Men Staring At Goats

by John Stormm, MK Ultra Survivor

     If you've ever seen the movie/comedy, "Men Who Stare At Goats", with a host of bright stars like George Clooney and such in it.  You probably remember that it was a comedy, based upon a true account of the American military's dabbling into the paranormal, to look for real world weapons applications.  The movie parodies this program to ridiculousness, and for many in this paradigm we live in, it is the stuff of crazy people.  It is not a subject that I am even comfortable speaking about as I will here, because there's a much deeper reality to it than most perceive, and in places, I only barely touch that.  Things have happened in the course of my MK Ultra experience that I cannot fully account for, and I have the damnedest times even getting people to listen or understand the parts that are concrete solid and easily explained about this program.  It's a VERY documented and known program, even though the government, in the personage of CIA Director, Richard Helms, had destroyed the bulk of the files and records of the people they used and experimented on back in 1973, just prior to being investigated in a Congressional Hearing.  This hearing was instigated by the many victims of this program and their doctors, after it become known via the Freedom of Information Act, that they were NOT delusional about the things they claimed disabled them in one form or another.  For an Ultra like me, it represented validation and acceptance into the "normal" world.  When people would understand something of how I got this way, and not just think I was nuts.  

     No matter how many times I showed off, doing the things that most people thought were "crazy", or "just one of those things" and performed them time after time after time and again, it couldn't possibly have been because I was worked over in a secret government black project at a well known, local hospital.  That was "a delusion", and though I was talented and nearly indestructable, I was merely a lucky fool and that was that.  Crazy people can be abnormally strong and appear to be rational in their insanity.  Being a known martial arts master of over 50 years experience and exposure as a teacher to very many people,in countless exhibitions, a lot of what I do is relegated to those weird, unexplainable things that Shaolin monks are capable of doing in chop socky flicks, and this is an acceptable explanation for my abnormalities.  I could tell people, potential students that I can teach and condition them to be able to do many of the things they've seen me do.  But most back away from that offer with no little fear in their eyes.  They can't imagine that I might be right.  Though I *have* taught and helped condition *some* exceptional students to do just that.  It is NOT a grandiose or delusional promise made by a mad man.  I am not merely a Black Belt karate instructor, I am a master teacher of my skill sets.  I am widely known by many other master teachers of various martial disciplines by name, face or reputation.  No matter what Richard Helms destroyed of my past records:  I exist and am a fully capable "super soldier" and around the city I've spent the larger portion of my life in, and around the globe where I've visited, there are many witnesses to deeds which you will no doubt describe as "larger than life".  Those are my "normal" as an MK Ultra survivor.

     Until a number of years ago, especially after the fiasco of the Congressional Hearing on this program that I had such high hopes for; this was not a topic that I cared to discuss much.  I'm sensitive on levels that most cannot begin to comprehend and the stories draw that same reaction of "this poor fool is delusional".  I would say:  If you ever harbored the idea that yourself and a gang of twenty of your toughest friends could survive longer than five minutes in a locked room with me, at my worst... it is not I that is delusional.  What I have done in full out combat fighting, under worse circomstances is NOT imaginary.  No soldier can EVER forget such experiences and it leaves a mark on them FOREVER!  That's not 'delusional'.   That is called PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  You may be saying even now:  That it is just not possible for anyone to do the things we give personal testimony about in these interviews and such.  It is not possible for YOU to do these things!  Nobody ever trained and traumatized you to fight for your life or die trying and let you watch your peers wind up dead or worse for trying and failing.  But for many of us, life has never allowed us the comforts and securities that you can take for granted.  There's a life and death reason why the government destroyed the records of the atrocities they committed upon American children.  They fear being put to death for the sheer magnitude of thier crimes!

     From around 2005, some long time friends kept telling me about the testimonies of a man named Duncan O'Finioan that they perused on the Internet speaking of the MK Ultra program.  "DUDE!  This guy looks and sounds so much like YOU that it CAN'T be a coinsidence!"  The name really never rang a bell at the time.  I was working on my Witch Clan fantasy series and very busy writing, and too busy to get my hopes up that anyone will ever be able to see and understand what had happened to my life here.  But they never relented, and eventually I took the time to view one of his Project Camelot interviews.  The name didn't ring a bell, but he talked about things that nobody but a survivor of that program could know, and I knew that face and build from an early age.  When he spoke of spending summers with a favorite uncle, and coming back home with skill sets that he couldn't explain, I understood how that happened in great detail.  When I saw videos of him working techniques he had no knowledge of learning, I knew EXACTLY  where and how he learned them, and I knew from whom he learned them, and SOME (not all) he learned from me.  Who was also reportedly spending a summer with a favorite uncle.  Except that I knew where I was and what I was doing for the lion's share of that time span. 

     For me, my skill sets came from a number of master teachers as well, and I've had some of the best in the world.  And when I objected to certain types of missions, I had to "earn my keep" to prevent me being relegated to the types of institutions and cruel experimentations that the "throw aways" in this program wound up in.  I would constantly be reminded of how much money was invested in me and that they expected a full return on their investment.   I was NEVER referred to as a "person", but an "asset", "a piece of government property".   So I shared my training with others in the Ultra programs, Deltas, Rangers, Recons, Green Berets and etc. who were also used in deadly clandestine missions.  Duncan was about seven years my junior, and he had an exceptional focus when he took in his lessons, as if his life depended upon every last detail.  It DID!  And like me, if he failed, it would not be pleasant at all and death would probably be a better end than what we could anticipate in this monstrous life we were forced into.  In so many ways, he was more a brother than my little brother was, because I could relate on the deepest levels what motivated him and understand him like I understood my own soul.

     Now, if I wanted a "hook" to draw my audience into this lengthy diatribe, I probably should have put this part in the first paragraph to help hold your attention.  But I really have long lost any cares about getting the average, herd mentality, MK Sheeple to understand this part of my life.  You can't MAKE somebody understand or relate.  If you're that interested and going this far into my essay here, then you'll probably have more than just an idea.  I've managed to make a few people see and look into some of these things and they are beginning to see that I've more than a small clue of what I've been talking about all this time about "super soldiers" from these programs.  There's a lot of really bizarre testimonies from other Ultras and such from these programs, that just go beyond weird.  What troubles me most is, that I can't really tell you for a fact that they are "delusional" in what they are claiming.  The fact is, there's some really weird shit going on in these programs that I can't give as easy an explanation for as some of the other things I've claimed and shown in some of my Youtube clips or demonstrated in martial arts exhibitions, and I want to touch upon some of that.  It's not really for YOUR benefits that I do, but for MINE.  I've learned that when I take the time to put vague thoughts and notions into structured language, that they begin to be clearer for me and better understood.  I can't trust myself to the machinations of any old head shrinker, as my lifetime has been one of abuse from some of the brightest monsters of modern psychiatry in our lifetime.  I am speaking of Dr. Sydney Gottlieb, Dr. Ewen Cameron, Dr. George Estabrooks, Dr. Michael Orn, Dr. Louis Jolyan West and many others through the Rockefeller Eugenics Group and CIA black programs in Building 400 on the University of Rochester Medical Center campus.  You probably have no idea, how much danger I brought upon myself naming those names and places.  I've been in life threatening situations most of my life as a matter of course.  But I know if you check through other credible sources that you will find that this is not some mental abberation, but solid historical fact, no matter how many records Helms destroyed, there are many other records that place these men and projects in this area at these times.  I was there, and I was an exceptional prodigy of a test subject.

     I will be getting into the Men Staring At Goats part of this story.  But I don't want to leave you with the ridiculous comedic pictures the movie was designed to make you imagine when such things get brought up by whistle blowers and such.  What I want you to have a real understanding of how such things really came about in the course of these black project experiments on REAL children in this country and others.  It was a funny movie, and I enjoyed laughing at it too.  But it is NOT the reality of what these experiments entailed upon those of us they were imposed upon.  I did NOT volunteer.  I had only two choices of "very, very bad" or "much, MUCH worse" if I didn't allow these things to be done to me.  That was not the least bit funny.  It scarred us in ways that most will never understand.  Sometimes even literally.  I've explained in some of my testimonies about how they strengthened and hardened our skeletal structures to incredible degrees through a known physical process known as Wolf's Law.  I've described how the trauma made us accelerate faster via adrenalin overloads, and how they made our musculature much denser and stronger through strong electric shocks spread through various muscle groups.  I've mentioned the increased intelligence and genius IQs found in the most successful of us, but not so much of how that was accomplished in us.  I've briefly mentioned being used in "remote viewing" and even some techniques as to how that may be done by many of you.  And maybe a little bit about forcing us out of our bodies to gain input by immersing us into sensory deprivation tanks.  If you do your own research into these things, you will find many of your own links leading back to the MK Ultra and related projects and universities that particpated in them as well.  But I didn't say much on how they'd scar our brain stems, to increase the likelihood of of such phenomena in us.

     I was inducted into this program, almost immediately after I was born, on July 31st, 1953.  On the back of my neck is something my mother always described as my "strawberries" or a "birth mark".  They change color with the seasons, I'm told.  But I've got three or four "birth marks" on a few parts of my body, that are different in appearance and nature than these.  These are from doctors (those saintly men you worship as paragons of humanity) purposely scarring this infant's brain stem, to increase their capacity for having a 'photographic' or eidetic memory.  Most people can only remember back to about eight or nine years old in their lives, if that.  I remember back ALL of my life.  I remember nearly everything I've ever seen or read at any age.  My personal concept of time is NOT linear or sequential.  I remember everything as if they only happened a week ago.  It doesn't imply that I understood every last thing, but it is a permanent part of my memory of my lifetime and my own awareness.  But for little islands of all too brief happiness, love and security; it is a virtual sea of darkness, fear, anxiety, stress and deadly violence.  That is the life I adapted to, to survive and try to grow into my own man through.   I cannot begin to describe the bone shivering dread that overwhelms me when I see those places and relive those times in my memories, but like before:  I struggle to overcome them because I must, or there is no hope for me at all.  Failure is not an option that anyone wants to contemplate in an environment such as MK Ultra has forced us to endure.  And as rough as my life has been and is now, I feel most fortunate to command my own soul to this day and time.  It is my hope that many of you will find your own for yourselves, by considering what some of the things I am speaking freely about here, relate to you and yours.   

     I want to come back to the most bizarre experiments alluded to in "Staring At Goats", and for that I need to come back to my brother in arms, Duncan O'Finioan... "my little brother from another mother" as I like to say.  This is NOT to be condescending towards him in any way.  In very profound ways, he is like a hero to me, for his speaking out and reliving every time he shares his experiences, to what amounts to a crowd of bored fools, looking for an enthralling tale to tickle their ears.  All in hopes of reaching that one or two souls in that crowd, for whom the "little light comes on" when he touches upon the proper sequence for them.  His speaking had goaded me to re-examine some things I had put "on the back burner" ages ago and didn't want to revisit unless I could get something productive out of the anxiety it causes just to look at it again.  I'm sure there are a myriad of veterans out there, who can relate to NEVER EVER talking about the things they see and relive again and again in their nightmares.  People say:  "Talk about them.  Get them out again.  It's good for you!"  NO!  It's not good at all, and those things that burn themselves that intensely into your brain, NEVER lessen or decrease in their impact no matter how often you speak or relive them, or how much time has passed.  That is the difference between something that gives you PTSD, and just another bad day at the office.  

     Duncan, and Dave Corso (another Ultra from the early days of this program) have shared a story about an incursion into Cambodia, at a time when Nixon was telling the world that we had no people in Cambodia or Laos.  In that testimony, they speak of a group of little more than Ultra children had joined hands and created a "killing field" that extended quite a ways out from their pick-up point via helicopter.  I know how absolutely delusional that may sound to nearly all of you.  It is far too fantastic or incredible to believe.  I would say these men should be wearing monogrammed straight jackets in a high rent rubber room, except I know something about this that I've hardly ever shared and barely understood for myself.  I too, had been on missions in Cambodia back in those days. 

      My mission was two fold:  It was known that the Vietcong were crossing the border from their Ho Chi Minh trail to avoid the American troops trying to break their supply lines.  A number of highly trained Ultras and similar Ops were hidden in the jungles and creating our own terror upon their troops by quietly and covertly decimating their numbers in highly unconventional ways.  My particular forte was in Ninja tactics.  This is not an extravagant fantasy claim.  This is a skill set I have been known to possess and teach for many decades.  When a Cong would fall too far behind the group, they would be yanked into the jungle shadows only to be found much later with their necks broken and their heads facing the wrong directions on their corpses.  As grisly as this seems, it assured that they were truly dead and not just paralyzed by the broken neck to speak about it later as it constricted their windpipes shut in the twisting of the neck.  It served to help make them fearful of crossing into Cambodian or Laotian territory to continue carrying their war to us in South Vietnam.  There was also the well funded and armed Khmer Rouge to consider, and Cambodian nationals needed my specific training in being able to combat and arm themselves from Khmer Rouge weapons and stockpiles since we couldn't just outright fund and supply them to fight their end of their own war.  But after the idiotic multiple US bombings of Batambang, I became problematic about having anything to do with the monstrous killings of civilians as "collateral damage", and that we especially had no such rights to carry out on a people we were not legitimately at war with.  For my portion of mind control to fight and kill as I did in good conscience, I had to believe in what I was doing was to help people in some way.  I can kill murdering bastards all day long and not lose a moment's sleep over it.  My strikes are as "surgical" as they get.  This was atrocious.  So, to keep their investments paying off in deadly premiums, I was offered the option of joining forces with a few Alphabet Agencies, in tracking down and killing some of the more notorious drug cartels in Central America.  This had the added benefit of being able to spend more time at home with my karate studios after only a couple weeks at a time out in the field.

     This was in the 1976-77 term of CIA Director Geo. H.W. Bush, and I was attached to a professional mercenary (contractors) group known as the Disney Toons.  My call sign was: Thumper.  Well, that COULD have been worse.  Towards the end of my actions there, I had the distinct feeling that I was being set up and sold out, as sometimes our marks would know we were coming and from what directions.  In one such campaign, my luck ran out and I was captured near the Mexican border, where Belize and Guatamala touch it.  I do not have a recollection of how much time had passed, but I was chained naked to a metal box springs and shocked with electrical probes and worked over with a gold club, a putter.  In my mind, I simply went to another place as I had been conditioned to do since I was a baby, when awful things were happening to me.  I'm sure there are some of you who understand how this happens. You did not come to this unpleasant an understand through an easy means.  I'd come back when they were finished or tired of whipping on a dead horse, as it were, and I'd grip the edges of the bed springs and work the metal until it fatigued enough to break and slip my bindings loose enough to get myself free.  I was in very bad shape from my trials there and hadn't eaten or drank in I don't know how long.  But I remember fully sneaking up and killing two men in the hacienda that I was held in.  I made it quick and lethal especially because I was weak and depleted and hadn't much hope that I could sustain much of a good fight outrightly upon the professional killers who had held me captive.  I only remember killing the two.  I was being held in a populated, remote compound.  I do not recall how I got out of it.  I remember walking through a lot of wilderness like I was on auto-pilot, one foot in front of the other, endlessly until I came to a place where I could be picked up and get help.  It was sometime, before my unit told me that the "cleaning ladies" went to clean out the nest I was held in, only to find that every last person in that place was already deader than disco when they got there.  Somehow, some part of me took over and finished the job that I, in no way had the physical strength left to do alone at the time.  I had wondered about that for many years with no idea, until I heard Duncan and Dave relate their story of the Cambodian incursion.

     Even then, I did not want to accept or believe it, but this is not the kind of thing that any man would forget.  Except I DID forget certain key parts of it.  I examine many aspects of my training and conditioning in the parts I fully remember of MK Ultra, and I'm looking for things that some how correspond to this kind of killing.  Now that goofy movie, Men Who Stare At Goats comes to mind.  But that is hardly the light hearted, goofy memories I have of this kind of conditioning.  Most of our training and such was trauma based.  We were made to be terrified of the results if we failed to accomplish the things we were commanded to do.  There ARE fates worse than death, and we knew ALL of them intimately!  To get me to leave my body to remote view or astral project, if you will, I was locked in a sensory deprivation tank until the only way to escape the blackness of non-existence, I had to reach out of myself to the realms of light and input, and be able to describe things that could be proven by my master's research or target areas.  To remote view, or psycicly track down a criminal and take him out, I had to see a file, photos and information peculiar to that one person and obsess over them day and night.  To think as they would think and see what they would see, and know intimately those motives they had to do the things they were known to do.  I would know where they were at moment by moment and track them down and my life would not be free of them until they were dead.  This is not your typical New Age blissful way to learn these skills.  It is ALL dark and traumatic and indelibly printed upon all of us who survived them.

So, it stands to reason that we did not simply sit in a room and stare at goats until they died.  We had to have some kind of urgent, life threatening connections in order to generate that kind of responses.  Everything in nature is "cause and effect".  Not just mere whim and a command given.  But darker and deeper!

     Now this is the part of my essay, that is my version of "therapy", to help me make either explain or at least make some sense of the more bizarre aspects of my experiences.   This is where I search all those painful memories for something that sheds some light in all of those deep, dark places in my life experience in this present paradigm.  What parts of those strange and evil experiences would be needed to condition a person such as I to be able to do such incredible things?  It may help you, to figure out what parts of these "super soldier" testimonies are credible for yourselves or not.  But actually, this is for my own benefit to get a few more things out of those dark places and into the light where I can better understand them for myself.  It is not an easy life, living with so much pain and darkness in it.  I have to reconcile myself with all that I can uncover of it.  As I said earlier in this:  Just because I remember nearly everything, it doesn't mean that I understand all of it.  I just store it away until I have more information to weigh with it at a later date. This is one of those times for me.  As you are looking into these things too, I'll share what I can.  Try not to tell me what you *think* really happened.  You have no clue how far this has gone and what I, or the others have lived through.  This is me trying to heal myself of yet another grevious personal injury.  I have lived a large portion of my life, alone in the dark, and I've learned to rely on the one person who always has my best interests and survival at heart....ME!

   I focus on the things that made remote viewing a mark to their death,  The intensity and obsessive focus and trauma that pushed me beyond myself to do these things as if it were "natural" for me.  Staring an animal or a person to death, without touching them, by merely focusing on it is far too trivial a thing to make that kind of connection work to any appreciable degree.  I know that because it almost never has before for me.  I remember the things and images of my early childhood, where fear or trauma based connections were begun and made.  I remember being locked in a dark, nasty old, rat and spider infested basement as a punishment for some slight on my part as a boy.  Alone in the dark, but this was unlike the tank, because I could sense the "lights" of nearly every living creature in the house.  I knew the moment when Grandma would get home and let me out.  I knew where others were in the house, and I knew, whether I could see them or not, where all the rats and spiders were crawling.  I had found a wounded mallard duck in my Grandma's backyard one autumn and it came to me and I befriended it and called him "Ducky Boy".  Of course, I wanted to keep him.  My step father wanted to eat him.  But I was determined to be his protector until he could heal.  So, as the weather got quite cold, we kept him in my Grandma's basement.  It was one of those old, converted from coal-to-oil furnaces and still had the rough hewn wooden bin and chute where the coal used to be delivered.  A very dark place with a single weak electric bulb to light it and of course, nobody wanted to pay the electric bill to keep it lit all the time.  And when the house was quiet and nobody there to protect the duck, the rats tried their best to get him.  Big city, sewer rats.  When I was aware of his distress, I would come down and sit with him in the dark and keep them at bay.  I learned to despise them, and I didn't like the spiders much either.  They all served to make both his and my life more difficult to protect or be nice enough to consider ourselves as "living well", and not just more hell in the dark.  I had learned early in my craft lessons, that anything I could feel, I could transmit to others.  Fear, infatuation, pain and all of these came most naturally for me.   I couldn't let the cats into the basement to get the rats, because they would also be interested in the duck.  I could keep them away with fear or threat of pain, but I had to leave him alone down there sometime, and they'd be back at him again and again until they had him worn down enough to eat him.  The ONLY way to save the duck was to kill the rats.  Setting traps or poison would only make it more dangerous for him too.  And I learned something else to make the rats dead.  I remember how badly it made the basement stink after they died down there.  Eventually my step father, under the guise of setting Ducky Boy free, sold him to a Puerto Rican man to cook and eat.  Not that I could fault that over much.  But I digress.

     The next step in the conditioning came in hating reptiles and such.  Looking back, I find this unreasonable and unacceptable.  But such is not what I was taught and conditioned for at the time.  I was tormented in many nightmares with a seven foot tall "frogman" (not the scuba type) who would grab me and try to drag me back down into my grandmother's basement.  It made a good night's sleep hard to come by, and I always had these dark circles under my eyes from so much of this sort of thing back then.  It was hard to live and be sociable around people who could not understand these things, so I sought out the wilderness areas, by the Genesee River, the swamps and woods around Durand Eastman and Seneca Parks.  And seeing the frogs looking at me, as if they knew what the monster frogman wanted to do to me.  There were a lot of amphibian carcasses for the snapping turtles and herons to eat back then.  I think from these and experiences like these is where I learned to reach deep within and find the inspiration to kill to preserve myself or those I loved.  There are a good deal more "dreams" and instances where my fears and phobias were preyed upon until I found it within me to conquer them.  But it would simply make this essay all the more tedious and verbose to endure.  It was also at this time when my doctors and handlers began treating me more with "kid gloves" as if I were some kind of venomous serpent that they had to be careful about getting past a certain point of fear or dread.  For me, if I knew I could kill it, I had no good reason to fear it.  I hated fear.  Where as certain creatures like themselves, seemed to feed on all that fear, I hated the taste and smell of it and even less so in myself.  Duncan had mentioned that this sort of killing field was stored in some aspect of our "alters", and programmed to be initiated only in specific instances and be virtually unreachable to us any other way.   

     How is it, that we can speak about these things, and not be murdered by the spooks for it?  It is obviously not fantasy, because if you're REALLY paying attention to this, and not some shill trying to find any lame excuse to allegedly debunk it, you'll know there's plenty enough evidence to suggest that we at least know or understand intimately the things we are telling you.  Back when I was trying to disassociate myself from my murderous masters, they sent a few spooks to "lean on me".  I defended myself and left their easily identifiable bodies laying about where certain officials would be asking very pointed, and diplomatically sensitive and embarassing questions.  For me, that wasn't more than a training exercise.  But what kind of threat would trigger an even more difficult to explain "killing field"?  I'll bet they've plenty to fear on those counts and tread very lightly.  We could leave more bodies laying about than Jonestown and not even be aware that we were triggered to it.  And that field was very selective in who was effected in Duncan and Dave's experience in Cambodia.  The people piloting the chooper, and the people they were trying to extract were not effected by it, but the surrounding hostiles WERE!  For myself, at the very least, the entire compound where I was held and tortured was decimated to the last man.  I hadn't heard anyone else locally was effected by this or not.  But my tormentors never survived.  Though I often wonder why it didn't trigger while or before they all got too busy torturing me.  But I'm sure that I have much more to re-examine and explore to find and claim my own control over that piece of programming as I have with all the rest of it.  Who knows how much more I'll discover hidden away inside?  For yourselves, this will be an interesting story anyway.

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This was written by John Stormm