I was inspired by this video to write a story. This is what would be called my “daily life.” The Illuminati programs their slaves to simulate a fake “daily life” to conceal a hidden “nightlife.” Our daily lives are similar to what most people would call their life in total. Unfortunately for us, we have a completely hidden “nightlife.” Our night lives are hidden through the use of drugs: Barbiturates, LSD, Alcohol, and Seconal; amnesia is induced through Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT – Ewen Cameron – Allan Memorial Institute) torture, hypnosis, and the usage of alters that perform the cult activities.
Our entire life, every major and minor event, from birth to old age is planned (refer to post- Divided Mind). Our jobs, our friends, the schools we attend, are all controlled and largely a joke. Our places of employment have demonic handlers, pagan rituals, co-workers who are really twin sisters. Our night lives are clothed in occultism. We become aware of this Truth through the work of deprogramming.
I have been part of a human trafficking operation since a child. I’m considered intellectual property for the cult I was born into. All of my friends are trafficked also. One of my primary uses was as a well-trained male prostitute. I’ve mixed with many crowds, from crack heads to movie stars. It doesn’t matter if you’re down-and-out or if you have millions of people adoring you; if you’re being trafficked it’s still slavery. This is a very complex, well-engineered, clandestine operation. The Illuminati use Babylonian mind control, ancient secrets, sadistic Programmers, and precise bloodlines targeted for the trafficking. Human trafficking is managed under the duress of torture: the genuine threat of losing loved ones and the constant reminder of what could happen if one is to “speak out.” There are choices that stimulate an awakening to the Truth of being a victim of human trafficking. Often these choices were moral in nature. If I picked the more negative choices I would be working within the Illuminati, rather than exposing it.
Introduction to how I became aware I was an MK Ultra slave – being used by the Illuminati.
In 2014, I was living in Auckland, New Zealand. I relocated there after a rough breakup with a former girlfriend. I was trafficked to a suburb called Mt Albert. My house looked like it was made of styrofoam. I suspect the owner isn’t human. Maybe he’s a prototype for the borg, their first attempt at infiltrating mankind. We did 2CB together once, I loved it, he thought demons were scattering across his bed like birdseed. Another victim was being trafficked at this house: Adam. We were programmed together in a facility in Calgary, Canada. Auckland was supposed to be a fresh start; I intended to mend my broken heart. There was an interesting design school in Auckland: part of the spider’s web called human trafficking. My programming worked so I enrolled. Auckland, a vortex pretending to be a city. An experiment where bloodlines maim each other for sport. The religion of Auckland is money. Their god gives them pleasure in return for obedience. He’s a fisherman that uses promissory notes as bait. The city is filled with anemic piranhas. Thankfully, I was put with a charismatic hybrid of Terence McKenna, Tony Robbins, and Mr. Clean. He helped me with my spiritual awakening. We would stumble around Auckland city Saturday night with saucer eyes, chemicals in our blood. Two wolves foaming at the mouth trying to be human again. We were ingesting the same drugs used for our programming.
(Interesting side story)
Shortly after my arrival in Auckland, I was already being harassed by AI operated gang-stalking. There was a bar off the CBD’s main street. It had the charming title “QF Tavern.” I went there by myself on a whim. The bar was half empty: Carlsberg, Dunhill Reds, Blundstones. Samoans hypnotized by vibrant, hypnogogic “pokie-machines.” Souls absorbed by a neon wasteland. They spoke like Extras from Coronation Street: lonely Irish man cheats on wife, a Bison imitating a woman is unhappy that lonely Irish man isn’t attracted to her. There was nothing entertaining about this conversation. Their dispute would make Anthony Bourdain spin in his grave. The liquor in me befriended another patron. He had a stint in prison for assaulting his ex-girlfriend, a real saint. We strolled over to another bar. A group of French youth littered the street like expired croissants. They made an attempt at using the only language they hate “HEY YOU, FUCK YOU, YOU PUSSY, WE FIGHT YOU!” “Not my scene” and we left. The convict suggested a local park: a place where CCTV cameras were as foreign as Saudi Bullion. This led to one of the many encounters with THE HIVE (soulless humans). THE HIVES’ consciousness is governed by the animal kingdom. They’re hindbrains with a 9 to 5. He pulled his penis out and threatened to rape me. I refused. Strangely, he didn’t put up a fight. The rape was a bluff.
To get back to the story.
My time was spent at Yoobee School of Design (cult-front) during the weekdays. The weekend was for psychedelics. The headteacher of our design department, Nik Weston, and comical loon, Jon Kay, are both cult programmers. Two of the female students are part of the same cult. The first, European New Zealander, a very charming, sociable type and another much younger Colombian girl, the kind who harbors her ancestor’s pain like a talisman, unusually beautiful. The girls were both being trafficked by the cult. Our alters knew each other from the night, they spoke in code, our daily personas heard white noise. It was enjoyable seducing the Colombian girl, we have BETA alters who treat seduction like a competition. Illuminati slaves are trained to seduce men and women from a very young age. We learned to bend over, so old European royalty can turn back the clock a decade. Most of the time was spent trying to undress her with words, she looked like a tanned porcelain doll. She knew what I was doing, and was comfortable with my approach. My intention was to convince her that removing her clothes in public was a great idea, I lost the battle.
Onto the more interesting parts of my awakening
The weekend was for psychedelics. We were experimenting with mixing LSD, 2C-B, and alcohol. Risks are enjoyable for me, like a new dawn or a stranger’s gaze. A familiar process drinking, blackout, and regret. The dissociative function of switching alters cycles back to when I started drinking as a form of self-medication. Adam decided it would be a good idea to role-play Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and videotape it. He would be Hunter S Thompson; I would be his Samoan attorney. We would take psychedelics and “pick up girls.” We decided to go ahead with it, another person filmed the video. We mixed the LSD, 2C-B, and Alcohol together like Alchemists. We filmed it in the afternoon, a terrible idea. Wild-eyed, vasoconstriction, fake mustaches, testosterone, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirts. My jaw crunching imaginary arteries. A mother with a pram nervously avoided me. I would have cared if my brain could strain the dopamine from my nervous system: empty it into a bath that cleansed pity. I was an upright psychedelic vampire.
At one point, the trip started going bad, didn’t like being in public. We went back to the videographer’s apartment. I dissociated in the elevator, the tiles of the lobby were black and white, it was a masonic phantasmagoria. An alter resembling Rambo and micro-chemically induced madness took the body. I “threatened them,” wasn’t this the standard LSD trip? The problem was, my “friends” were genuinely afraid of me. This was when my Delta alter surfaced from the jungle called my mind. This alters name is “Prince” his program is based on 80’s action films. Prince lives his life as a prosecutor, he balances an internal scale of respect. Prince shapes the external world like a master builder, he divides the world into the quotient of respect and death. He feels violence is necessary when the numbers don’t add up. It took 30 minutes to calm me down, the entire time they were afraid for their safety. They were both far soberer than I, they sincerely believed I was going to attack them. It was true, Prince was going to attack them, however, I wouldn’t harm a fly. This was the first sign of being dissociative. Drugs are used for programming, the drugs broke the amnesia barrier between my conscious and subconscious mind.