I know, I know, the world falls to pieces when I don’t post, so here it is, in my humanitarian effort to save the world from itself. Many reasons: New Mandate – No more free digital content (this post excluded); exodusing Fedbook and thus the soul eating treason (personal picadillos and offenses included) among so called friends (I pinged off the alt alt alt mk crowd agenda); and the biggy – ankle and foot surgery.
Yup, that is right. I had a total ankle replacement, plus 2 foot fusions and a bunion removal. Now some of you might ask, why? How did that happen? Well, most definitively, it happened when my so called best friend bucked me off her horse when I was 15. She was jealous of me and I was so MK beguiled, it took me 40 years to finally blame her for it. She did feel bad about it but she also confessed she didn’t know why she did it. More of that “something came over me” thing. Digressing, it was her family who introduced me to my first boyfriend. Her mother and his mother were good friends. Both of them having tossed their husbands in the early stages of marriage. Both daughters of eastern European immigrants. These people were and still are typical of left leaning ideological sociopaths who consider nothing too great to stand in the way of their own entitlement to creature comforts – bonus points for cult of personality social groups.
The boyfriend encouraged me to have sex with other men almost immediately into our relationship. This included his best friend, his brother and random strangers. His self involved sister actually wrote a book about her life which included being sexually abused by their father. Funny, because her brother told me that she had sexually abused him. I wonder if that made the book? Their father died in a scuba diving scenario. Ruled suicide but apparently, that is not what other people thought, according to the boy.
So, when I think of how off balance I was for 40 years, how pained I was, how contorted, I think of them. These people who seemed to make it a mission to interfere in my life trajectory at all costs. But the snake in the grass did not begin there, nor did it end there. They were merely the first manifestations of mass generational MK I encountered outside my natal family.
Not abstractly at all, the surgery has provided opportunity to revisit trauma on the deepest levels. This is essential for healing both physically and somatically. There is a fringe benefit side effect that involves the entire system decoiling from trauma. Make no bones, I have the most intense type of trauma and distortion stored in my body and my head. (new age cults call them etheric implants) This is just the beginning (start at the bottom), but the effects are so encouraging, I am so happy.
People need to stop making excuses for their own state of MK infirmaries and contortions. When I was part of the LLL (liberal, lefty, luciferian) social idealism crowd (family extending into social world – worse in the east), I gave over my own instincts, good judgement, inner knowing, logic and reason to this pluralist fantasy which was created entirely to deflect blame from the guilty onto the victims. It carries on explosively today. Check out any narrative in politics, education, healthcare and media.
People don’t realize this fantasy was engineered into hyperdrive by the Nazis/ Jezzie/ Messie triumverate (ruling North America) to control my generation. Of course, this MK slide was always in play throughout the aeons via occult rule by the rod of iron, adminned through the fallen bloodlines. Bloodlines are cursed with ancestral oaths to this mission to hell.
|The one, the only, MK Ultra Girl, aka, Ultra Girl, Ultra Grrl, MK Ultra Grrl|
Any one in this programme from anywhere near 1962 was HARD CORE programmed. Its a different ball of wax from the methods used today but is the basis for all. They had to get the frequency windows from someone. If you have been paying attention all this time, you will know that I referred to these essences as “trapped soul sparks” in discovery. Fractals, fragments, alters are all the same.
I posit that time was distorted this way. Through living souls. So, if I can wake up to it, why can’t you? If the entire reality in which you live is being presented to you as a fraud using your own frequency, does it not stand to reason that you can own it and completely disengage it and start controlling it yourself? It is an action that must be taken. It is not a hope, a belief or ideology.
The greatest impediment to being a grounded realist with control and power over ones life (and thus a chance at happiness), appears to be the unwillingness of everyday people to see the affects of their own co option by the culture of MK, in their social groups, in their families, in their generations. They will invent another sociological phenomenon rather than face the truth. Nothing gets solved.
|Good chance this is my father in the chair with Mengele on his right.|
|same hairline, same head tilt, same hands, same ears|
I hope that I made a clear point by using my own life as an example. I can do that on 1,000’s of fronts because I am one of the greatest social experiments of the age. Not just me though, my sister, mother, father and brother. Why me? Why us? It happened to most of the messengers sent to guide the unveiling, the generationally cursed, all negative blood types (something special about something), and anyone else who farted their opposition to the standard shit eating MK Nazi Commie, LLL attempt to capture the spirits, hearts & minds of man through the last window of time and of course, the consenters.
These shit eaters do describe my own family. My sister is lost beyond almost all hope in an MK haze of max dosages of 8 different meds, but not her handlers- my aunt Joan has stepped into that role as though she owns it. My Aunt Joan was my mother’s twin sister. Twins. Twin town. Mengele. google it. So this seemingly innocent gabbler of clucking, “I don’t knows”, can’t seem to get her story straight. But I do know that my mother never received one dime from her family who inherited a farm, land, income, business & livelihood from the legacy of her Crunican father and Bourbeau mother. Not one dime.
It carries on today as the Crunican Brothers apple orchard in London Ontario. All inherited. But they were very insistent on letting me know how much they worked for what they got when I appealed to them to help my mother. They had a guilty front story all set up way back in the 90’s. Even my father and sister appealed to them to help my mother in the 2000’s. But no, they complained about having to store her furniture in the barn for free when she was homeless. They kept everything, except the things I sent my friend to retrieve. None of the items of my childhood from the farm were there. Something tells me they are in the house now. They were incredibly stingy with my mother when she asked for simple items like a cedar chest.
The disgraceful ignorance of these people does not end there. Bernice Crunican came to my sister’s 50th birthday party that I arranged, with nothing but scowls and scorn. I have no idea what lies this woman has been fed or been feeding others, but I do know she arrogantly asserted that the Bourbon name and the Bourbeau name have nothing to do with each other. Because no one wants to know that these seemingly humble quakeresque roman catholics , are stealing inheritances and trying to hide their tracks.
Aunt Joan finally got her payout after Pat Crunican died. Apparently she got a very large sum. Pay off? That was a long wait.. But well worth it, I guess, because the kids got the house and she got a condo. Oh and my sister got a vaccuum.
Now the Atkin’s are not quite as bad.. not quite. The only remnant of mild truth acknowledgment comes from one cousin who as it turns out is a negative blood. The rest not. My aunt is also my godmother; a reluctant one. She married my dad’s brother Jim Atkin, who was an 0 negative. I wonder if that means my dad was too? She wouldn’t tell the truth if her life depended on it. Except for the info on blood types she is as mute as Aunt Joan (both of them are retired nurses). No memories either! How convenient. No opinions. Just another old broad trying to play me, like I can’t tell.
Both of these lines used my mother as the scapegoat in understanding my family and projecting a dialectic to the world and (most ridiculously, to me). All of it was lies. My mother was an excellent person. She was the best. There was nothing in her character that deserved derision. She was loving, kind, funny, compassionate and giving. But both of these lines insist that my father was the one to be pitied and my mother was the cause of all our troubles. Well, I don’t think it was my mother who drove us to the MK testing labs or beat us black and blue. Another thing these simple folk need to understand is that my father NEVER liked them. He mocked them all. Truth sucks eh?
Back to healing. That is what I am doing. I felt relief even as I awoke from the anesthetic. Already, I see and feel my body realigning. My surgeon was excellent, is excellent. The best apparently. My GP, on the other hand is not. I keep him because he is a nice guy, but as far as being a doctor, he does wear a white lab coat.
Here is a good story for all you MK gawkers. So, clearly, I had to put my trust in the medical process or I wasn’t going to get fixed. MK ultra girl is public. I don’t hide it for my children (don’t have any), to protect my blah blah blah.. because I don’t have any of that culpability. I am financially independent because I own and operate my own business. FYI all you tenderized flakes, nobody gives a shit. Just because I am mk ultra girl doesn’t mean that I can’t cut a deal or look after myself or tell the world where to go. This marginalized dissonance has to stop. There are lots of high functioning survivors, but most of them are scared of the truth for one reason or another. Let me give you an example or 3.
It has been 2 years (Oct. 2015) since MK ultra girl discovery. When I say that I mean, the day I saw that picture and recognized myself. I call that MK ultra girl discovery. I had been flirting in on line discourse before that trying to investigate my mother’s involvement as a patient of Ewan Cameron in the Sleep Therapy Programme in Montreal in the 50’s at the Allen Memorial institute at Royal Victoria Hospital at McGill university funded by both Health Canada and the education ministry and the CIA.
|This is my Mother, Emma Jane Crunican.|
in 2013, I saw my mother in this clip of an Infowars produced movie and made numerous attempts to contact the writers and Infowars.
Nothing. Not one reply. When I saw myself in that picture, I made another attempt to contact an alt media outlet that I perceived at the time to have some merit. Nothing. not a word. So it would seem these alt alt alt media types making news with mk stories don’t really want to hear from the survivors. I reply to every contact I get. Interference? Now, the duo I contacted after discovery were these the same people who made this.
How do you pronounce that name? Creators Aaron Dykes and Melissa Dykes already knew who I was before concocting this vid using a nice big cameo of me in the opening. Dyke as in Dickhead? Or Dyke as in lesbian? Fully willing to spring off my content, not willing to acknowledge the real deal.
But you can’t single them out or any of the American alt alt alt media anti heros, the Canadian fringe bangers were no better. Ann Diamond was so emotionally invested in her content, she took it as competition when she learned of discovery. As though my revelation was somehow overshadowing her story. All MK stories had to be vetted by her apparently. It was so pathetic.
The only other copyright abuser (other than the 1000’s of usages before discovery) is a contact through Ann Diamond, the ubiquitous, Cathy Fox Blog: Anonymous serial clerk on a questionable crusade to tell other peoples abuse stories. Other than that, I receive sporadic and limited contact from actual survivors; Not one turn from ANY media, alt or otherwise. Yet the story is so obvious you would have to be “living in an MK world” to not see it. What does that tell you about the actual state of inquiry? It is all MK gawkers.
UPDATE Nov 2019: SAAGA has formed. Class Action Lawsuit launched. SA Johnson has joined our lawsuit. Entertainment still profits off our tragedies.
2 years of more, that’s where the files went!, Netflicks sci fi dramas; mainstream rehashing of the same front story; grandkids of survivors doing performance art via Canadian Art Establishment cliquedom; Dance! and a rash of rapper trash and gangstah swag, alt media playing in step & and some people working on lawsuits. I am all in favour of lawsuits, but media awareness is key as well.
|Uncle Paul Crunican trying to be affectionate.|
But I digress, the real mk gawker story happened in the OR recovery at St. Paul’s Hospital. FYI, Paul / St. Paul/ Saul / Apollonius of Tyana, was the anti christ, so get over it. Also, my mother’s brother was Father Paul Crunican and people thought of him as a saint. Yes, he was so saintly he would visit my mother every few years and give her 50 dollars whist he bulked up over 200k in cash that mostly went to the Roman Catholic church after he died. Other than that he was a mute shit eater to me. I was a confirmed atheist so I had none of the Father Paul BS, I called him uncle Paul. They were complicit in something that is for sure. They covered a crime and my mother was the fall guy. It was essential that she remained on drugs, shocked and afraid for her life. They all supported that. Aunt Joan, her own twin sister, worked against her. She even went out with my mom’s ex fiance and conveniently didn’t tell me when I asked about him. This mysterious ex fiance killed himself. My father would gloat over this on rare occasion.
A distant older generation relative told me he heard my parents met in a mental institute. Curiously, the evidence would support that this could very well be true. COMPLETE denial of this tale from both sides of the family. What exact koolaid are they on?
I woke up from the unaesthetic at 100%. I was positively punchy. My nurse beside me was awesome with the straw and the water. I was so thirsty! I saw a lifeless slight Chinese woman across from me. I was right beside a street drug woman, they really meddle with you at that stage. No attempts to privatize the gritty details. There is definitely a concerted consensual thing going on there. I wonder if straight people realize that most hospital patients are already sick and dying. There is definatly a food for the fodder aspect to it.
Both of my intake nurses were surprised that I was not on any medication. That is why it is so hard to get help in Canada. The system is full of lab rats who have already given their consent (or become ensnared as my mother was) to the medical/ pharma kill factories. It is the guinea pigs who get the treatment. If you can still breath, doctors say you are fine and kick you out of their office. I had to yell at mine after 4 years of complaining and xrays for him to give me a referral. There was no way in hell I was going to accept that every step I take till the end was going to be painful. So, I was really happy when I awoke. I could feel things improving immediately.
I am not sure, if they lumped me in with the worst cases on purpose or if every single patient was the same, but 2 out of the 6 in my 2 rooms complained of abuse from the only state operated senior care facility in BC, Holy Family. Run by the Catholic Church.
You can’t make this shit up. One guy was all up and writing his affidavit against the nurse who had thrown him down the stairs at Holy Family and caused his hip surgery. The other was whimpering from trauma for 18 hrs till I left, saying things like, never…. been…. treated…. like …. this…. to the nurses who all tried to shuffle her pillows and dismiss her. There was no question this woman had experienced some deep trauma and abuse. I have no idea if she had surgery. Recovering from surgery did not sound like that with the other 2. I never saw this woman at all, even though she was directly across from me. She was Filipino IMO by her accent. Very sad and troubling.
The first guy who was in front of me got wheeled out after wheezing the death rattle all night that hip transplant number 2 mistook as snoring. My first night was comforted by the most angelic perfect nurse that I adored. BUT! During the night, under cover of darkness, I was visited by an old cronish woman with big dark bags under her eyes and badly pinned shoulder length grey hair who loomed down at me from a skeletal frame and said nothing. I confronted her away from the etheric two step I was on via the morphine. I can jump in and out of worlds very quickly. I asked what her name was. I think she said, Dr. Carr? She continued to give me that mengele puppet cold glare, which reminded me of Dr. Marmoreo and other MK doctors over the years. She turned around and left. Not a few minutes after, ANOTHER out of place, non duty, older woman comes for a peak a boo. She was rotund and busty with a pointy hair cut that looked like a huge Egyptian wig. She turned around as soon as I practically yelled at her when I asked what her name was, at the foot of the bed.
The real MK Gawkers? You tell me. I posit two things. Mk Ultra Girl is being tracked. There are files. Red light came on. Handlers get curious. OR the electro spectre meters were spiking and they traced that to me. Maybe a bit of both. It hardly matters.
In any case, while I slipped into the other dimensions, I was liberating souls everywhere on that floor. I have no idea the extent of my work since I could only remember the first instances in and out of these opium door ways. My presence interrupted the food for fodder cycle, was noticed and measured. These frequencies are in fact completely monitored via any backdoor super computer system. It is the basis of THIS reality and it is crumbling. It is a good thing when it falls away completely. Do not believe anyone who says it is for your own good. They are lying to you. Do not wait to be offered a way out. If that happens you are hooped. RUN.
Escape from 9C post op occurred at noon on day 3. I suffered an array of more clone than human drs, nurses and the countless other names they have for these positions come filtering through with their wide eyed hypnotic attempts to ensnare you, poke you, prod you. They love asking leading questions and nodding at you at the same time. It would be funny if it weren’t so sinister. Literally like a stock photo of a gen X doctor, perfect teeth, long blond shag cut with frosty tips, white lab coast and scope, this woman gives me a prescription for morphine and tells me to fill it before I go home. DON’T WAIT!
I had all these scripts lying on the floor until I cleaned them up and threw them in the garbage. Now, I am writing an ebook: How to navigate the Canadian medical system and come out ahead, with your head. This would all be a great story if it weren’t true. Why write stories, the truth is so much better. Mk Ultra Girl is truly holding all the cards.
Next month, I am launching a 10 year Ultra Grrl world tour, book series, art show and advertising agency. Keep up your spirits. And don’t forget to donate, connect and comment.
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