traumatized, the fact that she was alive was all I was capable of grasping. When she saw the 'Face Changing' exhibit, she excitedly exclaimed, 'Uncle George just read me a book about this!' Before I could hear anymore, I was led away, leaving Kelly with our handler, Houston.
I was then quickly taken to Bush's Residence Office, which here-to-fore was unfamiliar to me. Although it had slate blue, plush carpets and fine furnishings like the White House office, lattice work and smaller rooms provided a different air. I sat in a hard-back wooden chair as ordered, while Bush carefully positioned himself in front of me on a little wooden footstool. This allowed me clear visibility of the large book that he held in his lap. All illustrations faced me, while all text except the last page was printed in the holder's direction. This book was a unique, high tech piece of art specifically designed to enforce Bush's favorite method of programming, 'You Are What You Read'. The juvenile face depicted on the front of this hardcover book gave it the appearance of a children's storybook. It was entitled About Faces.
Bush explained the dynamics of 'changing faces' and 'becoming what I read'. Although I had been conditioned to this idea all of my life through Disney stories, The Wizard Of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, etc., I was not prepared for Bush's version of 'You Are What You Read' programming explanations. The illustrations themselves were elaborate, consisting of mirrors and hypnotic depictions. He seemingly made the book come alive in my mind as he read page after poetic page of hypnotic, metaphorical language, all the while creating powerful illusions. His impersonations of the characters further enhanced the desired affect of fantasy becoming reality. This extraordinary effort to scramble reality would have worked-perfectly-had it not been for another victim and myself discussing it only a few days later. The purpose of Bush's book was dearly explained within the first few pages, which included the following passage:
I am the Vice President when circumstance demands, And I am your Commander, you'll follow my commands. The first command's important — It is one you will heed, When I send you a book, you are what you read.
Throughout my tenure as a Presidential Model mind-controlled slave, I was provided specific books according to Bush's program. These books, delivered through pre-established channels such as Ken Riley, Alex Houston, and even Ronald Reagan, came complete with specific commands on how they were to be interpreted and used. Some books were used to instruct me on operations; some were an attempt to scramble my memory with fantasy; others were used to load my mind with pertinent data such as bank account passbook numbers, and so on.
I was provided a paperback book entitled Afghanistan, from which I absorbed history, current political events, and the strength of the Afghany Freedom Fighters. I have since learned that the book I read was never publicly released in the text it was provided me. According to instruction, the book was delivered back to Bush as quickly as I finished memorizing it, I wonder in retrospect if any part of it contained fact beyond how I was supposed to perceive it.
I read stories of espionage, including Robert Ludlum's Bourne Identity, and William Diehl's Chameleon. Mostly I was provided steamy sex novels for further training as well as scrambles. Kelly was conditioned to fairy tales, Steven Speilberg's ET, NASA NSA operative George Lucas' Star Wars, and the nightmarish Never Ending Story. Steinbeck's classic Of Mice and Men caused Kelly constantly to quote the dependant character of Lenny for years saying, 'Tell me what to do, George'. She still does this each and every time I am allowed to visit with her in the mental institution. The attending therapist overseeing the visit has yet to pick up on this programming cue, and I am forbidden by Juvenile Court order not to discuss Kelly's past or therapy.
Bush's most effective example of 'You Are What You Read' in his book About Faces occurred during his reading of the page depicting lizard-like «aliens» from a 'far-off, deep space place', Claiming to me to be an alien himself, Bush apparently activated a hologram of the lizard-like «alien» which provided the illusion of Bush transforming like a chameleon before my eyes. In retrospect, I understand that Bush had been painstakingly careful in positioning our seats in order that the hologram's effectiveness be maximized.
U.S. Army Lt. Col. Aquino's occultism provided trauma sufficient to maintain my Project Monarch Mind- Controlled existence despite his inability to affect my core spirituality. Therefore, I was not routinely subjected to the other favorite 'trauma of choice'-alien themes-lite many slaves (including Kelly) I knew had been. The effect of Bush's illusion hologram on such victims is binding and strong. Even Aquino envied the mind shattering effects of Bush's alien theme visual traumas to the extent that he wrote and published his own comic book sequel to Lucas' Star Wars. While occultism is easily dispelled with reason and fact, Bush's alien theme continues to be reinforced through NASA's involvement in mind-control atrocities. Additionally, California's 24-year incumbent Senator Alan Cranston of the Select Committee on Intelligence has perpetuated this trauma base for decades, as have others. Despite my having escaped routine «alien» theme traumas, Bush's 'You Are What You Read' hologram proved devastatingly sufficient for him to gain total control of my robotic mind from that moment on untii my rescue in 1988.
By the time Bush reached the last page of his About Faces book, I was so traumatized I instantly 'became what I read' when I read the last verse aloud as ordered:
I am a True Patriot living an American Dream,
I will become my role when you pull my string.
I will become my part, so I can 'be all I can be'
'Cause just like the Vice President, I am what I read.
CHAPTER 18
IN THE MEANTIME
My life seemed to lead me at an accelerated pace after being subjected to Reagan and Bush. My handler, Alex Houston egotistically claimed it was his and Elemer's (his alter-ego dummy) popularity that kept us traveling so extensively within the country music circuit. When we weren't traveling the Caribbean and Mexico via NCL ships, or driving his cocaine loaded motor home to strategically booked shows across the U.S., we were routinely moving in and out of Washington, D.C. All along the way, my daughter and I were either prostituted, used in commercial pornography, or filmed in Michael Dante's «Chief» bestiality pornography as ordered by Uncle Ronnie Reagan.
Occasionally our travels would take us to Michigan, where Houston made certain we stayed with my family. Trips to my father's house were devastating but informative. My mother had developed deep, psychological scars above and beyond her own MPD condition and became an insomniac. My father by this time was routinely traveling to London, Germany, and Mexico, and taking the family to Florida's Disney World and Washington, D.C. My older brother, Hill, still worked for and with my father, traveled with him annually to «hunt» In Cheney's Greybull, Wyoming lodge, and maintained his wife and three children under trauma-base mind control according to my father's instructions. My brother, Mike, ran a video store to front some of my father's and Uncle Bob Tanis' lucrative porn video business. My sister, Kelli Jo, became a belly dancing contortionist excelling in «gymnastics» since she became 'as flexible as Gumby' according to her prostitution programming. She worked her way through school in children's day-care centers, admittedly spotting, for my father, abused children for potential 'chosen ones' candidates. In 1990 she graduated to open a licensed day-care, 'Little Learners' in Grand Haven, Michigan for my father. My brother, Tom (Beaver), is a Compu-Kids (CIA Project) programmed computer genius. My brother Tim broke his leg (in the same place my mother had broken his leg years before) due to following my father's sports programming above and beyond human capability. And my youngest sister, Kimmy, became hysterically obsessed with 'Mr. Rogers,' expressed immense fear of her huge «electric» doll house that lit up at night to look like the White House, and was under a doctor's care for anorexia by age seven, I look forward to the day I can help them all, and justice is served on my father.
Since I was using parts of my brain I would not have used under normal circumstances, I developed the ability to read backwards as naturally as I could red forwards. Houston tapped into this typically occult-based phenomenon as a means of «scrambling» road signs to promote amnesia of where we were traveling. He further compounded his effort by conditioning me to read phonetically and literally, and alternated his «scrambling» methods. «Zoo» became «ooz» and «ooz» translated to «oz». Arkansas read 'Our Kansas', and Missouri became (and was!) «Misery». East became West, and highway 66 became 99. When I traveled, I «literally» did not consciously know if I were coming or going. If an outsider happened to ask me about where I'd traveled, I
