everything.

So just why would someone bother dear old mom? She wouldn’t hurt no one or gossip about anything. At the time, she was working at Old Dominion University as a switchboard operator.

Anyway, I tried to get her to work off her anxiety by washing the car and doing some work around the house, and seeing that nothing was working, I called our family physician, Dr. Schneckner, to get his advice.

Put her in the psychiatric unit at DePaul Hospital,” he said.

So mom and I talked it over, and she agreed to go to the Human Resources Institute — just what the perpetrators wanted.

Schneckner, my childhood ear, nose, and throat doctor, may have been a player in this MK-Ultra program. From what I understand, many German doctors were used.

Mom did not like the Care Unit, would not take her medicine, and wanted out.

She did however stay about a month.

In the meantime, my brother came from Tennessee to visit her, and he made matters worse. Always a moocher, he used mom’s car and wrecked it.

I promptly told him to go back home.

After mom got out of the Care Unit, she still had the same problems: for the implants take years to finally dissipate, and some never do.

But little was known about the life of implants in 1974 among the general public.

I had dad come over to the apartment one day to see if he could calm her, but mom still acted fitfully.

In August of 1974, I called her brother Tom in Alabama to come and get here and take her back to the Reservation.

Tom, a cabbie, made some money off the deal by selling her car and some household goods, and then he took her to their sister’s house in Alabama, where she stayed for awhile until she got a trailer on her land in Cherokee.

Mom lived in that trailer for a few years but eventually got assistance from the Indians to build a house. (This is the same place I would later find refuge after someone tried to kill me with direct energy in a Virginia Beach apartment and a Norfolk Post Office mail room during a two week period in 1990 while appealing a divorce decree.)

After the episodes with mom, I was contemplating my life’s future one morning sitting at the bottom of the stairwell on a concrete step at the parking area of the apartment complex where Doris and I lived.

The sun was shining between the tall apartment buildings at the entrance when out of nowhere a gust of wind in the corner of the building moved old trash and newspapers to fly up into the air.

Dust and debris were twirling in a circle until finally settling near me, with one yellow weathered page escaping to rest at my feet.

Tentatively I looked down at the weathered paper, it being a newspaper and all, and the editorial page stared at me in the face — with a letter I had written a month earlier about the Arab oil embargo I imagine.

My perpetrators would not have wanted me to receive confidence from getting published in the paper; therefore, I would not have received this paper.

But God had other plans with that whirlwind and I kept this incident in the back of my mind for years. I always felt my spiritual gift was to write, but I’ve been shut down time and time again by unseen evil forces.

That’s why I had to self-publish my first devotional books, and I could not find any help proof-reading or editing. The perpetrators went so far as to change words in the next book, Devotions A-Z, before it got printed. I corrected one word three times but it still got in the book as “do” rather than “to.” And wouldn’t you know they’d manipulate page sixty-six to make it look like I said “we are god” and not “to be with God.”

Anyway, I was certainly honored to have a devotion printed by the Upper Room for Christmas Eve of 1999.

I quit the telephone interconnect company and started working for the Holiday Inn downtown so I could be closer to home and Doris, who was definitely careless with money, time, and commitment. I learned later she was seeing an old boyfriend.

Poor girl just couldn’t control her life.

I found myself having to protect her more than equally sharing our lives. After all, she made a big mistake one night hitch-hiking from the beach with her girlfriend and finding herself in a man’s strange apartment with a knife at her throat being forced to do unnatural things. She was mindless at times. Maybe that’s because she admitted to breathing in exhaust smoke from the school bus because it smelled good.

At one point, she got very sick from not taking care of herself and ended up in the hospital being diagnosed with hepatitis. Girl looked awful, with yellow colored eyes and pale skin. She wouldn’t eat right and now she was paying the price. Her cigarette smoking and continual drinking of diet drinks didn’t help much.

Being a doorman was a menial job but I had a lot of fun. Many a celebrity would stay at the Inn, because it was next door to Chrysler Hall and the Scope Arena in downtown Norfolk. I would get to chauffeur the likes of Paul Lynde, Tony Randall, Pearl Bailey, and others. I made money by tips and wages, put food on the table, and settled into a homely life with Doris, who was learning to cook, sew, and all the other things a woman is supposed to know. We were a happy young couple with a just a few responsibilities.

I do believe I was manipulated to run Mayor Jordan’s handicapped drivable car through the glass doors one night at the Inn. I couldn’t get the gas petal to release itself.

Anyway, when the rental lease expired at the apartment, I tried to separate from Doris and get my own apartment. I wanted to get closer to Old Dominion University where I would attend classes with my G.I. Bill and learn something that would get me a good job. But as I was leaving the apartment and looked back upon the top steps, Doris was sitting there crying heavily. She did not want to go back to her mother.

I told her to come on and we moved into a cute little duplex, but it was near the Naval Air Base where a lot of sailors could be unruly at times. One day a local sailor would find his way to the back door of the apartment and try to enter. Doris, having been abused once in her life, chased him off with a knife.

We were going to have to move.


State of the Union not so Wonderful

While last night’s presidential state of the union report was good from an economic standpoint, there is still the problem of people being targeted by electronic remote energies destroying their health, not to mention their behavior is being manipulated.
There wouldn’t be a M-13 gang or whatever they call it if this targeting energy wasn’t present.
So I hope the cell phone towers come down, the ;microchipping of humans is banned, and the CIA releases its records about the programs that have destroyed many people’s lives.
So the state of the union is not as rosy as it was projected last night on t.v.: it was another distraction from the present problem of electronic pollution that is harming people.

See my book about me being persecuted at Amazon books: Persecuted but not Forsaken by Marshall Lee.

Persecuted But Not Forsaken Book: Chapter 6, The Three Six Program

Chapter 6: Persecuted but not Forsaken (My Life as a MK-ultra Victim)

Mom had sold the house and rented one at a 1536 address. She must have at least thought of me because it was a two bedroom.

God cares about us, even though we can’t always see it, and it has taken me some time to realize this even in the most desolate circumstance.

But the three-six numbers such as the last two digits of this house address would plague my life for the next twenty years.

Phone, personal identification, license plate, access code, golf cart, plane, and hotel room numbers would be designated with a three and six or a combination thereof.

Now, I know this is the devil’s way of tagging people with computer program numbers to stalk, harass, and even kill people, all under guise of some kind of mark of the beast as described in the scriptures. .

Here is wisdom, Let him that hath understanding, count the number of the beast; for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred, three score, and sixty-six.

Revelation 13: 18

The MK-ultra program started off with 36,000 victims.

Other victims have also complained about common numbers throughout their lives. .

One female victim in Missouri had been plagued by fours and twos (which un-coincidentally add up to 6). Her phone numbers, residence addresses, and other personal media would consist of fours and twos, even her Social Security Number. Other female victims also complain of the four-two targeting.

This all reminds me of when I got to South Carolina, and I looked at my electric bill only to see the account number ending in three-sixes.

My Social Security numbering adding up to or subtracting to the “six” digit all throughout; the phone number of the house where I would eventually start my own family would be 461-6466, and the address was 6146.

The numerological pattern did not stop: Personal Identification Numbers would be assigned such as 6264.

In the Army, I would be assigned with a “36K20” Military Occupational Specialty number – all products of a system designed to manipulate and control my life by technology.

I thought I’d get ahead of the evil number assigner the last time I went to the Division of Motor Vehicles to get a new license plate for my car by telling the clerk I wanted no sixes in my license number. She said she understood.

The three sixes are tagged to victims to make them identifiable. And my perpetrators usually have 3-6’s on their car license plates. Some of them appear to be unwitting victims, and others have been blackmailed or paid.

The terrorist attack on the New York Trade Towers on 9/11/01 is a component of the three six targeting. The nine upside down is in these sick perpetrators book is a six, but it would be a six if satellite imaging depicts it upside down.

Just look at the numbers in the tragedies that have occurred in the last century – and you will see a pattern of three sixes, whether it be the date, address, plane flight number, number of people victimized, caliber rifle, etc . . . .

Anyway, back to the Florida return trip.

I had not told mom I was in Florida, so I guess she didn’t feel obligated to tell me she had moved.

I walked in the door of the house that morning October of 1970 to greet her, and without looking, she mentioned that breakfast was ready and to have some if I wanted.

Nothing else was said and she went off to work. That’s mom, but the targeting does that.

There was nothing here for me in Norfolk.

But one good thing happened as a result of her moving: now I could go back to Lake Taylor High School. I tried it for awhile, and even went to vocational school for electrical class.

But I was confused and could not concentrate on my studies.

So I decided to join the Merchant Marines. I went downtown to the Custom House and told the man I wanted to join, but they rejected me because of my age.

Then I tried to join the Air Force. I told the man to give me any test and I would pass it, but he also declined saying I was not old enough at 17 to join.

I think both events were manipulated to try and get me to join the Army or Marines and die in Vietnam.

So I walked next door and joined the Army with my mother’s signature on the enlistment form.

I had to do something; I was really unhappy with the high school travel situation, and although I tried working for an electrical contractor after dropping out of school, I just did not have the self-discipline to learn a trade at this point in my life.

Mom questioned my judgment about going in the Army while everyone else was trying to get out of the Armed Services and Vietnam, but I figured the war to be over soon and everything would be okay.

Just after Christmas, 1970, I got on a bus to travel to Richmond, Virginia for orientation and a physical examination.

We recruits were given some fine rooms at the Thomas Jefferson Hotel. And so we decided to party a little. We managed to find a couple older guys to get us some beer. After that we went exploring the hotel, which was magnificently furnished with plush red carpet, stone sculptures, and pictures of colonial America. Chatting with other guys who were facing the same rough odds I was in life was great. I knew I had made the right choice to get away from home!

After a couple days, I and my new friend George, a black fellow from around the Norview area in Norfolk, were off to Fort Campbell, Kentucky for basic training.

Thank God for George, because he got me back to the barracks one evening after a few drinks too many, and he gave me some great advice later in boot camp.

Sitting in a class one afternoon, the instructor informed me I had one of the top three scores after general testing. That 118 point score qualified me to attend Officer Candidate School (118 I know now was just another product of the three sixes).

I was kind of confused on what to do. I’m not a person who likes to sit in the front seat, not that I can’t handle it. But I’d as well be a humble little servant in a mighty castle.

I felt indecisive and looked over at George in the next seat.

Well, what do you think George? I can be an officer.”

Don’t do it, he said.“Those Second Lieutenants are the first ones on the front line in Vietnam.”

Oh. I figured there was a catch.”

The instructor wanted an answer in thirty minutes, and I gave him one in thirty seconds.

Not interested, sir. But thank you very much.”

I know now the offer of OCS was another attempt to get me killed.

It was about six weeks before the drill instructors would let us go off base, and I took advantage of that weekend.

A few of us went into Clarksville Tennessee, had a few drinks and found our way to a movie. It was bitter cold that Saturday evening in February of 1971 as snow was falling and covering the streets of Clarksville. In the motel room, I felt lonelier than ever.

The next morning, I awoke to a foot of snow on the ground.

Across the street was a Baptist Church, so I decided to go. I felt I needed to go to church and was able to talk someone in going with me. The service would give me some confidence about life that I really needed.

Basic training never bothered me. I was always able to run well, endure cold temperatures, and get up early.

Many recruits weren’t so lucky. They’d complain of frostbite on the rifle range, shortness of breath on long hikes, and lack of sleep.

Man. This was much better than living on the streets or a house with no one to help me. I had slept on a park bench on lots of occasions, and sometimes I’d find an old vacant automobile to camp out in for a night.

The only thing bothering me was our instructors deciding our platoon was too fat; so they decided to cut down on breakfast and issue each of us one egg, a piece of bread, and a pancake.

I wasn’t fat. I was only 159 pounds at 6 foot and I needed food. So I would prod the cooks in the mess hall to give me more.

The guy who bunked under me had a heck of a time. He was overweight and sweat would just drip off him even at night. He could barely breath at times it seemed to me. He also had near flat feet and had a difficult time marching. They did finally give him some kind of profile that limited his participation. I would help him out and clean his rifle to keep him from getting in trouble.

But Basic training got my attitude right.

I was marching along one day with my helmet cocked back like I always had it because it took a lot of pressure off my neck, and as any good hard working Asian person will tell you, balancing items is the way to carry them.

The drill instructor didn’t find this philosophy too entertaining, and one day came up behind me and slammed his hand down on my helmet jarring my head.

I told you to get that helmet on right!”

Maybe he had warned me. I couldn’t remember.

Give me twenty trips around the platoon.”

Now that will tire a man out while the platoon is marching.

But I later learned incidents like these are instigated to see if a trainee can take the discipline.

I remember going out to the rifle range for a week or so in the most miserable weather of cold rain mixed with snow.

The visibility was awful with a fog that covered the area as the instructor would have us adjust our rifles for Kentucky wind and Tennessee elevation.

The 300-yard silhouette of a person was barely visible as I remember it to this day – the patches of fog drifting slowly by the target with rain pelting the brim of my hat.

The ground was wet, and after about two hours, all my layers of clothing were soaked, and then water would be drip off my cap into the rifle sight area. I thought if the enemy is out in this kind of weather at such a great distance, it is going to be very difficult to make a direct kill.

I was at an obvious handicap with the M-16 ejecting cartridges off my right cheek scorching my skin. The instructor advised I shoot from the right shoulder. I looked at him like he should go somewhere else and gave him the Indian silent treatment. Lefthanders are marksmen.

Somehow I scored an 86 on the rifle range that miserable day, which were only a few points less than some of the better shooters.

I finished Basic Training in early March and bussed to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, schooling to fulfill field wireman requirements and climb some splintered wood poles

On a humid morning at the pole training grounds, I was descending a thirty-foot pole when my gaff slipped and I came straight down with a robust four-inch splinter in my thigh. It didn’t look near as bad as the fellow next to me who had a big hole in the toe of his boot.

I was taken to the hospital where the doctor pulled the splinter without anesthetic. I had heard the orderly say the supply was depleted.

The nurse had to hold me down, and finally I asked for a rag or something to put in my mouth as I was in much pain. They gave me one.

The next morning at the barracks, I woke up with a swollen red leg from top to bottom. There was still some splinter in there, so back I went to the hospital, where fortunately, there was a doctor there who had a straighter knife and some anesthesia.

I have a jagged scar in that area today, but at least I was given compensation several years after I was discharged from the Army. And of course, my perpetrators would take advantage and put an implant right in that area.

The injury was a blessing in disguise because it kept me back from graduating with my class and going to Vietnam.

I was sent to Ft. Riley, Kansas, where I would stay for the next twenty months with a class of draftees, and I made the best of it while I was there, befriending a guy named Craig, who was from the northwest.

We had a some good times playing racquetball, going to concerts all over the mid-west, and lulling many evenings in the bars around Manhattan, Kansas. We hitchhiked nearly everywhere until I brought my car back from Norfolk one weekend.

The covert drug program I had avoided it so long in my life started to surround me: drugs were everywhere in the Army in 1970 with soldiers bringing back hashish from Germany, heroin from Vietnam, and marijuana from Mexico. But I maintained my integrity and used very little.

My buddy’s military term of service expired before mine, and when he left, I became rather depressed. We had done so much together. And now the Army ordered me to Korea,

I did not want to go and did everything I could to try and get reassigned to Stateside duty my last year. I visited Ft. Story near home trying to get a transfer but no one would be in the office when I got there.

Nothing worked, and in December of 1972 I found myself on an airplane after visiting a friend in Los Altos leaving Travis Air Force Base in Oakland California stopping over in Japan for fuel and going to Korea.

When I arrived and bunked up for the night at Camp Casey, I got terribly sick. I don’t know if it was from some partying I did with friends in Los Altos, California or from something I ate or drink after entering Korea. I vomited much and thought it was the end for me, one of the sickest moments of my life.

Somehow I got on the back of a five-ton truck in the early morning hours that was transporting a bunch of us to Camp Pelham near the Demilitarized Zone on a freezing night just before Christmas — and I had ice on my pile cap. It was very cold.

The next day I hired a houseboy to take care of making my bed, cleaning my clothes, and shining my shoes.

Settling into the bunk next to the potbelly diesel filled stove probably wasn’t the best idea because it blew up on a chilly night and everyone had to go outside. Such is life in Korea.

Mornings were spent in the communication’s shop trying to keep warm but occasionally we would venture out during the day and check out the wiring on the telephone poles. Eventually I would be assigned to change it out with a group of mixed Republic of Korean and American soldiers.

It was a futile effort and I decided to look for another job. And I’m not sure how I talked myself into getting the courier’s job but it was the best thing that ever happened.

I now had my own jeep and would travel the country picking up and delivering classified information over the northern part of South Korea.

I suppose my perpetrators had me where they wanted me: having access to classified information. But I never had any intention of looking at what I was carrying. For one thing, items were sealed, and they didn’t interest me. I was just glad to have a decent job away from the ROK soldiers who had excess kimchi on their breath and didn’t want to take orders.

Off I would take every morning, stopping at several camps on the way to headquarters at Camp Casey. Then I would grab the latest edition of the Stars and Stripes newspaper, a cup of coffee, some doughnuts, and I’d lull around a couple hours at Camp Casey and head on back.

Just before arriving back at the compound, I’d drive the jeep through ankle deep river to wash off the mud. The Army never complained about how it was done, but the Koreans downstream weren’t too thrilled because I was disturbing the water they were washing clothes in.

I didn’t think they were sensitive about things in life considering they were hanging dogs and setting fire to them to get them prepared for dinner. But their cheesy looks usually told the story.

I would at this time thank a North Carolina native named Wallace who was a mechanic at the motor pool for gassing up my jeep: it was the fastest in the fleet.

Korea wasn’t all bad. I met the most wonderful woman of my life there and I would stay with her every chance possible. We travelled to many places; exploring the country and looking for ginseng; going to Seoul for dining and lodging, and to Musan where there was a theatre.

It was hard to go wrong at that time when the train ride was eighty cents and the movie was twenty cents. And I wish I could have brought her back but I didn’t have enough money for her plane fare.

After seven months in Korea, the Army offered me a promotion to Sergeant if I would re-enlist for six years. I turned it down. I wanted to go home.

. My perpetrators didn’t like this and I was given extra duty picking up rocks out of ditches in the evening hours. Their excuse was that I talked back to an alcoholic Sergeant.

Why was it such a big deal that I did not re-enlist? But this is what is targeted individuals go through when these administrators of hate have access to manipulating events with their high-tech remote sensing applications.

In a normal world, no one would care, but in a targeted world, situations are manipulated around the victim for defamation, oppression, and servitude.

I would be confined to the Compound for two weeks, and I sure missed my girlfriend during those two weeks. I would look through the barbed wire fence across the creek to the village where her hooch was each night.

Staying at camp was miserable, so a friend Darren and I would go over to the club and began drinking those mixed alcoholic drinks at 25 cents a pour until 2:00 in the morning and stagger back to the hooch — only to hear the camp cannon fire three times twenty minutes later — which means to get dressed for battle and attend a formation.

Man, I was sick, and I spent a considerable time throwing up my drinks on the side of the road as I was driving the First Lieutenant. That was a long day.

And then race relations deteriorated at the camp, and one night there was a big riot where lots of soldiers were getting hurt.

My flying time couldn’t be soon enough, because the officers thought the troops needed a twenty-five mile march to quiet them down, and there we went with full battle gear up into the hills for an overnight march.

Some guys couldn’t make it, and I begged for the medic to take my buddy back to camp in a vehicle after he told me his brother died from such a march.

And they did take Darren back to camp. As a result, I was detailed to guard duty on the perimeter at 3: 00 a.m. I suppose for speaking up. A very lonely fox hole on a moonless night at the North Korea border.

I was determined to get out of Korea any way possible. A clerk at Camp Casey answered my prayers and asked me where I wanted to go.

Home! Anywhere near home in Virginia.”

How about Fort Belvoir,” he asked.

That sounds good,” I responded.

But what’s there?”

A bricklaying class.”


On my next trip to Camp Casey, he had the orders signed for an early two month exit from Korea. I was ecstatic.

Finally it came time for me to exit the country in October of 1973 and I had to travel from Camp Pelham to Camp Casey to catch the plane. It was about thirty miles south.

I thought I might stay with my girlfriend the night prior and leave from there early in the morning; however about 4:00 a.m., I heard the Camp cannon again fire three times—which meant to fall into group formation with full battle gear.

Now just how coincidental is that? It’s not. It was just another attempt to try and delay me from leaving the country – for whatever reason. (Back home my mother’s targeting would begin in earnest.)

There was no way I was going back to the Camp Pelham compound. I had my duffle bag packed with me. I hung out a few more hours with my girl, made more love, and said goodbye — got a cab, and took the back roads to Camp Casey — where I was immediately apprehended and taken to jail.

No problem. I knew all the officers at Camp Pelham from transporting them around all year and their secret documents. So, they wouldn’t come get me, and in a couple days I was on the plane heading to my next stop, Fort Belvoir. Bye. I heard later that my girlfriend went to the airport to check on me and waving as the plane flew off, and it just broke my heart, as I read her letter.

Project Transition was a program designed to give veterans job training to prepare them for civilian work upon leaving the Armed Forces. I was taking advantage of it.

I would hitch-hike home on weekends to see Mom and Kitty.

The perpetrators had been busy back in my hometown!

Mom had moved to that apartment near the beach.

She loved the beach, and it would only be a two block walk to go swimming and sun bathing.

If only she wouldn’t have started dating a doctor twenty years her senior from the eastern shore of Maryland!

Who is he and what does he want?


American should end Dual Citizenships and Abandon Int’l Space Treaties

Last night one of the victims brought out that our targeting  is occurring because of international agreements — which may be true.

Just look at the Space Treatie where foreign satellites are allowed over American airspace — under the guise of conducting research in space, which the “American” committee on Foreign Relations signed off on years ago  (and look at the names of the past members on the panel!).

Then there’s the problem of allowing foreign American citizenship under dual citizenship laws, which by the way, got Israel in a lot of trouble in the past with God almighty because believers shouldn’t mix (marry) with people of foreign nations, theologically.

Well, it’s no different with American stamped Christian ideology where the believers aren’t to be mixed with unbelievers lest they get carried with sin.

Many other countries do not allow dual citizenship.

That said, the oppressed state of America will continue until the high images of cell phone tower and microwave antennae and only God knows what else is above the earth come down.

God has never taken 2nd place to images of metal, wood, or anything below or above the earth.

Persecuted But Not Forsaken: Chapter 3


(You can buy my book Persecuted But Not Forsaken at Amazon, but if you hang around here long enough, you may be able to read the whole thing as I post chapters occasionally.)

Chapter 3: Targeting

I don’t remember dad being at the house much after we moved in. I can remember us watching some television together — shows like Bonanza on Sunday night, and of course the Green Bay Packers and their playoff games. And oh yes, Dad and I would watch the Saturday afternoon baseball game the only and first year he was there.

And I remember watching and learning how to play cribbage, which he and mom played at the dining room table.

Other than that, my memories aren’t much, other than a couple of times he picked me up and took me to his apartment after him and mom separated.

Dad began to be gone more than he was at home, because his business for one thing.

The programming puts many talented people into vocations such as pest control, plumbing sewage, janitorial, housecleaning, and nanny jobs – anything to keep the victim out of jobs that influence public opinion.

Then dad was poisoned when a waitress gave him household ammonia in place of ammonia spirits for a headache. His esophagus was burned up and he would be fed through a tube for months.

I do remember visiting him in the hospital and seeing all the tubes hooked up to him.

In order to follow dad’s programming, a similar thing would happen to me twenty-six years later – poisoned at 33 years old.

That’s what the programming does: tries to get the kids to follow the actions of the parents and blame maladies on genetics, regardless of personal character.

Years later, the perpetrators would do a similar thing to my daughter, sending her to a school 1500 miles away from home right near the military base where I was stationed twenty some years earlier. That was absurd, when there were plenty of great schools right in Virginia, but she didn’t know any better.

For another example of programming, Dad had earlier cooked for a living, and cooking would be the one merit badge I would later earn in the Boy Scouts. I really didn’t have that much interest in cooking, but there I was cooking eggs and bacon for the group of scouts while on a camping trip.

But anyway, my mother became paranoid about this time when Dad was gone a lot; she did not trust the food, her sister, and especially dad. She started withdrawing from society.

Where before we went over to my aunt’s house every Sunday night to play poker, talk, and have fun — all of that stopped because mom and my aunt stopped socializing.

It’s difficult to understand mom filing for divorce because she was a regular church attendee and took me every Sunday.

For what it’s worth, her divorce lawyer’s last name at the bottom of her decree was Abrahav. Years later, I tried to research this lawyer’s name but found nothing on Norfolk’s city register.

But I suppose it was Abraham, and like many lawyers who are ashamed of their filings or don’t want to be known, their name suddenly becomes illegible or they send one of their interns over to the court to do the dirty work.

Now dad was popular with women, for he serviced restaurants and met quite a few women.

Maybe that’s the reason mom filed for divorce, but she wanted financial security, and dad’s business was going to take time to grow.

About this time is when her mother’s estate was being divided in Cherokee and the Baker roll revision made her an Indian. So she started working her way back home.

My brother, who was living with us at the time along with his beauty queen of a wife, began to feel stressed from his draftsman’s job at a time when stress was not a household problem.

His wife got pregnant, and then they moved out of our house into an apartment near my aunt.

I babysat my nephew for some time, and un-coincidentally enough later found he was dancing in one of those skimpily dressed shows in New York.

But MK-Ultra is partly designed to make sex slaves out of its victims. Many a victim has complained of sexual attacks from electronic targeting. Manipulating the electro-magnetic fields around a victim to push the blood to sensitive areas will cause sexual stimulation.

The victims chosen are good looking, which reminds me of such biblical characters such as Daniel and his friends who were fair to look upon and enslaved to serve the king. They had no blemish upon them and were intelligent.

My brother quit his job because of stress, and got some kind of compensation as a result. He was definitely targeted.

I heard some kind of story the FBI was chasing my brother because he was involved in a shootout. He eventually landed in Memphis, Tennessee, where he re-married a nice Christian woman and had a second child. He was awarded disability and would not work another day in his life as far I know, choosing to play golf.

The last time I saw him was in a Cherokee Courtroom when he threatened me shortly after I filed a caveat to a copy of a testamentary will my mother had not signed: the original copy had been destroyed.

It’s my opinion mom’s remote targeting started when she was on the Reservation, but she started showing the signs of being targeted just about the time of the divorce here in Norfolk in 1965 — just shortly after we all had to moved to the house in Fox Hall, which would be an event the perpetrators like to blame their activities on.

Many victims at first think a particular incident has caused their targeting, but as time passes, they find that the targeting had been from birth.

Because of mom’s paranoia, and wisdom I might add, for dinner each night, I would have to ride my bicycle up to a grocery store one mile away to get food.

I didn’t mind, because I kept the leftover change and bought comics.

I enjoyed the trips to the store, traversing the sloped ditch behind trucking company, and continuing across neighborhoods to the grocery store.

Mom would hardly ever cook anything out of the refrigerator. That was a no-no in our targeted world: there was never no more than three items in the refrigerator.

Mom stopped socializing with her sister, stopped working at her new job at the water department downtown, and went to work as a secretary with Colonial Stores credit union, which was actually closer to home.

Shortly after the divorce, mom met an old friend by the name of H. Wenton.

Howard wasn’t too charming, and he had a drinking problem, but he did work and bring home money which is something we lacked for some time.

I never had more than three pairs of pants and a couple shirts, but this is also representative of the targeting, and if I do acquire something nice, the perpetrators will put holes in it or make a tear. This wasn’t too common in the first years of targeting but it escalated in the last twenty years.

This clothes tampering happens to nearly all victims.

I wish the perpetrators would not have torn the quilts I made later on in life.

Bank Assassin Mind Controlled

It’s little surprise the man who killed two women in a Conway SC bank admitted to being influenced by a movie titled Get Rich or Die Trying (or something like that), as he confessed.

And the three sixes were evident at the crime, as the bank was on Route 501 at an address of 1615, if I’m not mistaken. And the ages were 36 and 59.

This is what I’ve been preaching to stop for years! And the authorities will not open the MK-ultra hearings!

The mass media will blame this incident on a habitual criminal out of control, but victims of targeting technology blame incidents like these on a system of persecution, being controlled by anti-american and anti-Christian forces with technology.

Take the cell phone towers down and get rid of mind control technology!

Put up the Ten Commandments on bank walls! Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not covet . . . .

And this will go a long way towards stopping murder and thievery.

How much more innocent blood need be spilled before leaders understand what is killing people and causing them to take drugs and do crazy things!

And get rid of pornography and billboards with sadistic inferences.

There is no compromising God’s law.

God is the Creator of man and has established laws for our good and safety by commitment and obedience.

God’s curse is not going to leave America until these issues are dealt in humble obedience.




Christian Retail Store Giant Lifeway Refuses Self-published Works

That’s the answer I got from one of their representatives, and I would suggest any self-published Christian author not waste their time to send them anything because you will be rejected.

It doesn’t matter how good your book is, or how well it sells locally; Lifeway is not in the business of promoting God’s word through an individual taking advantage of inexpensive print on demand and self-publishing services.

It’s a good thing Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John and the other scribes did not have rely on a bookstore chain to get the word of God out, so there’s a good reason to keep on writing and outsell Lifeway in the local marketplaces.

Now comes the worst part about my e-mail communication with Lifeway. (And oh yes, I had submitted them a hard copy of the book months earlier.)

I believe automatic responses are being given by Lifeway representatives, at least in my case.

First, after I got a particular e-mail address from a local Lifeway store manager, the reply as to why they would not accept my book came back quickly.

I countered their argument, and that reply came back quick also.

I don’t believe anyone could have typed that fast. So I was dealing with some kind of automated response even though a man’s name was listed in the e-mail.

Finally, “it” failed to respond to my third e-mail, when I asked the addressee if it was real or not, and to add up a couple numbers.

Beware Christian authors.



Should Obama go to Prison?

The atrocities of the last administration of promoting sexual gender change, spying on Americans, falsely promising affordable health care, going so far as to have sexual practices taught in the schools (under planned parenthood) rather than kids getting an education that will help them find jobs, negligence in Benghazi of supporting U.S. Government employees, along with the killing of innocent people in foreign countries by drones — made me think about other rulers and subordinates who performed such practices in the past — and were confronted by God.

Manasseh is one. He practiced witchcraft, strange divinations, put a false idol in the temple, sacrificed children, and murdered innocent people (1 Chronicles 33).

It did not go unnoticed by our Lord, who sent commanders from the Assyrians to bind Manasseh and his people, put a hook in his nose, shackle him and put him in prison

That’s what God does when evil begins to proliferate: he cleans it up.

Manasseh’s son took over the kingdom and didn’t make any good changes; therefore he was slain by the people, and Josiah was made king.

And Josiah did that which was right by the Lord: he tore down the high places of worship, removed false idols, and repaired the temple.

But he sure had a mess to clean up.

It’s sad so many people suffer for the sins of a few people. Manasseh had even caused the people to err.

Consider the innocent people who have been wounded and killed by drone strikes and conspired surveillance not only overseas but in this country.

Many survivors have resorted to the courts for justice only to be shunned and never given an explanation.

But God knows . . . . and no one will escape accountability for injuring innocent people (Deuteronomy 19: 10).

Blood guiltiness. Whosoever bothers the innocent will not go unpunished.

I had drones constantly fly over my home for months in 2012, from October to December, only to have them quit after some intruder came into my home while I was taking a nap and obviously try to kill me for which I am still suffering today. Who’s responsible?

I have yet to see anyone go to jail or die for the  attempted murder and forced drugging.

But I really don’t have to know.

Us victims know God will have vengeance, because God is faithful by His word (Deut. 19: 10).






The Christian Media: Everything but the Truth

They print stories of faith, church growth, politics, famous people, and revivals, but what they don’t print are the major issues facing American Christians today.

They won’t publish anything about people being micro-chipped covertly to carry out evil missions – as if this is some kind martian technology that only science fiction writers dream up.

You won’t hear anything about the biggest threat to mankind: radiological weaponry which is affecting nearly everyone on the planet.

As if walking out a church and repeating a song from the service is just as normal as watching a flying bird, when the adverse energies are affecting the human nervous system.

No, let’s keep quiet about this: we may lose part of the readership or congregation. We can still live in our cozy homes and be safe, and we can sit in the church pews and be safe.

And the 3-6 mark of the beast is just some scene in Revelation that doesn’t concern us, until you look at the numbers.

And no, we can’t figure out how Jericho was conquered.

And then one popular program, from Texas I believe, on The Truth Network radio hosted a preacher of a large church that said a lady’s fetish of wanting to be a baby happened because she’s rejecting the gospel!

Nothing could be farther from the truth. These incidents of irrational behavior are just that — programs modifying human behavior via adverse energy.

So why aren’t preachers preaching the truth?

Because the truth will subject their programs to persecution? So they marginalize the message of truth seeking mainly to provide sabbatical prose, religious rhetoric, and prayer concerns.

Fortunately God is still in control and accessible for the ordinary person. The scriptures provide truth.

But isn’t is a shame that truth is not being preached in many of the churches today, nor is it addressed in faith magazines, or hardly on the radio.

I would give credit to Decision Magazine this month of April, as there are articles of Christians standing up for their faith in court cases against abominable requests.

God word doesn’t encourage nor bless homosexuality.