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by don - 2022-05-09 22:13:24 ( in education, research) [php version] rebuild (131619)

If you haven't read her book, here's a lot of it:


Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America



*About Trance*

Cathy O'Brien was sold into Project Monarch, one of

the 149 known sub-projects of the CIA'S MK ULTRA

Experiments that began in 1953. These secret

programs were initiated by governing jurisdictions

in an effort to understand and utilize mind control

to further another agenda. Being a victim of the

elite's Monarch Program. as a slave Cathy was

exposed to many world leaders at the national and

international levels.

Through her rescue and healing process, she was able

to reclaim the memories of what she witnessed while

under mind control. Her story provides insight into

how we've been controlled in the past, where we are

going as a nation and how to reclaim personal and

collective sovereignty. This is her story. This is

our story.

Directed by: Adrienne Youngblood

Produced by: Adrienne Youngblood, Isabella Antinoro,

Roger R. Richards

Starring: Cathy O'Brien

Categories: Documentary, Disclosure

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Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America

*/Warning: Graphic/*

_*/Chapter 1/*_


*/By Cathy O'Brien/*

My pedophile father, Earl O'Brien, brags that he began

substituting his penis for my mother's nipple soon after I was

born. My multigenerational incest-abused mother, Carol Tanis,

did not protest his perverse actions due to (reportedly) having

similar abuse as a child which caused her to acquire Multiple

Personality Disorder. My earliest recovered memory was that I

could not breathe with my father's penis jammed into my little


/The late Earl O'Brien - Pho

To: Michigan Sports Hall of Fame/

Yet I could not discern his semen from my mother's milk. I do

not recall thinking, but I am aware through education that this

early sexual abuse distorted my primitive concepts of feeding,

breathing, sexuality, and parental perceptions. I recall as a

toddler being unable to run (I could barely walk) to my mother

for help as my instincts demanded.

Through my gulping sobs, my terror rose as I tried to clear my

throat of my father's semen and draw a breath of air. My mother

finally arrived at my side. Rather than comfort me, she accused

me of throwing a temper tantrum and "holding my breath". She

responded only by throwing a glass of cold water in my face. I

was shocked! As the water splashed my face, I knew she would not

help and it was up to me to save myself.

I automatically Multiple Personality Disordered. I was, of

course, too young to logically understand that what my father

was doing to me was wrong. I accepted his strangling sexual

abuse as a normal and natural part of my home life, and split

off a personality to deal with the pain and suffocation to

satisfy his perversions. Therefore as a child, I was

dissociative of my father's abuse. I was totally unable to

recall his sexual abuse, even in his presence, until I saw and

felt his penis.

By the time I joined the Brownies, my father's sexual

exploitation of me included prostitution to his friends, local

mobsters and Masons, relatives, Satanists, strangers, and police

officers. When I wasn't being worked to physical exhaustion,

filmed pornographically, prostituted, or engaged in incest

abuse, I dissociated into books. I had learned to read at the

young age of four due to my photographic memory which was a

natural result of MPD/DID.

Government researchers involved in MK-Ultra Project Monarch knew

about the photographic memory aspect of MPD/DID, of course, as

well as other resultant "super human" characteristics. Visual

acuity of an MPD/DID is 44 times greater than that of the

average person. My developed unusually high pain threshold, plus

compartmentalization of memory were "necessary" for military and

covert operations applications.

Additionally, my sexuality was primitively twisted from infancy.

This programming was appealing and useful to perverse

politicians who believed they could hide their actions deep

within my memory compartments, which clinicians refer to as


My Uncle Bob helped my father decorate my bedroom in red, white,

and blue paneling and American flags. He provided assistance in

scrambling my mind according to Project Monarch methodologies.

Fairy tale themes were used to confuse fantasy with reality,

particularly Disney stories and the Wizard of Oz, which provided

the base for future programming.

I had personalities for pornography, a personality for

bestiality, a personality for incest, a personality for

withstanding the horrendous psychological abuse of my mother, a

personality for prostitution, and the rest of "me" functioned

somewhat "normally" at school. My "normal" personality provided

a cover for the abuse I was enduring, but best of all it had

hope- hope that there was somewhere in the world where people

did not hurt each other. This same personality also attended

Catechism, a weekly class at our Catholic church, St. Francis de

Sales in Muskegon, Michigan.

I continued to maintain an illusion of normalcy for school,

excelling in my studies due to my photographic memory and in

spite of my chronic "day-dreaming". I had plenty of friends and

played enthusiastically at recess, expending large amounts of

energy in my subconscious effort to escape my own mind. And I

lost myself in the books my father suggested I read: the Wizard

Of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Disney

Classics, and Cinderella—all of which were used in conditioning

my mind for what soon would become mind-control programming.

My television viewing was restricted and monitored in keeping

with my father's gained knowledge. I was, however permitted to

watch the "best" of movies: The Wizard Of Oz, Disney Classics,

Alice In Wonderland, and Cinderella—over and over and over again.

When I was in second grade, my Brownie Troop marched in the

Memorial Day Parade in which then Michigan State Senator

VanderJagt also participated. At the end of the parade, he took

me into a nearby motel and had me per-form oral sex on him

before sending me back to where my Brownie Troop was waiting. My

Brownie leader and peers thought it commendable that VanderJagt

took me with him. They gathered around to hear all about it. I

noticed a white splash of semen on my sash, and hurriedly

explained that he had "taken me for a milkshake" as I wiped it

away. Having to cover for his perversion to my Brownie Troop

infringed on my school personality, and the "normal" remainder

became even smaller.

/The late Senator Guy VanderJagt/

With the memory of this incident compartmentalized in my mind, I

made no conscious association to VanderJagt when my third grade

teacher announced that we were taking a field trip to the State

Capital in Lansing, Michigan where he was in session. Once at

the Capital, I was ushered away from my classmates and taken to

an office where he was waiting with his friend and mentor (soon

to be President) Gerald Ford.

VanderJagt lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties, and placed

me on his desk for sex with him and Ford. Afterward they laughed

as VanderJagt placed a small American flag in my rectum and

instructed me to wave it. He then presented me with a Kennedy

pen inscribed with the motto that would lead me for the rest of

my mind-con-trolled existence, "Ask not what your country can do

for you. Ask what you can do for your country."

VanderJagt then escorted me back to the balcony of the

Legislature where my classmates were gathered. He put his arm

around me in front of all my classmates and presented me with

the American flag he had just had me wave for him and Ford with

my rectum. My school personality split off again, but I still

maintained the hope that somewhere, someday, I would find a

place where people didn't ... what? I could not remember what I

was seeking to escape.

/_Trance-Formation of America_/

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Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America

/Each chapter is a major undertaking, and some chapters may not

be transferable to this format. The idea of doing the whole book

is intriguing but daunting, to say the least. We''ll see how

this goes .../



*/_Chapter 2_/*

When Pierre Trudeau was elected Prime Minister of Canada in

1968, I often heard it said, "Pierre Trudeau is one of Ours, you

know." I first heard this phrase cryptically referring to

Trudeau's loyalty to the Vatican when Father was discussing

him with my father one Sunday after mass. This fact circulated

quickly among those I knew who were involved in the

Catholic/Jesuit aspect of Project Monarch.

/The late Pierre Trudeau/

The summer after Trudeau was elected, my father took the family

to Mackinac Island as usual. Climbing on a large statue on the

grounds of the Governor's Mansion, I could see across the field

to the Grand Hotel. I noticed Canadian flags flying amongst the

American flags that lined the front of the old hotel. As I slid

down off the statue, Guy VanderJagt approached with a drink and

a cigarette in his hand. Palling my hair into place he said,

"Straighten your shirt, I've got someone important for you to

meet," "I knew someone important was here because of those

flags," I said, tucking my shirt in my pink shorts.

"When I was at the Vatican," VanderJagt began, "I was told that

Prime Minister Trudeau is a friend of the Pope. He thinks like

one of us. A true Catholic. He likes Cathy-licks."


VanderJagt led me upstairs in the mansion, where Pierre Trudeau

was lowering the window shades in a dimly lit bedroom crowded

with antiques. VanderJagt closed the door behind me. Trudeau's

tuxedo coat was neatly draped over a chair, which left him in

his formal pants, while shirt, and a bright red cummerbund which

caught my eye. "I like your sash," I said. "Hasn't anyone taught

you Silence yet?"

His somber, gruff attitude was softened by his smooth, silky

voice. Triggered into the part of me that endured the Rite to

Remain Silent, I assumed Trudeau knew all about interdimensions

according to my deliberately formed perceptions. I could not/did

not understand that interdimensions actually equated to the

inner-dimensions of my own compartmentalized mind. Likewise, I

did not understand that "Keys to the Kingdom" referred to

knowing the codes, keys, and triggers to my controlled mind.

"Guy said you like Cathy-licks," I said, repeating what

VanderJagt had told me. "Are you the Keeper of the Keys?"

Trudeau seemingly bore his cold, dark eyes right through me.

"You can learn more from the school of thought than you can by

asking precocious questions. Haven't you learned that children

are to be seen and not heard?"

"Is that a precocious question?" I asked. "What is a precocious


Trudeau sighed with impatience. "That is irrelevant. What

matters is that you shut your mouth, still your mind, and enter

the school of thought. Silence is a virtue. Listen to the

silence in the stillness of your mind. Go deep inside your

mind," he slowly led. "Deeper and deeper where it's quiet and


Trudeau expertly manipulated my mind with sophisticated hypnotic

language. Not only did he enlist my Silence for the pedophile

perversions he indulged in, but he instructed my "school of

thought" in a manner that equated to programming. He laid a

foundation for Air-Water programs that is a mirror- dimensional

theme often used by NASA and others involved in Project Monarch.

Playing off his own name "Pee-Air," he added a perverse twist to

the theme that he accessed each time I was prostituted to him.

Had I been capable of fear, I would have been afraid of Pierre

Trudeau. Trudeau's slow, deliberate movements masked the brutal

power of his body much the way his smooth, soft voice pierced my

mind and intruded on my thoughts. The icy cold touch of his

effeminate, manicured long fingers contrasted with the heat of

his perversion ... a perversion for which he blamed me and my

"temptuous, contemptuous ways".

I was slow to grow into adolescence. By the time I was thirteen

years old, my breasts were tender and beginning to swell, which

made me "too old" for VanderJagt's pedophile perversions. When

my father brought me to Mackinac Island for routine prostitution

at the Political Retreat, VanderJagt introduced me to a new

friend he had made now that he was in Washington, D.C. as a U.S.

Congressman-U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd, Democrat from West



Byrd had been a U.S. Senator as long as I had been alive,

serving as Senate Whip and later as President Pro Tempore of the

Senate and as the all powerful Senate Appropriations leader.

Byrd commanded attention and respect from all who came in

contact with him, particularly from my father.

When we were left alone in his room, he loomed over me in a

threatening stance. His cold, blue slitty eyes locked onto mine.

I undressed and climbed into his bed as ordered. I was

momentarily relieved to find that his penis was abnormally

tiny—so small it didn't even hurt! And I could breathe with it

in my mouth! Then he began to indulge himself in his brutal

perversions, talking on and on about how I was "made just for

him" due to the vast amounts of pain I could withstand.

The spankings and police handcuffs I had previously endured were

child's play compared to Senator Byrd's near death tortures. The

hundreds of scars on my body still show today. With VanderJagt,

sex was a matter of "how much I could give," whereas with Byrd

it was "how much I could take". And I was forced to take mote

pain than any human could logically withstand. I was dedicated

to Byrd at age thirteen which meant he would be directing my

future in Project Monarch, and my father would raise me

according to his specifications.

My MPD/DID existence became more regimented from that point on.

I was kept physically worn down to the point of exhaustion in

order that I be sufficiently receptive to my father's limited

hypnotic programming capabilities to condition my mind for mind

control. The pornography I was forced to anticipate in became

much more violent immediately after Byrd, switching me from

predominantly pedophile and bestiality themes to torturous

versions of sadomasochism (S&M).

My father and mother worked in tandem daily to "break my

spirit," destroying any remnants left of my self-confidence,

tearing down my self-esteem, and thus annihilating my free will

urges. They conditioned/taught me my dreams were reality and my

reality were dreams, that black is white and up is down. "Good

night, sleep tight, dream about your mommy and daddy" is what I

heard every night. This was intended to confuse my mind to

believe incest in the middle of the night was "just a bad dream".

My father also instructed me to watch Alfred Hitchcock's

horrifying movie The Birds with him. This reinforced in my mind

the movie's theme that there is "no place to hide from the


I was quickly beginning to lose all ability to question anything

but my own judgment. It was easy to believe that there was

indeed "no place to run, no place to hide," which is a necessary

and primary psychological basis for government/military mind

control. In later years, "who ya' gonna call?" and Ronald

Reagan's quip "you can run, but you can't hide" echoed deep

within my mind. After all, even if I could think to seek help,

who would help me? The police? The church? My parents? Relative?

Politicians? School? There was no one left that would help me, I


My television programming was then expanded to include the shows

that every Project Monarch Mind-Control slave I knew had to

watch: I Dream Of , The Brady Bunch, Gumby And Pokey, and

Bewitched. I could relate to the Genie pleasing her master, who

was a Major for the Air Force in I Dream Of .

This served to confuse the reality of my own experiences with

the fantasy of television production. I told all outsiders that

my family was "just like the Bradys". Through Gumby And Pokey I

was led to believe that I was as flexible as these animated clay

performers. Therefore, I was capable of being physically

maneuvered into any sexual position.

Meanwhile, my father took us all to church every Sunday, and my

mother stayed busy having babies to raise in the Project. In

true pedophile fashion, he surrounded himself with children by

coaching little league sports, chaperoning school and Catechism

activities, and becoming involved with the Boy Scouts. All of

this made him appear to be a model citizen and "pillar of the

community". The illusion was fanned. The parts of me that knew

otherwise had no choice but to remain silent.

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Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America

*/My First President/*

*/_Chapter 3_/*

*/By Cathy O'Brien/*

In addition to routine trips to Mackinac Island and Niagara

Falls, my family often took camping trips to "get away from it

all". In reality, I was taken to key places for ritual abuse,

prostitution, and pornography. In the fall of 1974, my father

announced we were going to go camping "back in time" to an

old-fashioned festival in the small remote town of Cedar

Springs, Michigan for their annual Red Flannel Days celebration.

My mother told me to pack my jeans and sweaters and my Catholic

school uniform which she had washed and pressed for the occasion.

Cedar Springs was quiet, with the festival events including

dilapidated amusement rides set up in a small parking lot, and

contests where local farmers pitted their mules and horses

against each other to see whose could pull the most weight. The

main (and only) street of town was lined with the few local

businesses, including the town's red flannel underwear "long

s" factory. In the center of town, a mock, single, jail cell

had been erected to hold any and all parade participants who

failed to wear the required red flannel underwear.

The jail was guarded by quasi Keystone Cops. I was amused when

the townsfolk began lining up to march in the parade, with very

few remaining to watch it. A mentally retarded man carried the

baton to lead the parade, followed by kids on bicycles,

hay-wagons of old folks, a grade school band and people

walking-all in their red flannel underwear. The grand finale' of

the parade, the town fire truck, was approaching, surrounded by

numerous motorcycle police.

I heard folks whispering "the President is coming". I assumed

they meant the President of the underwear factory. I was wrong.

I watched in horror as the fire truck rolled to a stop, and

Secret Service helped then President Gerald Ford as he stepped

down to the pavement.

My father was excitedly tugging on my arm, half dragging me

through the wall of Secret Service agents, to talk with

President Ford. I looked around nervously as my father made the

necessary arrangements with Ford to prostitute me to him later

that evening. VanderJagt, who never missed a parade it seemed,

was signing autographs. As he smiled at me, someone roughly

grabbed my arm. Nervous and startled, I screamed.

/Susan Ford and her father, Gerald/

The crowd laughed as a Keystone Cop threw me in the jail,

scolding me for not wearing my red flannel underwear when I was

talking to the President. I was trying to be inconspicuous in

hopes no one would see me with the likes of Ford, but then, they

did not know him as I did. The Keystone Cop rattled on and on

about "how lucky" I was until my father paid my bail and I was

released from the cell.

That night, I wore my Catholic uniform as instructed and went

into a dissociative trance as my father drove me to the local

National Guard Armory where I was prostituted to Ford. Ford took

me into an empty room, pushed me down on the wooden floor as he

unzipped his pants and said, "Pray on this". Then he brutally,

sexually assaulted me. Afterward, my memory was

compartmentalized through use of high voltage. I was then

carried out to the car where I lay in the back seat, muscles

contracted, stunned, in pain, and unable to move.

When we got back to Muskegon, my father sent me to the beach as

always, to let the repetition of crashing waves against the

beach "wash my mind free of memory" while I watched the sun set.

I was totally locked into the belief that truly there was "no

place to run," not even to the President of the United States.

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Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America

*/The Most Dangerous Game/*

_*/Chapter 4/*_

When I learned of a pending rendezvous with Senator Byrd in

Traverse City, Michigan (VanderJagt's headquarters), I stole

some candy at a local convenience market hoping to go to jail

and escape my encounter with Byrd. I was caught, and the police

were even called. But, of course, my poetically powerful abusers

would not allow for me to have a police record. The entire

matter was not-so-mysteriously and suddenly dropped. My only

"punishment" was to have a conference with the school principal,

Father Vesbit.

Father Vesbit knew I was part of Project Monarch, and handled

the matter accordingly. He raped me in the school's private

chapel after school while holding a Satanic ritual involving

several of my project friends. Kids often attached nicknames to

their teachers, and there were only a few of us who knew the

reason why Father Vesbit was called Father "Fuzzbutt". His

backside was covered with thick black hair. He "counseled" me on

several occasions, once remarking, "I thought kids in your

situation were all part of the Exchange Student program."

My Uncle Bob Tanis was visiting our house soon after that. He

had flown in from what he claimed was a "black ops" Air Force

Intelligence operation. I know now that in typical CIA mode of

operations, he was relating a story of lies salted with some

truth. His point was to inform me that the Catholic Church is

"justified" in its involvement with our government due to the

Priests' "hearing confessions from mobsters and spies".

/33rd Degree Mason Uncle Bob Tanis/

He also explained that Exchange Students were "spies in the

making" that Priests found, through Confession, were problems.

Thus they were considered expendable and transferred out of the

country. He then suggested to my father that I see the school

guidance counselor, CIA Operative Dennis DeLaney, immediately.

My father enthusiastically told me that DeLaney was a long time

friend of his from St. Francis who "knew how to handle kids like

me". Arrangements were made for me to see him after school.

DeLaney began by informing me that he was "aware of everything"

and that he knew just what I needed "to put me back on track".

He said that my family needed to lake a trip to the Teton

Mountains of Wyoming. He even provided maps and information in

an envelope for my father. He turned off the lights in his

office, and turned on a slide projector. He showed me scenes of

the numerous waterfalls of the Tetons, all of which were to

"wash my brain" of the reality that I was performing oral sex on

him as ordered while the slides ran. Then he scheduled a follow

up appointment for further "counseling".

This trip to the Tetons would provide a change of scenery tram

the usual Mackinac/Niagara Falls trip, but I could no longer

hope for a change in the direction life was leading me. I was

told my life was "predestined," and all I had to do was follow

the road stretched out before me, i.e., the "Yellow Brick Road".

I was destined for Wyoming, but would not know why until I arrived.

I confirmed the family trip to the Tetons when I saw DeLaney for

my follow-up "counseling". He informed me that he had already

talked to my father about the trip, as well as our upcoming trip

to Disney World in Florida. I was not surprised to learn of an

additional trip. Nor did I have the capacity to become excited,

suspicious, or apprehensive. I was aware that DeLaney was

heavily involved in Project Monarch, not only because he was

accessing my sexual personalities again, but because he was

helping to pave the way toward my destiny of total mind control.

During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to

Disney World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography,

it did not occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney

World until my father drove the rented van to the gates of

MacDill Air Force Base. Military personnel met me there and

escorted me into the base TOP SECRET high tech mind-control

conditioning facility for "behavioral modification" programming.

This was the first in what became a routine series of

mind-control testing and/or programming sessions on government

installations that I would endure throughout my Project Monarch


/MacDill AFB – Tampa, Florida/

Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the

procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained

consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included

prior physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and

water deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic

and/or harmonic programming of specific memory


The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time

on gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and

life. I had been literally driven out of my conscious mind and

existed only through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free

will, ability to reason, and could not think to question

anything that was happening to me. I could only do as I was told.

After the MacDill Air Force Base experience, my home life

worsened. The controls and conditioning that my father and

mother executed on me tightened even more. I was no longer

permitted to have any contact with my own brothers and sister (I

only had one younger sister at that time). This stopped me in my

subconscious efforts to protect them from my father's abuse, and

left me with a desperate, empty aching for the loving

relationships I previously shared with them.

Of course, I never was able to protect them any more than I

could defend myself or later protect my own daughter. However,

until government programming began, I had routinely "baby sat"

them every evening and took them for long walks that lasted for

hours in my feeble attempt to keep them out of my parents'

range. Subconsciously I believed I was making a difference. The

day my youngest brother told my mother he much preferred my

company over hers was the day I could no longer be near him or

my other brothers and sister.

Apparently I was making enough of a difference that my parents

were compelled to separate me from them. I was ordered to my

closet-sized bedroom in the garage as soon as I got home from

school or work. I could not speak to, look at, or hug my

brothers and sister. I was not permitted to eat dinner with my

family, although they let me out of my room to set the table,

wash dishes, and do other chores. If I ventured from my bedroom

to use the bathroom and was caught by my mother, she said,

"nobody rattled your cage" and ordered me back to my room in the


In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan

to the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the

back storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since 1 was

forbidden to associate or communicate with my brothers and

sister. So I dissociated into books, or into the metaphorical,

hypnotic suggestions from my father and tranced deeper as I

watched the prairies seemingly endless sea of "amber waves of

grain" streak past my window.

Once when we stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside

to show me a stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my

tranced, dissociative state and high suggestibility level, I

believed it was indeed a cross between a jack rabbit and

antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands when it cooled

down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated my ever

increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though

water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I

would endure in Wyoming.

Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to president Ford,

later Secretary of Defense to President George Bush and Vice

President to George Bush Jr, documented member of the Council on

Foreign Relations (CFR), was originally Wyoming's only

Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my family had traveled

to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of brutality— his

version of "A Most Dangerous Game", or human hunting.

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Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America

It is my understanding now that "A Most Dangerous Game" was

devised to condition military personnel in survival and combat

maneuvers. Yet it was used on me and other slaves known to me as

a means of further conditioning the mind to the realization

there was "no place to hide," as well as traumatize the victim

for ensuing programming. It was my experience over the years

that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the

primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the

wilderness while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all

"wilderness" areas were enclosed in secure military fencing

whereby it was only a matter of time until I was caught,

repeatedly raped, and tortured.

Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the

sport". He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game

as a means of traumatizing mind-control victims, as well as to

satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the

game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull,

Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me.

/Dick Cheney – Always pissed off/

I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming as I

stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down

and caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could

stuff you and mount you like a jack lope and call you a two

legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his

pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and

then mount you. Which do you prefer?"

Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid

like mud down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion

and pain as I stood unable to think to answer such a question.

"Make up your mind," Cheney coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained


"You don't get a choice, anyway, I make up your mind for you.

That's why you're here. For me to make you a' mind, and make you

mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I'm going to

give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a

brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come

such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."

The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been

further along in my programming, I perhaps would never have

noticed such a thing or had the capability to think to wipe it

away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill and Disney World

for government/military programming. At last, when I could

speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please use your


Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant,

slamming my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and

his hand on my throat, choking me while applying pressure to the

carotid artery in my neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he

spit as he growled, "If you don't mind me, I will kill you. I

could kill you—Kill you—with my bare hands. You're not the first

and you won't be the last. I'll kill you any time I goddamn well

please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that was behind me.

There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.

On the Long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the

scats of the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's

brutality and high voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming

experience. My father stopped by the waterfalls flowing through

the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the memory of Cheney, I could

barely walk through the woods to the falls for the process as

instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from Cheney

on following orders.

The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled

around, my father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale

International trailer. (I slept outside in a tent because I was

not permitted inside it since "I wasn't family".) My father

dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in

Titusville, Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA

programming. From then on, I was "obsessed" with following the

"Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville, Tennessee. Moving to Nashville

was all I could talk about. If anyone asked me the question I

could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by

reiterating it was something "I had to do".

I had gone through the motions of my senior year in a

dissociative trance. I became further distanced from religious

values by my religion class teacher. Brother Emmett. This was

due to his promotion of cannibalism via Pier Paul Reed's book

Alive, and by his teachings at a religious 'corseal' retreat I

attended that included occult ritual at ST. Francis Church. I

graduated from Muskegon Catholic Central High School in our

bicentennial year of 1976.

I was led by Senator Byrd to revise my plan to attend Hope

College like I had promised VanderJagt as a child. This new plan

was for me to temporarily attend Muskegon Community College,

because my "real education" was to come through mind-control

programming-not school. In order to be exhausted, as was

necessary for my "real education," I worked three menial jobs in

addition to attending college.

During my first semester of college in 1976, I made plans to

take a trip to Nashville with my Project Monarch friend from

Catholic Central. (She remains an expendable victim to date, and

therefore her identity must be protected from public release for

her safety.) My father explained that I was to stay at the

Fiddler's Inn in Nashville, see the World Famous Printer's Alley

row of sleazy country music nightclubs, and attend the Grand Ole

Opry on Friday night, as ticket arrangements had been made

through a "friend," in spite of their scarcity during the

Thanksgiving holiday.


I never thought to associate Fiddler's Inn with Senator Byrd's

fiddle playing when my friend and I arrived in Music City,

U.S.A. Nor did 1 find it odd when a country music "star"

entertaining at the Black Poodle nightclub in Printer's Alley

began directing my activities. My friend and I were provided

with free passes to the Black Poodle to encourage us to return

each night where entertainer and CIA operative Jack Greene and

his Desperado band were playing.

During breaks between sets, Greene and his band would sit with

my friend and me to manipulate our suggestible minds. I was told

it was "my destiny" to have met band member, Wayne Cox, who had

been trained for paramilitary mercenary operations under

Louisiana's U.S. Senator J, Bennett ston, I soon learned

that everyone associated with Greene was involved in his CIA

"Freedom Train" operations.

When I told Greene that my friend and I would not be returning

on Friday night due to attending the Grand Ole Opry, he told us

that he would be working the Opry that night. He made

arrangements for us to come back stage and see him immediately

following his segment. He explained that the "security" guard at

the Opry, Nashville Metro Police Lt. Bob Ezell, was a good

friend of his and would let us in.

At the Opry, my friend and I sat in the audience watching as

Jack Greene introduced his "special guest," U.S. Senator Robert

C. Byrd. At the sight of Byrd, I went into a pre-conditioned

deep trance and robotically went through the motions of

following Greene's instructions. Once backstage, Greene pointed

out his dressing room, which he was sharing with Senator Byrd,

and ordered me in. The personality that had been sitting in the

audience had perceived Byrd as an entertainer and could not, or

would not, think further.

But as I walked into the dressing room and saw Byrd perched on

the edge of the mirrored vanity in his boxer shorts, I switched

into the child personality that had known him as a U.S. Senator

on Mackinac Island since age 13, and responded sexually.

Afterward, Byrd was claiming me as "his," excitedly telling me

that he had "always wanted his own little witch". I soon learned

the enormity of this statement.

Jack Greene's band member, Wayne Cox, later told me that playing

music behind Senator Byrd at the Opry was not the only way he

"backed him". He also backed him politically and in Freedom

Train operations. Cox then made arrangements for my friend and

me to stay the remainder of our trip at his trailer in

Hendersonville, Tennessee. There was no choice but to comply.

/O'Brien's future husband, Wayne Cox/

The following night, after Jack Greene completed his show at the

Black Poodle, he drove my friend and me to a nearby

participating after-hours club, the Demon's Den. There, Cox was

to pick us up and take us to Hendersonville. Instead, we were

slipped a drug and taken "on a tour" of Union Station,

Nashville's then abandoned train station, where supposedly the

only train still running through there was the Freedom Train.

Senator Byrd's attempted cultivation of superstition through my

Catholic schooling should have maximized the impact of the

occult ritual I was subjected to in the tower of the old stone

and slate turn-of-the-century train depot. But the pain and

horror was sufficiently effective in itself—even without my

adhering to superstition-to produce the intended mind shattering

results. Cox took my friend and me on a "flashlight tour"

through the rubble of Union Station, until we came to a homeless

man sleeping on the ground.

/Nashville's (then) abandoned train station/

Cox ordered me to "kiss the railroad bum good-bye," then shot

him between the eyes while I was still only inches away. He then

used a machete to chop off the man's hands, which he put in a

zip-lock bag. He then led us up the rickety stairs into the

lower of the old depot. There Jack Greene, his band members, and

others dressed in black robes were gathered around a black

leather alter in a room lit by candles and draped in red velvet.

In total shock, I was laid on the alter and subjected to rape

and torture while the participants indulged in sex, blood, and

cannibalism ritual.

The next day I woke up on Cox's couch, vaguely aware that I had

suffered a "bad nightmare". When I stood up, I passed out from

blood loss. I was bleeding profusely from the vagina. It was all

I could do to prepare to drive back to Michigan, and my friend

was certainly not in a stable frame of mind to help. I did not

know what happened to me, nor was I able to question it. I had a

new "obsession" on my mind. I had been programmed at the ritual

to move to Nashville and marry Cox, as ordered by Senator Byrd.

Back in Michigan, I made the announcement to my parents that I

was moving to Nashville to marry Cox, as it was

"predestination". What they would not tell me was that my father

had just literally SOLD me to Senator Byrd in exchange for

lucrative military contracts that made him a millionaire

overnight—a millionaire on a sixth grade education—a perverse,

child exploiting criminal, immune from prosecution, working as a

CIA operative for the U.S. government!

That mind shattering occult ritual I endured in Nashville marked

a new life of wealth and prestige for my father white thrusting

me into a new phase of my torturous existence-and I had no

choice in any of it.

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