Soul Wars in the Scottish Asylum

Editors Note: Just to warn you that if you’re of squeamish disposition then don’t read this chapter.

 I’ve been in two minds about writing this chapter as all of these events or x-files told here are both true yet totally incredible in every legal sense of the word.

Who would therefore believe them ?

That can make what goes on in these places very good camouflage for ‘other things’ that are totally ‘deniable’.

Which I suppose therefore means that although the stories and interpretations could be described as ‘delusional architecture’, they do never the less represent the business end of societies last resort, where people of all beliefs and opinions and martial arts disciplines have their differences resolved in that unique social and psychiatric cocktail that is the Scottish Lunatic Asylum.

X-files aside, a reason for writing this chapter is to point out that the word and concept of an Asylum is itself a bizarre and misplaced notion that deserves to be disassociated from the mental health industry in general.

There is no such place as a lunatic asylum.

It is more like an extreme camping trip in the predatory B-Movie wilderness where you pray for deliverance and try to focus and concentrate on the fast-moving and dangerous activities within the camp.

It is very much a concentration camp in that respect.

Another reason for this testimony is to ask the question about sanity that really needs asking – because clearly the inmates were not the most unreasonable people at these localities.

If these stories are true (though some are altered for obvious reasons, they remain true), then why have such participating institutions e.g. medical doctors and military (and indeed aliens), the right to operate in this manner upon the most vulnerable people in our society ??

In my opinion, the word asylum has to be totally excluded from the paradigm of mental health in Scotland.

The concept of sanctuary is a charade.

It is the place society and some other beings use to ‘get you’ and indeed had it not been for my own interest in the beliefs of the ‘lunatic fringe’ I would never have been awakened in time to climb out of the blender.

 My current research focuses on issues around alien mind control and assimilation, and looks at its social history from the 1960’s from its birth in Radio Eugenics to its more advanced ideas as seen in the world Transhuman Movement that occur from the 1990’s. Transhumanism is a global organization of scientists who advocate uploads for all, and who give deference to the rise of the super intelligent machine.

Although they are anti-irrationalist and anti-religious and sound convincing there are currently no publications anywhere that would justify their own faith in the success of human technology to achieve their stated goals.

Drew Hempel notes that in 1975 Oliver Reiser and the World Institute editor Ervin Laszlo published the real Matrix plan called Cosmic Humanism and World Unity.

According to Hempel, the 1975 book calls the plan, The Matrix prominently and repeatedly many years before the  Hollywood film, and states that humans will be in Techno-Samadhi as the neuroblasts and Electronic tubes for the new World Mother. According to this plan, the embryo of this mother is in the middle of the earth and like an egg, the humans and the environment are to be fed off as energy for the evolution of the Matrix. Radio-Eugenics is still openly promoted by the World Institute – except now it is called orthosynthesis. In Techno-Samadhia a person does not breath or think words – they are hooked up to satellite systems and used as energy that controls and manipulates higher dimensional space-time.  This to me sounds like the inside of an alien hive. This is all detailed in Cosmic Humanism and World Unity – the actual plan for the Matrix.

The essence of this plan is to create a new global religion called cosmic humanism now called transhumanism – or in general techno-spirituality.

This matrix plan sounds like the language and ideology of grey and reptilian  hive creation and its consumption and harvesting of spirit as described is how I understand that the hive process works. I have spoken to people who are hooked up to or fighting the assimilation process of this collective. It is an empty and hungry hive that needs new people to feed from to keep its higher echelons in the manner to which they have become accustomed as they roll across this galaxy. I suspect that a large amount of human population has been handed over in trade to these beings.

In order for the aliens to assimilate us into their matrix I have formed the theory that they act upon us by presenting the anti-thesis to every kind of aspiration and hope that we may possess. The aliens would engineer and present negative counter examples to our best personal and social hopes so that they can make us feel cut off and isolated and disorientated. By thus isolating us in a hopeless state we become easier to acquire and manipulate.

It’s true to state that I have an actual real time example of them trying to do that with me. I owned this beautiful, rich and empowering red raincoat. It was a classy item made in Germany with the best of German engineering etc etc it was disaster proof, rugged, made to last etc I was walking through the park when I saw two cars come along the park road. Both were red.

The first car was a beautiful new expensive small car the same colour red as my coat, and the other car following directly behind, driving illegally, was a dark, very old rusty red small car  and as the two cars passed by I immediately spotted that it appeared that someone had taken a pot of the beautiful fresh red expensive paint the same colour as the front car and of my coat and had arbitrarily splashed it as if thrown onto the hood of the following car.

It wasn’t some new artform … it was as if the fresh new red was being thrown downmarket and being transferred and downgraded onto something old and past it. The values of my red coat were being depressed. As soon as I recognized the total bizarre impossibility of there being anywhere a pot of paint that would ever be thrown on a car hood and the same colour of red as the car in front and my coat I just said … you’ve got to be kidding. As soon as I said that … the old car suddenly stopped in the road and sat there and put on its hazard warning lights – like I had just terminated a sub-routine in a computer program. In my opinion, the aliens had been presenting social theatre to counter and negate my feeling of integrity and social independence. If its happening to me – its also happening to many others too. Trying to get us to stop resisting the upload by making us feel hopeless. Whatever good things we have – these particular aliens want us to feel disappointed with.

 These are the things I now know for truth in 2008 that I didn’t know 30 years ago when this stuff started to really get in my face.

The following account will show that aliens tried their very best to drag my life down into a horrific mess whilst making war on the creative capacity of my soul – to annihilate it – to negate it and snuff it out.

 One night, alone in my bedroom, it was dark and as I looked over to my bookcase, I could see two little green fluorescent balls bouncing over the tops of my books. They proceeded along one row at a time and when they got to one end they hopped down to the next shelf and started on their merry way again.

Thinking that I was hallucinating, I turned over on my side for a few minutes, and when I looked back .. they were still there doing their thing. It was then I noticed that I seemed to have left a table lamp on and judging from the shadows it was in the far corner of the room. Then I realised that I did not have a table lamp and when I looked across I could see a silvery sparkling sphere about two feet in diameter flickering and casting wavering shadows with the outlines of the furniture.

 I then heard some voice say .. ' Don't be afraid ..' and the sphere drifted over to the foot of my bed. Next the voice said '.. If you are afraid, pull the covers over your head.' I decided that that was the best thing to do at that point and I lost consciousness. I awoke and looked across at the clock, and noted that two hours had passed and then realised that I had gone asleep with the covers over my head but that somehow they had been folded down and that they had been tucked in so tightly that I could not move my arms.

 I started working my arms free realising that I could see images of some white room and strange beings. I asked my guardian angel what had just happened and he said 'not to worry'.

According to the research of Harvard University Professor John E Mack, a Psychiatrist, who met with an untimely end in London, this was a classic bedroom encounter with the Greys, who everyone now realises are not up to much that is good.

The best work of my guardian Angel though has been to keep my experience of being human as ecumenical and hands on as possible thus preserving my humanity from the need to be up front superhuman and hence beyond the need for this kind of life here - as we still have stuff to work on. 

 No-one who was ever human has avoided this stuff.

 Of the many flying dreams that he has taken me on in my life, that have included flying as a couple of gulls over a becalmed trireme on a glassy bronze sea or swooping over beautiful pine forests and mountains - as part of my programme of education in interstellar reality he took me on a space flight in our astral bodies across the interplanetary deeps to the planet Mars.

I am on the rim of a crater there and can see inside the crater a huge metallic dome, which I am told, is a factory.

I have since seen and acquired a similar photograph from the NASA satellite films of Mars.

We fly over to the top of the metallic dome and somehow float down through the roof to the inside. It is a huge factory and is running stuff off on its production line.

We go down to ground level for a closer look and I can see lots and lots of little oranges in packing and containers and some on what looked like a conveyor belt.

I follow these oranges up to the unit that they are emerging from and I can see one of them cut open. They are full of red veins like blood oranges, and I look at the centre of them expecting to see little pips and pith, but instead see a little heart and small organs.

These were blood oranges in the truest sense. Someone somewhere has a taste for humanity. This didn't sound like it was all that wonderful to me.

 Today, allegedly human tastes are producing human genes in one of the world's largest staple crops - rice.

 By SEAN POULTER,  Daily Mail September, 2007

'The laboratory-created rice produces some of the human proteins found in breast milk and saliva.

The rice is a major step in so-called Frankenstein Foods, the first mingling of human-origin genes and those from plants. But the U.S. Department of Agriculture has already signalled it plans to allow commercial cultivation.

The rice's producers, California-based Ventria Bioscience, have been given preliminary approval to grow it on more than 3,000 acres in Kansas. The company plans to harvest the proteins and use them in drinks, desserts, yoghurts and muesli bars.'

With a series of strange phone calls, cars outside the house and these somewhat strange dreams and a bizarre plain clothes stop and search in the days before bizarre stop and search, things didn't seem to be getting any better.

        My mind was troubled by strange dreams of ruined cities and of hiding in the ruins with a group of people as black triangles hovered overhead. The silent ships glided slowly down the centre of smashed roads and walkways and fired blue beams at blonde haired people hiding in the ruins who wore one piece uniforms and carried futuristic looking weaponry.

 Then there were the dreams of the three oriental men in black who drove a big black Cadillac that parked right outside my house. A strange sight at that time for the UK. These beings would attack me with beams of green light and show me a vision of broken Christmas trees and decorations. One such attack had me so drained and in so much pain that I twisted and contorted in pain that wracked my solar plexus.

 On another occasion I was taken into some strange astral landscape stacked full of black looking Egyptian sarcophagi that appeared to be wired into what looked like a matrix or array. This was many, many years before the film and in fact about the same time as the book by Dr Laszlo on Radio Eugenics and the hive mind in the late seventies.

In these sarcophagi could be seen a Perspex face plate and inside each was a sleeping person in some sort of blinking cybernetic womb.

It seemed to me that these people were being farmed for life essence as though they were batteries.

I could feel myself getting drawn up and up past row upon row of these prisons in a landscape that glowed with a diffuse light but had no horizons.

Suddenly I am drawn over to one that lay open ... feeling myself getting sucked into its field. At that point my Guardian Angel intervened and pulled me away.

 Strange phone calls started whenever I was on my own. There would usually be no answer. Then strange unmarked vans parked outside the house, and people with knowledge of personal details acting like James Bond and a low flying black helicopter seemed to add to the idea that some strange agency was out to get me.

 Maybe I was just being paranoid ?

In 1985, having been finally overborne by incoming and inconsolable social nonsense my mind finally submitted to that which my heart had been telling me - that I couldn't do this alone and needed some help.

That was probably a bad move.

 My mother, felt that she was somehow descended from Scottish Royalty and had unusual royal blood a fact unfortunately supported by her GP and that her alleged real mother, Scottish Nobility, lay in the Stewart cemetery at Lilliesleaf in the Scottish Borders. She recommended that I see someone about my problems.

 The psychiatrist, however, didn't focus on my mother but instead upon my under-achievements, and before you could say the word lunatic I was the prize patient of Scotland's then leading Professor and his Teaching Hospital.

One of my fellow patients was a young lady called Alice from Sheffield, a biochemistry major from the local university. She was very adept at describing the alleged dysfunctions in our dopamine pathways and other such neural dysfunctions. Her problem was though that she had been getting followed about by a black dog. Had I known then what I knew now - I could have told her all about the evil faerie lore and the legend of such black dogs both in the Scottish Highlands, and the werewolf stories of Rosslyn Glen and Crichton castle ... but alas I did not know how to reconcile the breakdown that was not actually in her but in her world view of materialism with all the bizarre and outrageous stuff that tends to get in your face that goes beyond human rules and textbooks.

We were in luck though, for the charge nurse Eric, a regular action hero was going to take Alice and I for a drive.

Great I thought, a totally practical forward-looking new way of doing things that will lift our mindsets and expectations above the world of the mere lunatic.

Next door to this Asylum was the real deal. Literally the House on the Hill that all good B Movies are made about. The big empty dining hall and the long stay residents tinkling the ivories of the big grande piano as if testing out the difference between black and white.

Up in the towers above in some secluded locked up rooms the crackling of electricity that had seemed to go out of fashion for a while had started to be re-introduced to the illuminated world of mental health.

Must have been some bright spark that did that.

The grounds of the House on the Hill have big high walls and sometimes, tunnels and stretcher-bearers emerge from embedded facilities forming a network of paths and small access and exit roads.

As we sat in the car with Eric, he drives past the coffee shops and the little boutiques and bookshops and heads up the road that goes up the hill, and then turns into the grounds of the House on the Hill.

Suddenly we were off road.

Literally - as his car veered into the grass and bushes, ploughing through years of weeds and small hopeful trees and bushes.

We were in the weed garden, our very own playpen, as social ghosts and misfits, bounded and contained as the car ploughed through the Scottish jungle but alas there was not one black dog in sight at that time.

It seemed then that we would have not much use for the normal use of cars, but then not all cars are normal as I much later discovered when I started investigating UFOLOGY.

 I was just getting metabolically acclimatised to extreme and severe levels of liquid cosh in my ward of four men when I could make out through waves of relative unconsciousness that the older man in the next bed was giving me sinister attitudes and seemed to have taken an interest in and direct hate for my life. There was nothing anybody could do about that.

After all people in these situations do tend to have issues, which is, why they usually end up here.

In any event there wasn't much one could do about irrationally behaving people in a lunatic asylum, and I had the patients to contend with as well.

I couldn't move.

 Nighttime falls and the bedlam of noise subsides as the omnipresent neutralisation of extreme and ingested biochemicals created the socially expected and desirable shutdown behind the eyelids.

I am well gone.

Suddenly in my head the shout of 'No .. !!' and I open my eyes slowly coming back from the land of the chemically dead and my eyes open on a scene of dread. To my amazement my eyes open and start to focus on my body, which is totally animated, and exerting itself.

I wake up slowly to the fact that my body is already ahead of me in this self-defence stuff.

It is kicking out at this strong man who had been making progress between an item of furniture and was coming up the narrow gap afforded by my bed to access my head and shoulders.

 He stood there pushing away at my flailing feet and legs with his arms and he was fully awake.

 Eventually order is restored in the customary way and I hear the excuse that the guy was just sleepwalking. The next night however, the exact same thing happened again and again my guardian Angel got into my legs and kept him off while I was waking up and help arrived.

I was getting help.

 My assailant had allegedly been sleepwalking again. His allegedly unconscious walk had been in a very intelligent way, navigating those difficult obstacles to get round to my vulnerable areas yet again. Sleepwalking again perchance though I think they perhaps conceded that his intended destination had a common theme and that some familiar pattern was emerging.

It didn't get to be third time lucky though.

He was then considered so healthy after that that he got discharged almost the next day.

 It is absolutely true that my life had been saved on two occasions by an intervention from my Guardian Angel.

 My next opportunity for social madness was my introduction to Big Ted, a cockney nightmare built like a brick shit house. He would sort of get me alone in these places where one tries to go to get away from the explosive personalities. His main line of questioning about my life was whether I was an ok and safe citizen in a security context and whether or not my politics were safe.  We would play catch with medicine ball in the gym as he returned to his central theme 'are you Alright ??'

The medicine ball was heavy and he seemed to toss it at me as if it were a kid's toy out of Wal-Mart.

The dialog would go amongst the pushing and shoving. 'I'm alwight are you alwight ??'

When he suggested that I would not like to meet his friends as they did bad things and were part of some ultimate security network I was inclined to believe him, as I was not really sure what their social and political agenda was for my life at all...

 To me it seemed that he was some sort of deep cover sleeper agent doing the ultimate kind of field work.

 As this was after all not quite a Russian Gulag I was surprised to hear Professor Zak advise me that I 'should not go Russian into things.'

I would have been more reassured to hear the word 'rushing' in reference to my academic aspirations though.

I was after all ... 'alright' at least as far as I was concerned.

It was though a bit disconcerting to see a lady psychiatrist point her two fingers at me like a gun and make a whoosing noise as if she was firing a ray gun at me, but that may have had something to do with the daughter of an Admiral or something. There was an attendant military circus though they seemed more interested in another patient that was there but that is another story.

 One of the main items of concern for the staff that as far as they were concerned was a barrier to my social integration and ultimate well-being was my unfounded pretensions about my ability to play Scottish fiddle.

One of the main medical students, nicely attired in a well cut suit, young, articulate and generally well thought through as a person and a young and fairly attractive and educated, blonde long haired lady social worker to whom under more fortunate circumstances I might have aspired to honour had decided to try to cure me of my malaise.

 I did allegedly seem to have these troublesome pretensions in that I thought that I could play the violin according to the medical students who were studying my case of under-achievement as part of their course.

[The next year I was to go with a folk band to Vienna to play a concert at the United Nations, Vienna International Centre music club with the group Peat Water Still ]

 They had decided to critically assess my fiddle playing to give me some realistic professional pointers about whether my aspirations were misplaced or not.

 I could of course not play the violin supplied at the time on the dosage of biochemical suppressant medically recommended, as violin playing is somewhat dependent on the player being able to move their arms and fingers.  I was therefore going to fail the official examination of my musicality and social relevance and be officially stereotyped as some sort of loser who cannot even do music.

 When they then started asking questions about what I read and evaluated how I thought about issues they discovered that my intellectual pretensions knew no bounds and that I was interested in advancing my own theory of relativity in the philosophy of science.

 All of my ridiculous under achievements and moronic pretensions  were being collated into an official case study, which proved beyond any doubt to any professional, and any trainee professional that I was a pointless waster and loser with ideas and aspirations beyond my capacity to attain.

I hear news though that I am going to be invited to a case review in front of the assembled ranks of massed professionals and other medical scientists.

 I'm lying on my bed fully medicated, starting to think that things could only get better when my eyes started seeing marine plankton swimming about the room. 

I remember thinking to myself that this stuff shouldn't be happening given the amount of liquid cosh I was on.

I could recognise from the days I worked out as a biologist.

It was as if I were looking down a microscope at a variety of translucent zooplankton of the type found at the bottom of the sea. They appeared to be both alive and busy grazing on whatever was down there, and I remember thinking that I'm a bit exposed here.

Years later I was to photograph this stuff with digital cameras and show that it is as natural as any other life form in the natural universe - pseudo marine paranormal life.

I was just thinking out loud .. Give me a break .. when my Guardian Angel appeared above me and lifted my spirit out of my body and embraced me.

She was monotonic in colour sort of pale colours and wearing a long robe, she had long hair and she reached down into my body and lifted my spirit up.

This was the true reality.

 Having just settled down on my bed feeling a bit better, professor Zak appears at the ward door and tells me that I have a couple of visitors and would I mind coming along to the counselling room with him.

Visitors, I thought, that sounds intriguing as I'm sure that my mother was too busy stalking the Roxburgh manor to get her Scottish crown back than bother come see me....

I enter the room with professor Zak and see the most amazing sight I had ever seen at that time.

Two men six foot three, well built, both looked alike, western complexion, in their fifties, fair and older, curly, short trimmed hair, both looking in fact like identical twins were standing there wearing grey long tailed morning suits with dark pin stripes as though they had been or were going to a wedding.

Their shirt collars were white starched comprising of a white band folded down and over at the throat to create two triangular wings under which was a dark ornate silk bow tie pinned with a solitary white pearl.

 Professor Zak introduces me though I cannot remember the names, they were from some institute, but he then said 'would you mind explaining your theory of relativity' to these men.

I started that part of the afternoon with both of these men sitting on my right and ended that part of the afternoon looking up at professor Zak and the two terrible twins flat out on my back on the floor.

I have memories of lying on the floor. Then as I came round, professor Zak said 'you can go now !'

 The only reference to this meeting in my case notes which I later accessed under the Freedom of Information Act was;  'had two visitors, was settled.' Unfortunately though my case notes have since totally disappeared and are no longer on record.

 These intimidating establishment figures, often dark and oriental, but generally wearing the recognisable garb of authority are legendary in UFOLOGY as the men in black.

For some reason they were trying to hijack my relativity ideas and had gone to a lot of trouble to do so.

How therefore did Professor Zak condone an interview that comprised a loss of consciousness whilst two very strange beings attempted to perpetrate strange things.

Professor Zak though, then goes on to become a strategic regional consultant in high office.

It is of course very easy to officially deny that kind of encounter in that kind of environment. After all who would believe you if you had been diagnosed with some sort of 'formal thought disorder'.

I could not help but wonder at what sort of horrors might be inflicted in these places on innocent and vulnerable human beings.

 I head for the television room and big tall Helen is already there quietly watching the Lord mayors parade in London.

She looks across and smiles at me, and I smiled back at her and we both started watching the floats in the parade. There were all sorts of carnival themes and causes and theatre .. and there was one float pulled by a lorry that the camera was zooming in on.

There was a girl on the float facing out and waving to the crows.

Next up Helen looks over at me, holds her wrist up and makes a stirring motion with her right hand - pointing her index finger down as if it were a spoon ... next thing ... the girl on the lord mayor parades float turns round and round as many times as Helen had moved her fingers.

It was one of those strange co-incidences if you can believe in such things.

 Medicine was usually served up by the half pint at night, though for a couple of weeks it was a half pint of bitter. There was a large juicy gulp and a half of liquid thorizine syrup to which they added a fair old bucket of water. This made a vile and distasteful concoction, which was a bit much to swallow, but eventually I persuaded them to stop doing that.

 The next day we are 'allowed out' for a supervised walk, and the sky was blue, the birds were singing under the warm summer sun ... and Bert the psychiatric nurse, built like a big, big rugby player was discussing how fast he could run.

He sort of says to me ... are you any good at running.

Well, Bert, as it happens I can do a 100 metres in just over 10 seconds without much effort. Seemingly impressed, Bert turns to other conversational topics that I can no longer remember but which may have had something to do with animal experimentation and Lethal Dose LD 50 ... where 50 percent die, or 75 or even probably 100 or other light hearted stuff like that.

 Seemingly my medication was to be changed and it had been decided that I was to have a depot injection of  some zombie toxin that was going to tide me over for a reasonably long time.

The principle behind these is that they are intramuscular and usually dumped into the backside ... where the body's biggest muscles and fat work it more easily into the body.

 It was going to be big Bertie that was to do the deed ... and as one does one heads off into a small intimate side room, drops ones trousers and bends over assuming the position.

Indeed I assumed that I was going to get the time honoured customary jab in the buttocks, but oh no, not Bert, he had other plans. He asks me to lean forward on the table taking some of the weight on my arms and then crouches down and inserts the needle directly under my scrotum sending it deep into the inner leg where it met the sciatic nerve. This is the nerve responsible for motor functions in the leg. He then shoots up and my left leg starts flailing uncontrollably juddering and twitching as I get what's coming to me. My medicine for the day batters against the big nerve in my leg causing it to arbitrarily fire off at variously powerful degrees putting my athletic muscles to better social use than I could ever have imagined.

Forget the Edinburgh Grand Prix Sprint against Alan Wells, I never knew that my body could be such fun for somebody else.

He had obviously done this before.

 I had been raped.

 Next thing I know my luck is again in ... as I have been invited before a case review .. a conference of students who have been studying and investigating my life as part of their attempts to understand social redundancy.

These 'students' though were already fully qualified as Doctors of Medicine and held other post graduate degrees.

I am suitably prepared for the meeting with copious amounts of liquid thorizine and am able to shuffle, keeping most of my saliva under control, to the appointed hall.

The door is opened for me, thankfully, and I enter a big room absolutely full of highly trained and educated, and socially mobile and successful people. At least 60 professionals. They had been selling tickets no doubt.

Rows and rows of upwardly mobile public school achievers had come along to study how the other half seemed to fail to live.

 I stiffly sat down up front next to the teaching Professional in one of the two available chairs at the front of the assembled elite.

The professor then sat down in the chair beside me and began his discourse. He quickly got round to my central problem in life as far as this assembled legion was concerned. My unarticulated and un-educated ideas on relativity.

Would you mind explaining them to everyone, and there is a blackboard behind you if you need it - note the chalk over there.

 Salivating, indeed, drooling, at the very thought I realised that this opportunity had caught me perhaps deliberately, at a bad time, as I was at a huge disadvantage not having the normal use of my organs of speech.

I was indeed salivating.

Neither was standing up much of a long term option which had a lot to do with my heart being unable to supply lots of blood to my head, it being seriously invalidated with chemicals.

Funny that the Men in Black had been very recently asking me that exact same question under more covert circumstances.

 This was in truth a cynical premeditated assassination of my life and my self-esteem.

 Unprepared and unexpectedly socially compromised I tried my best to explore the philosophical ground based on what reading I could at that time remember.

Suddenly the professor stands up and screams at me 'Get Out !!', 'Get Out !!' and points to the door stiffly with his arm like the heartless plank of wood that he was. 'Get OUT !! a third time and I am being dismissed like a dog in what amounted to an attempt at a total execution of my self-esteem.

Whatever problems had driven my life into this spiritual slaughterhouse whether; family or other social abuse there could be absolutely no doubt what was being perpetrated on myself in that spiritual abattoir.

 The lesson for the day from this medical teaching professional therefore is how the elite must deal with and administer to people who think they have something special to share with the world.

And I … what was I to think about such a humiliation .. how was I truly being asked to see myself by this swine.

Certainly in his lifetime, I would refute his reason for being.

 It did though get me at a rather bad time in my life - sort of kicked me hard when I was really down. I was a shamed and humiliated retard, totally incapable of meeting all these wonderful besuited overlords in the eye. Totally unworthy of their presence and a complete and utter waste of their highly educated time.

 Even the ward nurse was in for his pound of flesh ... aye lad he would say ... 'Halcyon days' ... as in ... there is a whole world of people out there with rich and educated vocabulary who are totally successful attainers who think nothing of utilising only the most sumptuous verbiage, in the richest of social settings and you're not one of them !!

 I was therefore - it could be medically and therefore legally stated in any court of law .. 'a loser.'

 I can just see Richard Branson now, at the Virgin Board Meeting.

Good news chappies ... stocks up ... Halcyon days ..., (he smiles enigmatically), or, perhaps the jet-setting doctors after a hard day on the pistes of Closters in Switzerland, parking up their snowboards at the log cabin and toasting their success with advocaat .. 'to Halcyon days ...!!'

 Or maybe the guy was referring to some half remembered exciting interlude at the Halcyon Hotel in Regent terrace in that same city. Except it was maybe halcyon DAZE ???

 Either way there was just something totally off about the whole deal; from the breach of trust and my human dignity and rights to this other strange stuff that was not supposed to be happening. Whoever had heard of Men in Black professor Zak ?

 Now at that time there was another young lady who had been somewhat socially traumatised and looked upon Dr Richard almost as a god king.

She would bring him pounds of minced meat, bric a brac from the local charity shop and would announce that psychic doctors were helping her out using remote telepathy. She used to get dressed up for Dr Richard.

She also thought herself to be psychically married to Dr Richard and seemed to be a bit of an embarrassment with her obsessive behaviour.

Then one day she was given by King Richard a prescription that was of such strength that according to witnesses the pharmacist challenged the dosage but nevertheless she was soon found thereafter wandering the streets at night disorientated with a bleeding nose.

A weak and needy lamb still in my prayers today.

She thankfully survived this though whether her demotion from Mary Queen of Scots to mere Marchioness of the Lothians was a sign of a returning healthier perspective hasn't been proven.

Her life by an act of God did subsequently improve.

I don't think that this King Richard had the heart of a lion though.

 I had been chosen to be an example of a pretentious retard so that thousands of graduating new psychiatrists could get a feel for what one of those failures looked and sounded like.

I would today pay money to see that case study, however, it looks like some Man in Black has gone and buried it along with my notes.

Did they flush the case study down the toilet I wonder ... all those scholastic opinions  and reputations.

 Alas for them I was a typical Scottish 'floater' and in the time honoured tradition of all planks of Scottish pine .. I just wasn't going to get flushed away that easily.

 With all my notes now absent without leave it is now officially as if I was never there - and well, maybe I am just delusional about ever having been there in the first place.

 The Men in Black that had been trying to get me involved in 1977 at the Newbattle Abbey Black Op alleged Virology lab when I was a student were back in for me in 1985. This had been an out of town locality that intimidated local villagers with military type guards and other strange activities in areas that became cordoned off. Indeed there is an account of a triple daytime abduction in that locality by a Man in Black from the lab area. Their focus of attention on me  appeared to be my sense of intellectual independence.

One of the abductees from the Newbattle black op reports that two men in black turned up at his house later and interviewed his mother re a missing lunatic from a local asylum whilst looking at him where he hid behind the couch.

Perhaps it was less my theory of relativity they were after and more trying to target my awakening sense of reality which would enable me to identify the alien inconsistencies so obvious in human society.

Perhaps though they were just trying to find ways to upload my soul.

They needed to be able to break me down though.

 As I discovered though, these alien creeps do seem to get a lot of help and support from an assorted collection of human official and deniable operations.

 I would seamlessly proceed on from there straight into one of the top administration jobs in the Scottish civil service and there spend an excellent two or three years working for management services team and numerous heads of department.

 Medically though, I was not supposed to be able to do that.

Three weeks previous to my incarceration I had been socially struck off, as socially useless and bankrupt, publicly and legally crucified and screamed at by a senior medical professional in front of over 60 professional witnesses to 'get out !' for having the idea that I could think originally.

It would have been written as impossible that I could do this and make a success of it.

I was diagnosed as having only the capacity to feed myself, not legally capable to be someone designing accounts spreadsheets for Regional finance of a big organisation at the heart of a new government program.

 The aliens and their circus however, were persistent.

Into the public office where I worked one day walks Emma double-barrelled name. Emma was interested in arts, was between training and new work and had an interest in my theatrical contacts as I had a database of people and projects and my own theatre company at the time.

Emma eventually returned having checked out a few of my leads and contacts and further asked my opinion on several related though slightly different matters to do with the subject matter of related projects.

It became clear that Emma seemed to possess some detailed knowledge of my own background and, rather fearful of the social conditions of one of my sisters at the time who was being bothered by an alleged employee of the then Military Commander for Scotland – according to the policeman who checked his vehicle registration I decided to co-operate.

She was pleasant, educated and high class and appeared to be tuned into a world in another dimension, where in this alternate reality she was of an order of beings that had great powers.

What was more convincing was that her father appeared to be a very important person in Naval High Command and that she was attended to at the time by a guy from the elite organisation called MENSA for people of very high IQ.

Ok then.

As things developed she introduced me first to Captain Eric of the SAS .. really a first contact situation for myself and then to some successful guy called Jeremy who had a rich lifestyle and threw some good parties. Captain Eric attended those too.

 So the picture started to evolve that there was an elite subculture of people with very special gifts nurtured by Governments and guarded by special forces and that they were preparing for some stuff that might yet happen.

Next up Jeremy tells me that his business organisation is very special and is called Nightflight and then he showed me his letterhead and logo which was of a small bright starship rising over the Earths horizon and heading off to a relatively close red spherical place that looked like Mars.

 We seemed to be doing a re-run of that alleged hoax TV programme called Alternative 3 where elite people were designated to move from our dying planet as the third best hope of keeping our species going. They would have to build an elite colony on Mars and adapt people from earth to use as semi-robotic labour went that story.

The other two options were blow away all our greenhouse gasses with nukes or stay underground and fry.

 If I could think of Alternative 4 at that time; which was to take the machinery that teleported the steel of the USS Eldridge in the Philadelphia Experiment of the 1940’s 200 miles west, and retune this machinery to pick up the frequencies of carbon dioxide and point the process directly away from Earth’s centre of gravity 200 miles straight up to act as a funnel into space – then no doubt real geniuses already had half a dozen more Alternatives than just the three the programme had gone on about.

It was neither vital or necessary to do Alternative 3.

Besides everybody and their brother knows about the massive interstellar cities beneath Earth’s surface that have been there for millennia throughout even the devastation and extinction of the dinosaurs on the planet’s surface.

No doubt these galactic citizens could easily re-engineer the planet’s atmosphere could our buddies in Agharti or Shamballah.

 Things seemed to go downhill not long after that and the promised dinner party with the serving of ‘Beef Wellington’ never arrived in the manner that I expected. It did arrive though.

 I was merely a monkey and relative retard etc. said a social scene comprised of people that alleged they worked for the security services. I played the Scottish fiddle so I was circulating amongst people who had a professional interest in the clandestine suppression of Scottish identity and the separatist and active nationalism that was so rife on the folk music scene. In those days there were anonymous phone calls and such things and people showing professional looking ID in public bars that declared that I wanted to be ‘a Bonny Prince Charlie folk hero.’ with my rabble rousing and vivacious violin style.

 I was working for the UK civil service at the time, and one day one of my office colleagues collared me at the big filing system and said.

‘There was a race of interstellar beings that worked with mankind during Egyptian times and they were very catlike in appearance. They had that same headshape as a cat and they could easily control humans.

 Realising that the guy was an avid reader of scifi I put this remark down to one of the many magazines on mythology that he had no doubt been reading.

 The next day however, a small young lady wearing silver clothing with a startlingly catlike looking head and jawline started working with us.

As things went I found myself sitting next to Miss C to help her adjust to my duties which were to do with employment records.

She didn’t know me from Adam, but sitting next to me held a piece of paper with the name of a public bar on it called ‘the Fiddlers Arms’ under the table where I could see it.

Well I was a fiddler, so was she suggesting that she wanted to be safe in my arms ?

 Could this be love or what ?

 Next up I’m on reception duties and Miss C is sitting to my left working on some filing and job records when suddenly my mind is swirling round and round and I’m standing alone with Miss C in a mindspace environment surrounded by a swirling helix of white light in a scene not dissimilar to the ending of the StarTrek 1 movie where the two lovers finally fuse their minds in some sort of Vulcan mind meld and their identities totally integrate.

Just as my poor dumb monkey brain was about to snap under the processing overload and overdriving of my sensitivities, into the office walks a seven and a half foot tall lady with long shoulder length red hair in her fifties – a total stranger and member of the public who looks at us and says to Miss C .. ‘Upstairs ..’

At that point Miss C’s eyes fill with tears and she literally runs across the office and heads upstairs.

Shaken by my experience which later resonated for weeks after – my mind had been blown down by some very real issues at that time beyond my comprehension.

 I saw Captain Eric in the public office once or twice after that and I was told that he had rented a flat relatively close to my office.

Shortly after that I am told by telephone from another colleague in music that if I do not leave my ceilidh band project which was just getting commercial and viable that the friends that I played with would be harmed by heavies.

 With my life really falling to pieces by events beyond my control and with my employers cancelling all my annual leave and transferring me to several new jobs in succession, the stress took its toll on my physical health. Under the weather with, and off work with the flu, on a very hot day, I left my small flat or condo and headed out onto the canal bus stop for some fresh air – a locality that was only about 10 yards from the door of my apartment block.

Seeing that an old government building had been demolished at the bus stop I stood for a while getting the breeze and the sunshine. I was idly pushing the numbers on an old combination lock that was part of a door and other debris external to the demolition site when I look round and a police car had pulled up at the bus stop where I was standing.

I was aware that having been off work for a couple of days and unshaven, I wasn’t looking at my best.

So over comes the two officers and they ask me where I stay.

I state that I live in the apartment block adjacent and that I had been off work with the flu and had been out of bed getting some fresh air. They then ask me to get into the car.

They then state that they will give me a run home in the squad car.

After clearly giving them my name which they took note of – they then radioed in to state that they had picked up someone with the surname that was in fact the surname of miss C, the strangely powerful lady, and then drove me all the way up to the psychiatric hospital.

Without any other reason other than they felt like it – they had just ended my career and destroyed my life.

With the usual familiar bedding in period that entails rather large doses of liquid cosh to help make the person feel right at home – the medical team did what they do best and I found myself almost paralytic and immobile on my bed.

 It was another 4 bed ward and the only other occupant of the room lay diagonally across from me about 4 yards away.

He always seemed to have the covers over his head and appeared to be making occasional grunting sounds.

Then as I came awake again later in that afternoon, I was acutely aware of a very, very bad smell.

It was the sort of smell of a sewage works on a very hot and still summers day.

It was very, very bad, and I was very immobile.

This started regularly happening under the noses of the doctors and nurses.

Sometimes a nurse or a cleaner would look in whilst this was going on and yet in full view of the medical professionals something very, very smelly was repeatedly happening over and over again.

They did not stop it.

What was in fact happening was totally surreal … for somehow a psychiatric textbook the size of a toaster was going places that had to be totally impossible for it to go.

It appeared to have made progress somewhat beyond the sphincter at the bottom of the lower intestine called [pardon my latin] the ‘really don’t mess with this one sphincter’ …

I remember dissecting a dogfish at College and the awful smell of its innards, well, this textbook was covered in that sort of stuff and left actually lying on top of his pedestal for everyone to consult – should they need the enlightenment.

It was very bad this smell, so bad that you could smell the smell up and down the corridors and ward outside and also in the actual staff room which was only fifteen feet away from the door of the ward which was the obvious epicentre of this vile and depraved behaviour.

In full cogniscence of the staff for a full two weeks which I counted by the changing weekend routine my ward only had me and this guy/thing in it – and he/it was doing some very bad stuff with his lower intestines.

The fact was though that although the corridor merely smelled like a sewage farm and the medical professionals whose upwardly mobile aspirations went all the way to carry out capaccino and egg and cress sandwiches were conducting coffee breaks, elevenses, staff meetings with doctors and senior staff, lunch breaks in an atmosphere that was nothing less than a violation of the health and safety at work act 1974 – they had suspended – totally suspended reality amongst themselves during those delicatessen meal breaks to savour the vile sulphurous odor that permeated that entire wing of the building.

They could not miss the brutal affront to their olfactory senses every time they opened my ward door, or indeed the contentious and noxious smell when they entered the atmosphere of the ward and that wing of the hospital itself every day.

The staff were somehow collectively switched off to these events – and that would have to have included their; sense of smell and taste so regularly employed on savouries at break times in the staff room, their ethics, aesthetics, their morals, their own sense of self-respect and values.

Eventually after two weeks of assault they stopped the practise when they had to move somebody else into the room.

I didn’t know that it was humanly and anatomically possible to get an object of about 5x6x9 involved with the human body but it seemed to me that this whole episode stank of the surreal.

 Eventually the charge nurse announced that it was close, because it didn’t look like I deserved it, but that I was to be moved to the day hospital.

 The next clown was the allocated psychiatrist who thought it was perfectly ok to give me not one but two similar heavyweight drugs both at ten times the kind of dosage that was generally acceptable to do any kind of office work.

He said that he had written a glowing medical report on how much improvement the two drugs at that dosage had made, but when I pointed out to him that I was only actually taking one of them … his un-scientific feelings were more than a bit apparent.

A missed opportunity from his point of view.

 The day hospital only produced one surprise in that at one point a young lady with the same catlike looks and appearance of miss C came in to the activity room to say hello and  tried to engage an older man in a conversation in front of me that sounded like it was out of a soap opera from working class planet earth.

She said she was in a disco near Bonnybridge – the UFO hotspot - with all sorts of flashing lights and that she was coming over as just some sort of ordinary downtown small town gal.  

Presumably I was to get real and forget those flying alien discos and get my mind back on mundane reality.

She did however have the same catlike jaw line and head shape and diminutive dimensions as the previously psychedelic miss C, and despite her best acting was obviously a fake co-incidence.

Maybe it was the fact that she stood directly over me and stared down at my seated eyes and life from as great a height as her bearing could muster – that and the fact she said she came from Bonnybridge, the UFO hotspot.

Maybe that was as good a reason as any for believing in cat-like aliens.

 Life changed for me and turning professional as a musician I moved out of the city and as it turned out – I moved out of the frying pan and into the fire.

In the back woods of small town Scotland the alien freak show rolled out a tsunami of surreal social circus.

I tell that story elsewhere in the book called ‘the Turning of the Tide, alien intrusion in Scotland.’ There was a veritable army of aliens doing what they have for millennia done to human souls. Try to break them. Low flying UFO/s, holographic people and vehicles, aliens on rooftops or at the door, bogus police, false arrest, trumped up charges, underground bases, scary lights at night, time travel events, weird military personnel, assault, hive zombies shambling about as if part of a computer simulation .. etc

 So after a period of high strangeness where I was starting to believe that I was making my last stand in a place called Unwhere, and unable to stem the tide of deployed holograms and dangerous theatre, in a place where you could see a dead half-naked granny lying in her nightie and slippers flat out cold on the pavement with no pillow or blanket in front of an array of 20 firefighters taking a football style team photo at 1am, or the roots of a huge tree flailing like an octopus I sort of felt let down by humanity – all alone amongst some seriously heavy stuff.

Maybe that’s why the nation state governments don’t disclose – because the greys can do this surreal freakshow stuff at a moments notice.

There wouldn’t be mass panic, there would be mass insanity.

I had however, been left on my own … no call for back up, no who dares wins, no bravo two zero … no phone a friend, ask the audience or 50/50 .. and they definitely all knew where I was at.

 It came to pass therefore that one sunny afternoon I decided to head down to the local shop to get a confection to sweeten the sour taste of this social charade. Noting on my way down to the shops that the roses I had so diligently cut back away from the walkway to keep it clear had been made to regenerate and grow back and overhang again with fresh, long, long outreaching briar shoots. Three weeks growth in twenty four hours.

 Being in downtown Scotland there was a bizarre unprovoked assault caught on shop video camera in which I am being accosted and pushed around.

The police are called and I am arrested and told that I was lucky that I was not being charged.

The police then – as per usual script – roll me away to a local psychiatric hospital where they relate the following socially useful information to the mental health professionals.

That I had – according to two reliable witnesses [but I did not] opened the door of a moving car and accosted the passengers therein, and further, that I had been misusing without care of my personal safety the superstructure of the forth road bridge – presumably the medical fact that I suffer from bad vertigo wasn’t admissible. Its like they were making out that I was tight roping on the suspension cables. Of course they never did produce the ‘two reliable witnesses’ that alleged I had interfered with moving cars on a public road.

Mere details though.

Being a cute kind of guy, my first impression of my new home from home in the Acute Unit was favourable .. the courtyard seemed to have a layer of that beige flint/quartz gravel. On closer inspection though I realised that the gravel was in fact a carpet of cigarette ends.

Recognising that if I illustrated as soon as I could my social intelligence I may get out sooner, I then offered to hoover up the cigarette ends which for a non-smoker like myself were somewhat sickening to look at.

There were thousands in all states of deterioration.

At that point they increased my medication.

The universe however, was somewhat in imbalance, for there were at least two practising martial artists in the same ward. It was possible to watch them regularly work on their kata. One a disciple of Tae Kwon Do and the other Aikido worked out without any hindrance or interference from either nurses or medication. This increased the suspense in the dangerous jungle.

 There were two or three obvious ringers.

 One was a lady who produced a simultaneous and identical drawing to one I had made in private, and who then went on to look very like someone I knew, before getting a haircut, her hair died black, acquiring a sun tan and then who started looking and sounding like my late sister.

 Another young lady who seemed to be part of some illuminati scene from Edinburgh and who looked very like me when I was a younger nineteen year old declared to me that she was a hedge witch. That is someone of two worlds who could walk the borders between this world and other places beyond the human reality. She also helpfully shifted her short page boy brunette features to look like a long haired blonde.

She and a lady nurse invited me into her otherwise empty ward room to look for a spider that she said had gone into the corner of her room.

I was invited to locate it but as I went down on my hands and knees she pushed her hands into the small of my back between my shoulder blades and there was a surge of euphoria in me from an attempted psychic link. Was she some sort of hybrid or family I wondered, given the resemblance.

A paranoid person is someone who thinks that parties are conspiring against them. What a very useful diagnosis this is isn’t it ?

She left the ward soon after that but not before calling me an ‘old man’ .. Perhaps she was alluding to paternity ??

 Having time to consider these things, and indeed chilling out listening to the funky hip hop as one does … I could hear the more natural sounds of mother nature outside having fun. Like the flock of crows hopping about in their own bicameral and unique way outside.

I was just thinking what I always start to think when this kind of music fails to hit the high spots of originality when interspersed into the gaps in the music it seemed to me and my functional musicianship, that the crows were with perfect timing adding their voices to the mix exclusively over the entire period of this song and no other.

Blah de blah de CHIRP CHIRP, Blah de blah de CHIRP CHIRP etc

 The surreal alien rough house in my life had been taking a familiar pattern and tended to use the exact same mechanism to trash my soul time after time.

A mish mash of; gangsters, low ranking military, police capture followed by a period of psychiatric internment and attempted spiritual desolation.

 This warfare has been going on for a long time and I am certain that similar things in different places happens to monkeys all over this planet. It is a war on the spark of the soul. A war and feasting on the Light of Creation, via its contrived negation by farming techniques and technologies that are probably millions of years old.

The perpetrators are not only negative reptilians but also the greys.

This then is what I had not deduced at the time of writing the first edition of monkeys of eden in 1999, and I hope that I have shone some light into the dark corners where our brothers and sisters still await your intercession.