prostitution to participants, including the real «Governor» of Charm School, then Pennsylvania Governor Dick Thomburgh, Congressman Jim Traficant[26], Lt. Col. Michael Aquino, and others. When Kelly was with me, she endured the same and we were forced to see each other physically tortured as further psychological trauma. This was to ensure I could never remember the who, what, when, or where of our bizarre enslavement. This is what is sometimes referred to as cross-programming.
In spite of the deliberately created amnesic blocks, I developed a subconscious sympathetic understanding for other Charm School slaves that extended outside the walls of this man-made hell. This understanding emanated from the depths of my being, creating a compassion for other mind-control victims mat compels me to give voice to their silent pleas for help to this day.
I became close friends with one such victim, who must remain anonymous in order to survive to eventually recover. This beautiful blonde and I had numerous opportunities to be together throughout the years, as Houston's government sponsored travels routinely took him into her home state of Pennsylvania while Dick Thomburgh was Governor.
My friend and I were photographed together for Larry Flynt's commercial pornography publications, and featured in the illicit films that contributed to funding CIA covert operations. In addition to this, she and I were able to spend two weeks together when her husband/handler traveled to Houston's farm in Tennessee for instructions on handling his new 'bride'.
I was 'made of honor' for my friend's 'wedding,' which was no more a marriage than mine to Houston. As was customary with Project Monarch slaves, her marriage to her handler equated to marriage to her mind-controi owner, U.S. Senator Arlen Spector.
The «wedding» I was forced to participate in was for pornography purposes only, and it took place in Arlen Spector's Conneaut Lake house in Pennsylvania.
Spector's stone house was located in a wooded, remote setting and was masculine in decor. Side rooms were either designated for perverse sex or were furnished with antiquated NASA virtual reality and programming equipment. The musty smell of Spector's playhouse was overpowered by the scent of roses, which he symbolically presented to his slave on their «wedding» day.
My friend's «wedding» photos included Catholic themes, and the crucifix featured was rose cut crystal similar to the one I received from Byrd,
Regardless of how this girl was depicted, her innate morality was apparent to me. She and I were referred to as 'minor/mere cats,' due to the similarity of our victimizations. Like me, she was controlled through manipulation of her religious beliefs and maternal instincts. The delicate rose tattooed on her left wrist signifying her role in government operations did not detract from her high class projection any more than Spector's immorality could mar her innate goodness. Once Arlen Spector officially became this slave's owner, her Charm School status rose to 'Presidential Model'.
In addition to Charm School, I endured extensive programming to prepare me for future operations. Houston was often booked into Oklahoma fairs, Masonic Lodges, F.O.P. Conventions, and so on, in order that I be back in the vicinity of Tinker Air Force Base for further programming. My Tinker-Belle conditioning further enhanced my photographic memory through direct control for receiving and delivering government messages which amounted to a computerized compartmentalization of my brain, so to speak. I was also trained in covert criminal operations, such as international drug mule transactions for funding the Pentagon's and CIA's Black Ops Budgets,
Houston's CIA orchestrated travels in the country music industry led me to a TOP SECRET military/NASA installation at Offit Air Force Base in Nebraska. The 'you can run, but you can't hide'[27] conditioning was deeply ingrained in my mind there through a technique that was later used on Kelly, as well as on other mind-control slaves, I was taken underground to a so-called 'secret' circular room where the walls were covered with numerous screens showing satellite pictures from around the world. These satellites are referred to as the 'Eye in the Sky'. An Air Force official explained to me that my every move 'could be monitored via satellite'. On a separate four-screen viewer, he demonstrated what in retrospect was a contrived pre-recorded slide show, with the scenes changing as rapidly as he spoke and typed it into the computer.
'Where will you run?' he asked me. 'To the Arctic? The Antarctic? Brazil? The mountains? The desert? The prairies? The hills of Afghanistan? The city of Kabul? Devil's Tower (Wyoming)? Would you try to run to Cuba and live among our enemies? We can find you there. There is truly no place to run and no place to hide. The U.S. Senate (the picture was of Byrd)? The White House? Or to your own backyard? (My father was depicted waving from his front door, cupping his hands over his mouth saying, 'come back' just like Aunt Em in The Wizard Of Oz.) 'The moon? We got you covered. You can run, but you can't hide.' This had been sufficient to convince me in my suggestible stale that my every move could be monitored.
During the course of my training/conditioning, I was routinely prostituted to Senator Byrd in Washington, D.C., at the West Virginia State Fair, NASA in Huntsville, Alabama, and at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. One such night when I was to be prostituted to Byrd at Opryland Hotel, Lt. Colonel Aquino was scheduled to join him in perversely assaulting me. Much to my horror, Aquino arrived early, in full army dress uniform, backstage at the Grand Ol' Opry. When I saw Aquino talking with the Vatican based Project Monarch slave runner, Kris Kristopherson[28], whom I had known since 1979, my personality programmed for Opry events 'short circuited'. Under circumstances such as this, a multiple without programming would have switched personalities autogenically, whereas I could only switch upon command, I backed away, dazed, right into a soft drink machine. Kristopherson saw me as I backed further between the wall and the machine.
'What are you doing in there, little lady?' Kristopherson asked. The Colonel wants to see you,'
Aquino had walked over and sarcastically asked, 'What are you doing in those machine wires? That could very well be a shocking experience for you.' All experiences with Aquino or Kristopherson resulted in high voltage electric shock torture, and apparently neither had any regard for human life[29] . Aquino used the opportunity to reinforce his belief that I 'had no where to run, no where to hide' from his 'power'- his stun gun.
While I untangled myself from the wires, Kristopherson and Aquino continued their banter at my expense, Kristopherson held up his key ring and jingled it, catching my undivided attention as conditioned, while he told Aquino, 'You're gonna need the Keys to the Kingdom to work with this one right here.'
'Keys to the Kingdom,' of course, referred to my previously instilled (Enter/Inter)'Inner-dimensional' Catholic programmed personalities. Since Aquino was my primary mind-control programmer at the time, Kristopherson was informing Aquino of programs previously instilled in childhood via the 'Rite to Remain Silent'. By jingling the keys, he was demonstrating his control over me and his momentary edge on Aquino.
'I got 'em,' Kristopherson was saying as he jingled the keys. 'She's mine unless you wanna play ball. Besides, you have to. The Byrd sent me.'
'I've been expecting you,' Aquino said with a smile. Events later that night proved that Aquino had been supplied the keys to my previously established Jesuit based programming, which he and Byrd used and altered to suit their own perversions.
Byrd monitored all of my programming 'progress,' and often tortured me with his whip and pocketknife. He picked up where my mother left off, to destroy any self-esteem I might have inadvertently developed. He said, 'There is no place for you to turn because if you could think to talk no one would ever believe I would have anything to do with the likes of you.' He often threatened me that I was considered «disposable» because, after all, 'The first Presidential Model, Marilyn Monroe, was killed right in front of the public eye and no one knew what happened.'
Byrd's threats and cruelty were unnecessary as I could no longer think to seek help anyway, but he loved to hear himself talk and would often drone on and on and on in his infamous long-winded recitations, while I was photographically recording every word he said. He detailed the inner operational structure of the world domination effort, including psychological warfare strategies, and explained how he had and would utilize his «expert» knowledge of the Constitution to manipulate it and the so-called U.S. Justice System, and more. His loose lips provided me yet another means of surviving and staying a step ahead of 'the game' once Kelly and I were rescued from our mind-con trolled existence.
Senator Byrd revealed his «justifications» for criminal activity to me as well. He used me as a sounding board even though he knew I was incapable of input or response. He rehearsed in keeping with his motto 'The
