Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head II By Jack Heart & Orage
First published Sunday, April 16, 2017, in the Human
Without the benefit of the modern internet, or at least a Wikipedia styled encyclopedia with hyperlinks, Preston Nichols could not have written The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time. It’s doubtful that any of the best science fiction writers today could, let alone a neophyte author in the beginning of the nineties. He made a few unintentional mistakes, insignificant ones like calling wavelets wavicles but any real errors are deliberate. There are rules.
Nichols begins with an old standby of conspiracy hucksters; placing the genesis of Stealth Technology in the so called “Philadelphia experiment” which supposedly took place in 1943. According to lore, promulgated by Hollywood and the rest of the CIA’s disinformation outlets, during an experiment based on the work of Albert Einstein a ship was made to disappear from the Philadelphia Naval yard and appear at the Norfolk Naval base hundreds of miles away, then disappear there and reappear back at the Philadelphia Naval yard. There is not one shred of legitimate evidence for that story, not even the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence…
But from there Nichols suddenly turns real and adroitly adjusts his course right through the heart of the labyrinth. Canceling Einstein’s Philadelphia experiment Nichols puts von Neumann at the helm of Project Rainbow exactly where he would have to have been. In Norse mythology the Bifröst is a Burning Rainbow Bridge that reaches between the realms of the gods called Asgard and earth called Midgard. After suspending Project Rainbow to work on the Manhattan Project, von Neumann resumed the experiments after the war, under direction of the Brookhaven Lab, as the Phoenix Project. The Phoenix is a great raptor that rises from the ashes of its own destruction. It is the coat of arms for the German Empire and seven hundred years before that the Holy Roman Emperor; Frederick II…
What von Neumann was working on was nothing less than Godhood itself. The fulfilment of prophecy made by the Goddess to a German order of the Knights Templar at the gates of her most ancient city of Nineveh during the reign of Frederick II, over seven hundred years ago. Later during Frederick’s reign, she appeared repeatedly at the foot of the Untersberg Mountain. In the shadow of that mountain the Goddess made her Vow. A mountain many including Hitler, who had his vacation residence the Berghof built overlooking it, believe is the doorway to other worlds. A mountain that during his pilgrimage there in 1992 the exiled Dali Lama called “a sleeping Dragon” and “the heart chakra of the world…”
There at the foot of the sleeping dragon she promised the Lords of the Black Stone or Die Herren vom Schwarzen Stein, or very simply the SS… that the Black Sun would one day rise to pierce the darkness of the tyrants prison freeing Man to become the immortal “wanderer over the ridges of the worlds” (5) that he is “destined to become” (6) in the Age of Aquarius…
We can create our own artificial reality. In Nichols own words: “The Rainbow technology turns on and creates what can be called an "alternate" or "artificial reality."” ( 7) The experimental subject is enveloped in an electromagnetic bottle removing it from the space-time continuum and rending it invisible. It was this “"electromagnetic bottle" technology which eventually resulted in today's stealth fighter craft.” (8)
When Gabor’s math is applied to the Schumann resonance, using high-frequency technology honed to perfection in von Ardennes’s Batcave, not only images can be projected but entire alternate realities. The historical elite of the German, Anglo-American and Russian empires who hide behind pop culture politics, all had this technology by the end of WW II. They were sharing it. That is why von Neumann, the best of the best, came to America first, then Heinz Schlicke after a world war in the forties which Aleister Crowley had planned in 1904. That is why Oskar Heil and Agnesa Arsenjewa were bouncing between England and Russia before the start of that war and that is why Manfred von Ardenne and Gustav Hertz went to Russia after that war.
The problem faced by von Neumann after WW II, which the elite look at as the fulfilment of the Egyptian prophecy of a second battle between Horus and Seth, was people placed within the electromagnetic bottle, or artificial reality if you will, were afflicted with what Nichols calls “transdimensional disorder.” (9) This state of permanent madness is due to the extreme disorientation of consciousness which results from its inability to anchor to a timeline in an artificial reality that doesn’t have one. According to Nichols because the human “soul” is born with one it must have a “"time reference" point.” (10) Referring to the Schumann resonance Nichols tells his readers that this time reference point “actually resides within the electromagnetic background of our planet.” (11)
After ten years of extensive experimentation and research von Neumann solved the problem by using computers to “generate an electromagnetic background (or phony stage)” (12) and “feeding into the "bottle" all the natural backgrounds of the Earth -- at least enough to convince them of a continuous stream time reference.” (13) Even according to academia’s incompletely sourced narrative, above all his other superhuman achievements; John von Neumann was to computers what Jimmy Hendrix was to the electric guitar…
Before Hollywood invented The Matrix, there was the Montauk Projects...
Among Nichols’ circle of friends his story was taken so seriously that John Ford, the president of the Long Island U.F.O. Network and three of his friends were given lengthy prison sentences after being implicated in a 1996 plot to poison then Suffolk County Republican Chairman John Powell, Suffolk Legislator Fred Towle and Brookhaven Conservative Party chief Anthony Gazzola by exposing them to radium.
The Matrix released in 1999 was only just the beginning. A still thriving cottage industry has crawled forth from the Montauk Project to flood the alternative media with bad science fiction. “Super soldiers,” apparently genetically engineered to look just like accountants to blend in, are giving interviews to anyone gullible enough to listen. Crackpot purveyors of dangerous disinformation like David Icke, who claims he is the son of God, make millions a year embellishing on what Preston Nichols brought to the table with the Montauk Projects. Oddly enough Nichols never really capitalized himself. He didn’t advertise and he wasn’t looking to sell books. Soon after publishing, he made his way like a guided missile right for his target…
I had been away for a couple of years. When I got back in 1992 I had twin two-year-old girls and a trophy wife who was a part-time mother and a full-time gangster. Money, which had always come in piles I didn’t bother counting before I spent, was now hard to come by. I found myself working two jobs just to make ends meet. One of them was at a car wash by the intersection of Hempstead Turnpike and Route 109, probably the most heavily trafficked intersection on Long Island. The car wash was part of a parcel of buildings that included Total Health; a one-stop nutrition and occult store that was the hub of Long Islands thriving New Age movement. From there the most avant-garde Aquarian lectures were coordinated all over the island and New York City. Marty Myers, my mothers on again off again boyfriend till he died a few years ago, owned the whole block. He was the Jewish brains behind the “mafia” gas tax scam Michael Franzese is always on TV bragging about.
Marty and my mother were very close friends with Dr. J J Hurtak the man who was covertly calling the shots, in behalf of NASA and the NSA, on the Giza plateau for the last twenty-five years of the twentieth century. I think it was through him I met Richard Hoagland; NASA’s pyramids on Mars guy. When I wasn’t wrestling dirt bags for a full share of the tips in the car wash I was in the store rubbing elbows with just about everybody who was anybody in the New Age movement. I think it was Deepak Chopra that I once told he reminded me of the swami from a Frank Zappa song…
With what I’d seen and done I was hardly impressed, especially with Hurtak, his pigeon Hebrew and “coming beings of pure light.” Which he assured them all would be arriving momentarily to take over the planet and guide the human race to a new and greater destiny. They were all attending study classes on his book; The Keys of Enoch. I remember when my mother gave me a copy. I smiled and thanked her; feigned fascination, took it home and threw it in the garbage. It was a very expensive book but it reminded me too much of my copy of Aleister Crowley’s Holy Books which had nearly killed me a few years back. The covers were almost identical.
Besides it was payback for an English translation of the Gospel of Aradia that I had managed to obtain while I was away and sent home. Somehow my mother had got her hands on the extremely rare at the time Witches bible while it was at my house and thrown it away; claiming it was evil.
Into this circus of the strange, seemingly… bumbled Preston Nichols. When I saw him in the store I immediately recognized him, having seen him once a few years ago in the strip clubs where I had run security. He was morbidly obese and dressed like he was trying to define the word nerd. Yet the night he walked into Bogart’s bar is etched in my brain. He was arguing with a skinny guy about the same age as himself over rock bands. He stopped in front of me and pronounced U2 to the skinny guy like something had been decided. He was like that, what he said in spite of a comical almost disgusting appearance and an unassuming voice, stuck in people’s heads like a traumatic life-defining event. He had them snake charmed in Total Health before he walked out the door on the first day. A week later I was given his book by my mother or Marty and told I just had to read it.
First thing I noticed was Nichols story revolved around Camp Hero where my father had been stationed during the Korean War. My father was 101est Airborne; Screaming Eagles, a golden gloves semi-finalist, captain of crazy Joe Gallo’s Brooklyn kiddy gang the Gremlins and about as gung ho as John Wayne. All his friends from boot camp and he had a lot of them, had seen active combat. I had always wondered why if the army wouldn’t parachute him in he hadn’t swum to Korea on his own. When I asked him he was always a little vague but it turned out he was one of the best shots in the army, even then if he couldn’t center a bullseye at 300 yards “the scope needed adjusting.” He would adjust all his friends’ scopes for them when he was a hunting guide. So what he told me, that he had been kept in Montauk to shoot for the 101est in military competitions seemed plausible.
Fleeing the Brooklyn heroin epidemic during the Vietnam War he had moved out to Long Island when I was eleven years old. I didn’t like killing animals much but fish didn’t bother me in the least so he quickly acquired a captain’s license to run up to ninety ton charter boats. I spent a lot of time as a teenager out in Montauk working on those boats. The sound of the wind whistling through outriggers and water lapping boats at dockside late at night is even now vivid in my mind. There had been a very strange incident involving the abandoned base on the fourth of July when I was turning eighteen but other than that I had never noticed anything unusual about Montauk except its physical beauty. Life itself gets no better than trolling for stripers at night in the Tournament of the Full Moon, the inky darkness pierced by the lighthouse above and water roiling with phosphorescence below.
The giant radar dish was to the west of the lighthouse and my father had always been adamant that there could be no such things as flying saucers because they never picked a single UFO up on it during all the flying saucer hullabaloo of the early fifties. But my father had also always insisted that people made stuff up about dreams. He said he had never had a dream in his life…
In one of those funny little coincidences that aren’t coincidences, I had met my wife’s grandfather about the same time I met Preston Nichols. Her father, his son, had never been right in the head and was practically a ward of the VA. He had seen something that had to do with UFO’s when he was stationed in the Iceland in the early sixties. By the time he blew his brains out in the late nineties, he swore he could see the mothership waiting for him in the night sky over Patchogue. Her whole family on her father’s side was military.
Her grandfather was the patriarch and specialized in setting up radio towers, had one in his back yard for his ham radio. I had only gotten to meet him because stomach cancer had gotten the better of him in Southeast Asia. He thought his son was a blithering idiot, but he couldn’t wait to see his great granddaughters so when he got stateside he immediately commissioned me to relandscape his North Babylon home while he and his wife watched the kids for me. I winced watching three year old’s frolic on his stomach and moved to restrain the girls but he just wouldn’t have it. The man never even showed signs of pain as he sat there dying yet grinning approval at his fourth-generation progeny using his disease-racked body for a trampoline.
Nichols had been talking a lot about microwaves and oscillating frequency’s and my wife had let slip that her grandfather did a lot of top secret work with radio signals for the military but he didn’t talk to anyone about it. At the time I knew nothing about quantum physics and even less about radio waves and frequencies so the only part of Nichols story that made any sense to me was the part about Einstein and the Philadelphia experiment...
We were spending a lot of time over there so I brought Nichols book over his house and asked him naively whether any of the stuff in it was possible. He told me to leave the book with him so he could read it. When I saw him a day or two later the book was by his side and I asked him could any of it be true. He said nothing, he didn’t have too the way he looked at me and handed me the book back like he had just touched something that he shouldn’t have…
He never said another word about that book. When he finally died his funeral procession closed 231, the main road north and south on Long Island for about half a million people, and jammed it with hundreds of fire trucks and police cars. I have never seen anything like it; it was as if the president had died...
My life experiences till then had already left what the uninitiated call reality broken and shattered in pieces behind me, so the synchronicity of its current events hadn’t escaped me. I was always looking for explanations for what I’d lived through and already had run the gamut from aliens to Magick but had always kept Marty, my mother and Hurtak’s Team Tinkerbelle at arm’s length. I began paying much closer attention to Preston Nichols. When he came out with his second and third books which put Aleister Crowley at the center of it all, I knew I was being set up. Crowley was at the bottom of my rabbit hole too.
Besides when I first met Nichols my ex and I lived in a place called La Bonne Vie in East Patchogue. It was an upscale apartment complex filled with mostly young married people and singles. Some of the wives there had told her they had a neat way of making fifty dollars cash for an hour’s time spent listening to music in what is now the Hampton Inn in Brookhaven, about five minutes away. All they had to do is sit in the auditorium and listen to different music as it was played over headphones and press a response button whether they liked it or not. Since she used to go up there with about a half dozen other woman from around our courtyard I never questioned it. She was always back in an hour with the fifty dollars. One night she was overdue and since I didn’t have the kids I took a ride up there. When I got there the auditorium was just clearing out and she was getting up to leave with her friends. Preston Nichols was sitting at the podium in the front; obviously the man from the Brookhaven Lab giving the tests. I said nothing but when I saw him a few days later he claimed he didn’t remember and that kind of stuff was always happening with him; it was what originally inspired him to write the Montauk Projects. I never trusted him after that. The same thing was always happening to me too…
As far as I knew I had been in prison for two years, but there was something about my memories of it that just weren’t right. When I got home the first thing I did was have sex with my trophy wife. When we finally got done we were both lying in the bed naked and drenched in sweat. She suddenly got up and started rummaging through the closet for something. She came back to the bed holding a lightweight camouflage jacket and threw it at me. I asked her “what’s this?” She told me a customer, she was a barmaid, who had been in the gulf war had given it to her because he had been so disgusted with the army. Curious, I examined it and could see it was full of discolored spots on the fabric where the patches and insignias had all been carefully removed as if by razor so as not to rip the jacket. I thought that was a lot of trouble to go through for a guy who was disgusted with something. So I asked her about it. She just shrugged and said “I don’t know, maybe he didn’t want anybody to know who he was, I haven’t seen him in a while and I never got his name.” She could do that, tell you the most outlandish lie imaginable and then never budge from that lie despite all evidence to the contrary. I didn’t bother asking her anything else, I knew that would be futile but I did keep the jacket, mostly because she hated it and hated it even more when I wore it…
Around the beginning of 1995 we moved into a condo in West Patchogue. If things had been a little strange at La Bonne Vie and they were, this place made it look like Mayberry. Unmarked black helicopters periodically hovered at no more than a couple of hundred feet over the buildings, sometimes for fifteen minutes at a time. The noise was deafening but nobody ever seemed to notice or care. Guys from the Long Island Lighting Company or LILCO; Long Islands notoriously shady power suppliers, prowled the grounds non-stop with handheld devices that looked to be detection meters for underground power leaks. A feeling of general uneasiness permeated the place like something wasn’t right in the atmosphere; a feeling in the air itself that usually occurs as the aftermath of a very powerful electric storm.
The courtyard was dominated by five couples, my wife and I being one of them, all in their early thirties and late twenties and an attractive woman, the same age that lived alone. Her I never talked even though my kids ran in and out of her condo at will, which was encouraged by her. I was told she had a very important job with the government involving security by the other couples but with me she always kept her distance. We were the only ones with kids and everybody partied very hard. Nobody even bothered locking their doors and we all walked in and out of each other’s condos, most of the time without even knocking. It was like a commune only everybody had money and nobody ever seemed to work much for it, if at all, including me. Of course, my wife was making a lot of money selling big eights (eighth of a pound) of cocaine right over the bar in the strip clubs where she was the most highly sought barmaid on the circuit. So even though I never approved or participated, outside of testing the product for quality, I didn’t really have to work anymore, let alone two jobs. The sad part was she had been dealing all along, she just didn’t tell me when I first got out because she “thought I would get mad…”
There were all night keg parties in the courtyard and on sultry summer day’s family outings to Cory beach. Preston once told me how he liked to go to Cory beach at night and test out his homemade electromagnetic pulse weapons by shooting down UFO’s…. He told me they were commonly seen at night over it but I never saw one in the daytime, the only time I ever went down there. There is a scorching summer day we spent there that is still vivid in my mind, one of those days where the heat actually turned the air hazy and the beach, even though it’s only on the bay, was packed with young married couples accompanied by their rug rats and dragging along anything that would float. As we passed by the concession there was a very strange looking older man by the tables who was talking real loud to no one in particular. You could hear him all the way down by the beach as he gave an historical recount of all Americas presidential administrations since Kennedy, finally concluding that HW Bush was the only one that was any good and how HW was the greatest American who ever lived. At the time I agreed with him. I think everybody on that beach did. Couples were making love right in the water with their kids building sand castles on the beach. It was like something right out of Woodstock. M. and I waded out to chest deep water and went at it next to a very attractive blond and her husband doing the same thing a few feet away. I think we all climaxed at the same time but nobody ever spoke a word to anybody but their own spouse. The act itself was almost mechanical but intensely pleasurable...
We had two neighbors named Joe. One was married to a girl who was partially paralyzed from cerebral palsy. He was a military man who had been shot in the head during a training exercise, leaving him with a golf ball sized crater in his skull and a full disability pension. One night we were all sitting around drinking beer, neither military Joe or his wife did cocaine. We were watching TV as the biggest forest fire Long Island had ever seen engulfed the Pine Barrens around the Brookhaven Lab, threatening to take out the lab itself. Miles upon miles of scrub pine were burning out of control and every fireman available on Long Island & in New York City was already there. The local news stations were asking for volunteers among able-bodied men and we guessed we were their guys since neither one of us had to work. Daybreak we headed east on Sunrise highway both wearing our camouflage jackets. On the 20 mile drive there I saw sections of pine bordering the highway suddenly just burst into flames a hundred feet high. The radio was explaining that this was because the pines were so dry and when an ember hit them they were like kindling but I have never seen anything like it before or since.
Somehow and I really don’t remember, we ended up in the middle of a very large open field with the woods burning around it. Smoke made it impossible to see much further than a hundred feet. Above us was a blue and white helicopter which I at first took to be a police helicopter but it was too big. It looked to be one of those luxury models. It wasn’t moving and just hovered about five hundred feet above us, the backwash from its propeller clearing my field of vision to it. A white Bronco driven by a very hard looking man about the same age as us pulls up from out of the haze and the guy, with an exasperated look on his face, starts talking to me like he knows me. He gestures with his chin up at the helicopter and says “that’s Pataki up there in the helicopter” then he drove off looking disgusted. George Pataki was the governor of New York at the time. A figure emerged from out of the swirling smoke wearing what looked to be a long flowing kimono like they wore in ancient China. He was oriental and looked to be a hundred years old. He got to about forty or fifty feet away and our eyes met briefly. I could see in his eyes a look of disappointment like I had betrayed him. Then he looked down again. The helicopter was still overhead and the smoke abruptly lifted so I could see for a couple of hundred yards. At the outer perimeter of my field of vision about half a dozen more figures, also wearing flowing gowns were slowly making their way toward the oriental Methuselah in front of me. The helicopter took off and so did Joe and I making are way back to the car which must have been a mile away. I don’t recall us ever having done any work or even how we knew where the car was but it all seemed normal to us. On the drive back we never even discussed the oriental people dressed up like they were from the eighteenth century. When I did finally think about it when I got home I told myself a Chinese restaurant must have been caught in the fire. Even though I knew there were no Chinese restaurants in the middle of the Pine Barrens…
I was still troubled a day later when I attended a lecture above Total Health. I didn’t even know who was giving it I just needed to get away from Patchogue and those people. The look the Asian Methuselah gave me still haunts me till this very day. It was a small crowd, maybe two or three dozen people. The classrooms above Total Health didn’t fit much more. Preston Nichols just strolling in was pretty much the equivalent of Paul McCartney popping into the local pub. People like Nichols, Hurtak and Hoagland were booked in the lecture hall around the corner. I wouldn’t know if they charged. But nobody had seen him in a while and everybody wanted to know what he’d been up too, so the podium was immediately yielded to him. He was wearing a cast on his arm and began with a yarn about how they had tried to assassinate him with a pulse beam weapon causing him to crash his car. He seamlessly shifted to the fire, all the while looking at me while he was talking about it; saying much of the underground beneath the Brookhaven lab had been taken out in a military action by the United States that had declared war on the rest of the world. After the lecture, I pulled him aside and told him what had happened. It was the first time I ever really talked to him in private. He told me that he had always suspected that I was part of the Montauk Projects and that he thought he knew me but it was useless to try to remember what you had done on another timeline because the laws of physics made it impossible. After that, we started to talk in earnest.
He started to come around Total Health far more often after that. Above the classrooms on the third floor were offices that we would hang out in. One night M. was up there with us while he and I discussed what really could only be described as a paranormal storm that settled over Long Island. With Amityville, what I had seen in East Islip twelve years earlier in 1983, what I had taken part in in eighty-nine and now La Bonne Vie and the condos off Waverly in Patchogue I pretty much had figured out by then that I was in the eye of the hurricane. I asked him, the guy who claimed he was shooting down UFO’s off Cory Beach at night, whether he thought there was anything we could do about it. He starts talking about some Orgone machine he had built based on the orgasmic energy concepts of Wilhelm Reich and looking at my wife and I like this is what he had been waiting for. Then he says “you two can close the portals with it but I will have to be in the room to operate it while you have sex.” She suddenly sprang out of her chair at him screaming in his face “you fat fucking pervert!” Then she bolted out the door, down three flights of stairs and out into the middle of traffic where I had to chase her and carry her back to the sidewalk.
Considering whom my wife was, a second-generation strip club entrepreneur, her mother had started as a barmaid in a Babylon strip club and ended up owning her own in Miami, I had seen M manufacture cups of urine in the bathroom and sell them to patrons for a hundred dollars to be greedily consumed at the bar, this was not an appropriate response. Especially since her and I had been practicing sexual Magick since the first time we slept together. M was also by her own admission, at the very least, a second generation Witch, not a Wiccan either. From what she had said to me in trances, she was a Daughter of the Owl, the spawn of Lilith herself, but according to M she never remembered what she said or did in trances.
During that year alone in the Condo we had opened up portals repeatedly, paranormal phenomena so real I had ejaculated blood. Another time the condo shook so bad we had to call up my mother to come get the girls out of there. It went on for hours; like a train shakes a subway platform but without the noise except for the rattling of household items. When my mother got there, we sat on the couch for a while and watched the cat chase weasel like shadows around the room. My mother who had never seen anything like it before saw that neither M nor I was alarmed, other than me wanting my daughters out of there. She asked me whether the source of the disturbance was me or the house. I couldn’t answer her, but I knew it was a little of both.
M and I had opened a portal one night which illuminated the far side of the darkened room in a deep purple hue. We were both overcome with ecstasy in its presence and I wanted to go into it and see what was on the other side. But M. ran in the bathroom, turned on the light and started gouging her arms with a nail file and sneering at me “it’s too late; you’re not coming through. It’s closed.” It was too; it was gone by the time I disarmed her. Afterward she claimed to remember only the part about opening the purple portal and the intense euphoria emanating from it. But her arms were scarred for weeks.
Besides I can’t even count how many times I had stopped M from dragging various characters into our bedroom, not always successfully either. The fact that Preston Nichols had even brought something like that up to us, of all people, was enough to sell me on the idea of trying it. I have never mentioned anything like the account just given, to Nichols or anyone else. Nobody knew what we did, let alone my mother and her friends.
When I had met M. back in eighty-nine her hair sprawled below her ass and had the disconcerting habit of slowly rising straight up when she channeled an entity purporting to be Lilith. In the darkness you could see tiny blue sparks dancing from static electricity as her hair rose into a halo over her head. Mirrors were used to communicate with praetor human intelligences in alternate dimensions. I had watched M argue into those mirrors most unflatteringly about me like she was with me because she had to be, and she didn’t like it.
One afternoon the sun was shining through the windows on a brilliant summer day the room abruptly appeared to grow ten times brighter than it already was. M scrambled over me and jumped out of bed. She had a panicked look in her face. With her palms upturned and her arms slightly extended in front of her toward the mirror on the floor, she said "But I didn’t tell him anything!" The light in the room grew even brighter and she fell to the floor. Her eyes rolled back showing only the white. She began to froth at the mouth. I jumped out of the bed to help her. All the while the light grew blindingly bright. I was suddenly seized by overwhelming fear. I ran out of the apartment and down a flight of stairs to the door of another apartment. I banged on it and a woman about my own age answered. I was naked which did not at all seem to surprise her.
She ushered me inside, opened the door to her bedroom and went in shutting the door behind her. She came out repeating the procedure of closing the door behind her and gave me a pair of sweat pants. She asked me what had happened. I told her my girlfriend was having a seizure. She went in her bedroom and closed the door. She came out a couple of minutes later, closing the door behind her again and told me she had called the police and they were coming. She told me to just wait there. She then went back in her bedroom and shut the door again leaving me in the living room by myself. The whole situation unnerved me all over again and I bolted from her apartment. I ran down three flights of stairs and into the street and began running north on Peninsula Boulevard. I jumped on the roof of a car that was passing me and held on. The car accelerated up the road till it came to a light where it had to stop. I jumped off and kept running north. I repeated the procedure a few more times till I passed Southern State Parkway, about four miles north of where I started. Finally, a van-style ambulance pulled up with a six-man emergency crew.
The guys convinced me to let them take me to Mercy Hospital right down Peninsula Boulevard. On the way there they complained of being interrupted from their weekend barbeques. They told me my condition was the same as they had seen in some Vietnam Vets. I said, "I’m too young to have ever been in Vietnam." One of the personnel said "let us just put this wet washcloth over your eyes. We have found that light exposure will trigger the panic. It will relax you." They put a warm wet washcloth over my eyes. Having the light shut down from my perception relaxed me a great deal. They took me from the ambulance by gurney into Mercy Hospital to a small emergency room where I was the only patient. They repeated the same procedure with the wet washcloth. I heard a voice saying, "does anyone know who was with him when this happened."
A frantic effort ensued in the seemingly makeshift emergency room to locate my point of origin. In about a half hour M arrived. She was dressed very sharp. She walked in like she owned the place, calling me by pet names she had for me as if nothing unusual had happened. She told she had been looking all over for me then she turned to the two doctors that were there and said, "is he alright to go?" They answered in the affirmative and we just left. I never saw a cop. The same thing would happen a few weeks later at Sayonara Hotel on route 110 in Amityville, again there would be no cops and just an ambulance ride to a half hour stay in Brunswick Hospital.
Even with M hurling herself into traffic and carving herself up in the bathroom I still didn’t get it. I did not know about the supernatural woman called liliyyoth in the Great Isaiah Scroll. I only knew of Lilith who ruled over Arabia as the Queen of the Night. But I have learned all about them in last four years.
The Norse knew them well and knew they were part of the wave function. They knew “wave-maidens are desirable but Dangerous” The Norse knew that among them "Woman begets with woman" (15) and Girl with girl begets a son.”(16) They knew “those women do not have husbands” (17) because they prefer their men dead.
A Valkyrie, there are seldom second dates
The Valkyries only come for warriors slain in battle and a Norn attaches herself to a man in his cradle and cast her spells on him till his grave. I have known their Queen since I met her in East Islip in 1983 when Project Phoenix culminated with a hole being ripped through the space-time continuum.18 The National Socialists knew her as Maria Orsic and her entourage as the Vril Girls; they are shape shifters. The Lords of the Black Stone or the SS knew her as Ishtar and it was as Ishtar she was known in Babylon. She has had many names. Long before she introduced herself to the SS, the Norse called her Freyja. She is different from the other Norse gods. She is a Vanir, a sorceress and the spirit of nature...
© Jack Heart 2017
Citations
5 - Circle of friends Causa Nostra: Arcanorum. Causum Nostrum - the living order book , verse 5. 2005 http://thuletempel.org/wb/index.php?title=Isais-Offenbarung
6 – Ibid.
7 - Nichols, Preston , and Peter Moon. "The Montauk Project / Experiments In Time." I - the Philadelphia Experiment. Sky Books, 1992. Web. 14 Mar. 2017. http://www.stealthskater.com/Documents/Montauk_04.pdf .
8 –VIII - The "Phoenix Project" absorbs "Project Rainbow." Ibid.
9 – Ibid.
10 – Ibid.
11 – Ibid.
12 – Ibid.
13 – Ibid.
14 - Burrows, Hannah . "Enigma Variations: Hervarar saga's wave-riddles and supernatural women in Old Norse poetic tradition ." www.academia.edu. University of Sydney, n.d. Web. 14 Apr. 2017. https://www.academia.edu/2542398/Enigma_Variations_Hervarar_sagas_wave-riddles_and_supernatural_women_in_Old_Norse_poetic_tradition?auto=download .
15 – Ibid. Hervarar saga, st. 65
16 – Ibid.
17 – Ibid.
18 – Jack Heart: הוד / Majesty, Part 4, Chapter 16: Excerpts: http://jackheart2014.blogspot.com/2016/10/majesty-those-that-would-arouse.html
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