The Earthly Adventures of Commander Stormm

“The Earthly Adventures of Commander Stormm”

 

 

     How did this happen to me?  I had already come through a life that only a few knowing people would ever believe could happen to another human being!  I was put up for adoption at birth, and whisked away into the MKULTRA Project in the Summer of 1953.  A whole slew of Nazi doctors, who were rescued from being hung for their crimes by the CIA and Project Paperclip, along with Catholic nuns in barbed wire corsets were already prepared to receive the first hundred or so unwanted American babies for experimentation to make some of us into “supersoldiers”.  The program did not call us that.  They called us ULTRAs -  Human beings eugenically engineered to operate at our fullest human capacity for military and clandestine missions during the Cold War of the 1950s through Sixties, and beyond.  Out of my creche in Building 400 in Rochester, New York, I became one of only a few first generation, successful ULTRA agents.  The majority of my peers died, or worse, and became howling lunatics, no longer capable of ever taking care of themselves, living in what we called the Terror Tower, that was a part of the Strong Hospital Psych Unit, only about a mile down the road.

 

 

     That’s going to be the common theme of most of my misadventures:  I survived!  In my lifetime, I have been wounded by gunshots six times, in six different years.  I’ve been stabbed and/or slashed by knives, swords, arrows, shuriken and anything a thug could find to injure someone with, and of course - I survived them all.  My attackers, except for one, were left crippled or dead for their efforts.  The exception to those, was an old farmer in Dansville, New York, that shot me square in the chest with a load of birdshot and rock salt from an antique shotgun.  He had been plagued by vandals nightly, and I happened onto his property while hiking home and looking for a place off the road where I could stop to urinate.  Thinking I was one of the culprits, he let me have the load from about twenty feet away, knocking me onto my back with the wind out of my lungs.  My military surplus jacket protected me from most of the debris, but I had an eight inch wide pattern of shot and burning rock salt in the center of my chest.  The old man checked on me, and we got our stories straight and he drove me to his own doctor to remove the shot from my skin.  It hadn’t gone very deep because of the protective jacket I was wearing. And afterwards he drove me back into Rochester.  It was simply a misunderstanding.  How many people do you know that can get blasted, dead center in the chest by a shotgun, and call it a “misunderstanding”?  But it really was.  Hence, I did not attack the farmer.

 

 

     But what I want to do in this writing, is to describe the long string of events that led up to me being an advocate of the Plieadians and Galactic Federation. Even writing it here:  it looks like so much Star Trek fantasy, and I have to constantly tamp down my embarrassment to speak publicly of such things.  I sound crazy even to myself, but I know far beyond doubting that they are precisely who they represent themselves to be, and far more than just that too!  So, I suppose we’ll start this story with some of my earliest extraterrestrial experiences and bring them up to the present day.  Why I chose to bill myself as “Commander Stormm” in this story will all be explained as we go…

 

     By the age of 18 months, my Grandma had retrieved me from “adoption”, which was NEVER going to happen with MKULTRA.  I spoke English and some Bavarian German from my exposure to my doctors.  This would be my first exposure to "family" since being rejected at birth, but I thrived with Grandma.  I knew I was loved. 

 

The year was 1957 and near my fourth birthday, I had a new baby sister and my step father got a job as a machinist at ROHR Aircraft works in Riverside, California and the whole family hopped a Greyhound Scenicruiser for the Golden State, and pretty little blond boy that I was, I got reviewed for a possible future in the MK Monarch program that was still in it’s infancy, even as Disneyland was being built a few miles away in Anaheim. As it happened. it turned out that my response to sexual abuse was “over the top” and some filthy wretch got themselves badly injured  while trying to abuse a five year old boy.  Eventually, my stepdad would be laid off at ROHR, and we’d be packing up and taking the three thousand mile ride back to Rochester, New York and MKULTRA.

 

 

     I lived on Randolph Street in Riverside, and attended Terrace Elementary School for grades kindergarten and first grade.  My best friends were the Maggia’s, a Mexican family that lived across the street.  Rudy, Albert, Susan and Claudia were my regular playmates.  Rudy, being a whole eight years old and “almost a teenager” was like a hero to me in those days.  We’d often watch monster movies on TV together, and I’ll be getting to more of that later on in this tale.

 

     My first ET encounter happened in the playground of Terrace Elementary in the late Spring as I was about to graduate from Miss Gilliam’s first grade class there.  Myself, Dick Benevict, Jeannie Robinson and Jeannie Black had the whole playground to ourselves.  The girls would chase me and Dick around the playground and try to capture us with their jump ropes and then take us to “jail”, which was the bricked-in trash incinerator in the center back of the playground.  It was rarely used and safe to play around.  On this day, Jeannie Black had captured me and was about to kiss “girl cooties” on my face in the “jail”, when we noticed a small, wretched gray creature, trembling and trying to hide behind a trash bag.  It was VERY frightened, we could tell.  We looked at each other and looked back at it, only to see Jeannie Robinson trembling there and holding up the bag for protection.  Looking over my right shoulder, I could see the real Jeannie Robinson still chasing nimble Dick around the monkey bars in the playground.  Who and WHAT was that with the trash bag?  I’m not sure what happened after that point, but I remember us all splitting up and walking home from there and nobody talking about anything after that.  They wouldn’t talk about it, so I kept my peace around my parents over it at the time.  But obviously, I never forgot it.

 

     It was probably a week or so after that, on a Saturday, when I was over with the Maggia family and watching a black & white sci-fi movie about a flying saucer landing in the field behind a boy’s house and capturing the townspeople and replacing them one-by-one.  It was truly corny by today’s standards.  You could even see the zippers on the backs of their alien costumes!  But, after the movie was over, I grabbed my bike and crossed the street to go home.  It was already dark and I had to put my bike away in our garage.  I opened up the garage door, and standing within the garage was THREE small gray men with big heads and black oval eyes standing right across form me!  I slammed the garage door back down, forgot about my bike and ran to the front door to tell my stepfather that there were Martians in our garage.  Hey, it was 1958 and what else would a boy think it was back then?

 

 

     My stepfather had been watching a ballgame on TV and not happy about my crazy behavior.  None the less, he walked through the kitchen, into the garage and there were no Martians.  Nothing but “garage” and his playboy pin-ups pasted across the walls.  He told me to go and put my bike away and no more nonsense and no more monster movies with the Maggias!  I saw it was empty… now… but I knew what I saw was NOT from the movies I was watching.  We had NO idea of what Grays were back then.  I put my bike away and got sent to my room.

 

     I laid in my bed, wondering what I saw and why.  I wasn’t at it for too long when I noticed that I was not alone in my room anymore.  In my room were three “martians” that I MUCH later learned were “Emerther Grays”.  They had huge Bambi like eyes.  I had just seen “Bambi” at the movies with my Mom not too many weeks before this, and all of them were about my size, with little pert noses, big eyes and eyelashes and a tiny, cute smile.  There arms seemed a little long for their sizes, with only four fingers, much like Mickey Mouse had, and they were here to see me!

 

I was scared and curious at the same time, but in my case, curiosity will win over scared any day of the week no matter what I was facing.  I was playing with martians in my bedroom, and my stepdad would have had a complete melt down if he had only checked in on me that night.  But the ballgame was on, and I was just a crazy little bastard to him.  The “martians” made me levitate over my bed, and floated me outside through my bedroom window, which was not even opened!  I could feel the cool glass passing through me as I floated through and out into my backyard, where a very classic looking flying saucer was hovering low above us.  A beam of coherent light came out of the craft and took me on up inside, where they put me on an examination table, similar to what my doctor’s office had, but more streamlined looking.  Around this time, one of my martian buddies cam forward with a long metal probe, with a triangular looking thing situated on it’s tip.  He proceeded to place the object up my nose, and warned me that it might sting a little bit.  It did, and my eyes watered from it.  I’ll never forget the sound and sensation of a “crunch” when they pushed it into place.

 

 

     The next morning, I awoke to the mother of all nosebleeds and my Mom had to call our family doctor to came and make it stop.  Everybody was wondering how this got so bad.

Doctor: Were you picking your nose, kid?

 

Johnny:  No.  It was the martians that put a thingie up my nose last night!

 

     My stepdad was mortified and told the doctor that I had probably been picking my nose in my sleep or something and that I had been watching scary movies with the neighbors across the street.  None the less, our doctor recommended a “specialist” to come over and see me.  Here's an infamous name in the programs that you can research:  The doctor was Dr. George Estabrooks, a prominent government psychiatrist and hypnotist.  He managed to convince ALL of us that since I was indeed a “child prodigy” and had a very vivid imagination, that this is what caused this whole event to happen.  Nobody knew that I had seen one of these before, and other kids were with me.  But they’d never talk about what we saw that day!  But the suggestion took hold, and I thought I made them all up and even added them to my drawings that my Mom would hang on the refrigerator.  My Mom’s tendency to keep much of our artwork tucked away in a special old suitcase she used to call the “Bone Orchard”, saved me a mental breakdown in the 1990s, when I saw the very first Gray alien that did NOT come from my own pen, on the cover of Whitley Strieber’s “Communion”.  My Mom still had those drawings, and for the first time:  I KNEW!  But, I digress.

 

By Spring of 2014, I learned the "triangular thingie" was REAL!

 

 

   

  I should also note here, at this same point in time, maybe about an hour’s drive East of our home:  A bunch of people were meeting with tall blond, Space Brothers landing at a private airstrip in Big Rock, California.  I had NO idea of how important that little fact was back then.  I wasn’t just the tops in my classes, I was tops in the whole school in my studies.  I tell you that, to point out that with our current teachings of evolution in schools, that of ALL the ETs that I absolutely did NOT believe in, the tall blonds were it.  There was NO chance in Hell that an identical race to ours was going to develop on a far away planet independent from our own!  I also understood enough about the CIA skullduggery even then, to think that if ANYTHING was a cheesy government psy-op, it was going to be THEM!  How WRONG I was!!!

 

 

     By the Summer of 1959, my usefulness in California was ended, and hence, my stepdad’s job at ROHR Aircraft did too.  We joined up in a caravan with some family friends and made our ways back across the United States to my grandmother’s house in Rochester, New York.  It was SO good for me to see my Grams again.  Grandma understood me like nobody else ever could .  Her mother was the adept matriarch of our clan,.. a full blown witches’ witch, and Grams, though not adept, herself, was no slouch in our family craft either.  Neither was I.  I was born adept like my great grandmother, who died the day and hour I was born into this world, and Grams was the ONLY one who truly understood that.  She was very interested in my martian story, because from time to time, I would still have these hideous nosebleeds up until early adulthood.  I began the second grade in Public School #14, on University & Scio Streets that next year, and hold the highest GPA in that school and many more to come after that.  These were the end results of the Rockefeller Eugenics Group that financed much of our local project at MKULTRA.  It’s time we fast track forward a dozen years or so…

 

     I was staying with one of my Uncles in Colorado Springs, Colorado in 1972, about to turn 19.  The programs were training me well, and I was doing odd jobs every so often, and at one point, the kinds of anger issues they gave me came out in spades, and I got into trouble with the law about the kinds of destruction of people and property that I was capable of, and I had to slow down everything, quit drinking to excess, and teach the newer ULTRAs at a special site in Fort Carson, near by.  During this time, the Space Brothers came up again.  There were flyers up all around town about a meeting they were going to have.  I was immensely skeptical, but it was my first opportunity to check them out in person.  But as it happened, I could not attend, because I had training to do at Fort Carson, so I missed them again.  However, about 72 other people did NOT miss it, and they went missing soon afterwards.  I suspected foul play, and secretly glad I couldn’t make it to that.  Time to advance another few years…

 

     It’s now around 1985 and I’m 32 years old and the top student in The Stratford Business College, using my math skills to ace Computer Programming with Business Applications.  The most grueling class schedule they ever made, and canceled soon afterwards when only three of us ever graduated it.  I am approached by a tall blond woman at school that wanted to discuss my “talents”.  Being a very savvy and cagey ULTRA agent, I was suspicious at her wording and her approach, but I let her talk anyway.  She started out with how I had chosen to come here for this life.  BAD IDEA!  I haven’t explained a whole lot of the MKULTRA programs here, to make you understand just how impossible it was to survive these in any recognizable form and the idea that I would actually CHOOSE to go through ALL of the horrors and heart breaks that I got from this!  My experiences had taught me that I was alive by the very “skin of my teeth”.   I’d have to be CRAZY to think I could come to Earth and be in MKULTRA and come out on top of ANYTHING but a bloody and violent death!  And if there was some Council that set this up:  THEY had to be crazy to think I could survive it, much more so to win anything!  So, I abruptly cut her off and left the conversation.  Still thinking that the “spooks” (CIA) were playing mind games with me again.  MKULTRA was ALL about various “mind games” and NONE of them worked out well for any of us involved in them.   Advancing forward to the early 1990s…

 

 

     It’s the early 1990s, and the Internet is beginning taking form.  I was raising my own family of three daughters and a son.  I had a job as a systems manager at a builders hardware company in Rochester, and I was the Moderator of the Intellec Conference on the Paranormal.  My master witch ranking gave me a very strong standing in helping people understand and studying various paranormal events.  Once a month, we’d schedule a Group Astral Projection to some well known power places on the globe and compare notes.  It was a very successful endeavor for me.  I was a pretty happy guy for a change.   And then the topics of space aliens came up!  Don’t get me wrong:  I definitely believed they existed, and especially so since Whitley Strieber’s Communion came out and I had my drawings from age five and six with my Mom.  But I did NOT believe in Ashtar Command, or ANY of the tall blond supermodel aliens.  Not at all!  But here they come again, and someone is channeling them into my conference.  I cannot BAN them, because they are perfectly “on topic” and not breaking any rules, so I tolerate them… BARELY!  And then again with the ‘how we chose to do this” and I broke several rules dressing them down for saying so, and eventually the “spooks” infiltrated our conference and started talking about how we cannot talk about these things, and I let them have the riot act on free speech and that it was MY conference.  It was ON TOPIC, and THEY could LEAVE it.  They threatened that I would never be able to cross into Canada to do any more lectures, I’d lose my job, home and family for not obeying them.  By the Fall of 1994, ALL of those things came true.  I was totally nonplussed about how this could happen in America!  It used to be that the government would simply flatly deny everything and let you feel like an idiot for bringing it up to them.  But THIS was a very different tactic that by no means convinced me in any way that we were mistaken.  The government was better off sticking to denial, because when they took the effort to threaten and follow up on it:  They proved to me beyond doubt that they had EVERYTHING to hide.  We weren’t “crazy”.  We were striking a NERVE with them!

 

     When you are held captive in a very sick and autocratic system like the CIA and MKULTRA, you carry a great deal of angst and anger about them for the rest of your life.  There’s no opportunity to ruin their days that I won’t jump on and twist for all I’m worth.  My life’s goal is to destroy them, and it WILL be so by the time I am done here.  They had taken everything I ever had, turned my family against me and left me out for dead.  Well actually,  several times they were a whole lot more involved in my expected demise than that, but at this point:  I understood how desperate they were NOT to let people understand this stuff is REAL.  So, with my programming expertise, I committed myself to going online and shouting their biggest taboos from the rooftops, so to speak.  They’d send people to get me fired at my jobs.  I’d get another job and start all over again.  But I still wasn’t very big about the tall blond aliens at all.  The little gray guys were no surprises to me anymore, and of course there has to be even more kinds of life out there too.  So I upped my game against MKULTRA.  Advancing a few years to 2012…

 

     I was working in Radiation Oncology and Administrative councils at Rochester General Hospital, and loving the job and the people I got to work with.  I had published my first book, “ Matriarch of the Witch Clan”  and unaware that I was dying, slowly of several very suspicious causes.  By the Spring of that year, I had to quit my job, because the narcolepsy I was suffering from all of the mandatory vaccinations needed to work around patients was making it impossible not to fall asleep on the job, or I’d black-out for a bit and miss some much needed work time from the cataplexy, And then came the tremors, and after that, the seizures!  Keto-acidosis from my Type II diabetes had ravaged my body of about a third of my body weight and left me languishing in a Critical Care Unit in Brockport, New York.   

 

 

From my hospital bed, I would close my eyes and see incredible star vistas and stellar nebulae so vividly.  From this point, I was terminal and bedridden for the next five years.  I was hobbling over to a local park to find edible plants to supplement my diet with.  I had nothing and it would be another 18 months before Social Security would grant my Disability Pension.  

 

By the Spring of 2014, I got my MRIs back from Samaritan Hospital in Watertown, New York after MUCH malarkey from my doctors and the hospital refusing to let the judge see them and denying they happened.  But my insurance paid for it all and I was entitled… and talented enough to dominate the nurses and receptionist to give me the actual disk my MRIs were recorded upon.  I used them to win my case with Social Security.  However, when I poured over the pictures, I was SHOCKED beyond words to see whole patterns of foreign implants within the deep places in my brain!  To make matters even WORSE, another ULTRA from the UK was currently showing his MRIs and telling people how he was being controlled by these!  I was having black outs and going through all sorts of things that left me in terror of what I might be doing out on the streets without having any clue that I was up and doing anything at all!  Would I be going to prison for some strange murder they put me up to?  I really had no clue and that worried me GREATLY!  I never wanted to be one of those disposable, one-time use ULTRAs, and it looked like I had no way to stop it from happening anyway.  I was VERY afraid!

 

 

Of course, in this diatribe, I am skipping a great deal of life and living, because I want to focus upon the “alien question” in my personal history.  In point of fact, I am hoping by recalling all of these relevant details, that even I might gain a better understanding of what I am, and what am I doing HERE?  I highly doubt that the overall majority of you will believe my story.  But, you could not find yourselves in more shock and disbelief than I was going through for MONTHS after we discovered my plethora of cranial implants.  But, it got me my Disability pension and that helped me survive even longer, and my eldest daughter had found me in Watertown, New York, and came to move me in with her and my twin grandsons in Hillsboro, New Hampshire.  I was wanted, and accepted by my family.  My love and hard work was not in vain, and life was GOOD…  Up until January 11th, 2015, that is.

 

 

It is here that I will get into a bit more story detail, because it is as weird as it gets, and it all leads up to my eventual demise, alone and rejected in a coma ward, far away from any kind of “home”, in Nevada.  My daughter is driving me back and forth to doctor’s appointments and emergency rooms as my condition demands of us.  I was being educated and fitted for an “Insulin Pump” as my insulin dependence was greater than I could personally keep up with.  Melanie (daughter) had attended one appointment with me at my doctor’s request because I had numerous dietary restrictions, and required some special tests that had to be scheduled and done on the same day.  As she would have to get me there, AND keep schedules for the rest of the family as well, it fell to her, to call and make the appointments at a convenient time for ALL of us and then make sure I was there for them.  All of this was supposed to improve the quality of my life and make my severe diabetes considerably more survivable.  I probably should not have even cared.   In my experience, I never stayed “dead”.  Something would ALWAYS happen to revive me.  But this was planet Earth, in 2015 and no matter how unusual one’s life might be, they’d have to be “crazy” to actually believe a thing like that!  Or such was my reasoning at the time.

 

It is Monday morning, January 11th, 2015, and I am sitting by the woodburning stove in our kitchen, drinking coffee, and chatting with one of my grandsons…

 

Melanie yells down from upstairs, “Gareth, be sure to log into your Kahn Academy (Internet Home Schooling) and start your lessons.”

 

“Hey Mel, I’m supposed to remind you to make that call later today,”  I call back to her.

 

About this time, a ROAR of profanity comes down at me from upstairs.  Gareth and I look at each other.  My daughter NEVER talks to me like that, and we literally LIKE to have arguments (debates really) for FUN, and we are never disrespectful in our arguments.  So, I take my coffee in hand and go up to see what the problem might be.  She is in the back of her room and still roaring about my appointments.  There’s a near finished toilet paper roll on the banister at the top of the stairs for some reason, so I pick it up and toss it at her.

 

“Hey!  Remember who you are talking to with that mouth, kid,” I said.

 

Melanie charged me at the top of the stairs and punched me hard on my right temple.  I grabbed her by her shawl, and I was near to tossing her head first down the stairs, when my head cleared enough, and let go and went back down the stairs, informing her:  “We are DONE.”

 

I was still bedridden much of the time, and my narcolepsy has me falling asleep several times a day.  My average days consisted of about 14 hours of sleep!  I locked my bedroom door as I wanted no more of anyone’s nonsense and promptly fell asleep.

 

Somewhere after 5:00pm, there was a knock on my bedroom window by my bed.  I looked outside and it was dark and two Hillsboro cops are standing outside.  I figure, there was probably and accident near by, as we live in the mountains.  I go to let them in and see what they need, and they tell me that I have to pack a bag and get out, and do I have a place to go?  I have never even visited New Hampshire before moving there with my daughter.  I packed my laptop and a few clothes.  I knew NOBODY in the entire state to go to or get help from, so they took me to their station and locked me in a cell.  Later that evening, a deputy sheriff came, and drove me all the way to Manchester, TWO cities away from “home”!

 

In the morning, I was brought in chains to a room, where a judge addressed me over a closed circuit TV and discussed some totally outrageous charges against me and how my entire family had been living in FEAR of me their whole lives, and forbid me to return home or even to call them on the phone.  It was the ONLY phone number I knew in New Hampshire.  He was going to release me on my own recognizance until the court date a few weeks from then.

 

I was sick, having seizures every few minutes, no meds, no insulin, no place to stay, and in a strange city, during a roaring New England blizzard, so I asked him if he could just keep me in jail until the date?  He replied:  “We aren’t running a rescue mission here.”  And the deputies got me my clothes and put me out into the blizzard without even giving me the number or address of such a rescue mission.  I didn’t even have a clue of where I was in Manchester, or what section of that city.  I had never been there before, and besides the visibility was lousy for all of the snowing.  I had only $300 left on my debit card, as I had paid Melanie & family most of the other $900 of my monthly budget for my room and board.  Nearly ALL of my belongings were there in my room, and I had no way to get to them, and not allowed if I could.

 

I determined that there is always a Greyhound or Trailways bus depot, near the centers of every major town in America.  I hiked through the snow and wind for hours before I found that part of the city, and located a Trailways bus terminal.  The ticket agent said they had no buses that go to Hillsboro.  I at least had to stop there, because the deputy had left my clothes and laptop there, and that was my ONLY way to contact anyone that I knew, via the Internet.  The lady was kind, and made some calls for me, and then told me the best we could do is to buy a $30 bus ticket to Concord, and then call a taxi for about $80 to take me to Hillsboro in this blizzard.  

 

Around 9:00pm the taxi got me to the Hillsboro police station, and I collected my gear and they gave me some court papers to sign.  They could see the side of my head was swollen from where Melanie had punched me, and I was very sick and had no place to stay.  They weren’t entirely heartless, and one of them agreed to drive me to the nearest and cheapest motel at $75 a night.  I only had enough money to stay a coup0le nights, and I was deep in the mountains, and it was over eight miles to the nearest bit of town on a narrow, icy mountain road.  As I said earlier, I am terminally ill and there would be no way I could survive even half of that walk in a blizzard as I was.

 

As it happened, I got into the motel.  I jumped into a shower and got some sleep, and in the morning I opened my laptop and got onto to Facebook and told my friends on my page what had happened to me, and if anyone knew anyone who could help me?  Immediately, some friends got together, made some plans, and rushed me money for another taxi and a bus ticket.  This time I was heading to stay with some friends, Deb and Mitch in Boca Raton, Florida.  I had been almost all week without much food and no meds or insulin at all.  The lack of any food helped keep my glucose levels from going up far enough to put me into a diabetic coma again, and it was a long, miserable ride to a much warmer state.  

 

 

Deb and Mitch met me at the bus station and immediately got me to a pharmacy, where Deb was reading the riot act to the pharmacists to get me insulin as quickly as possible, and they did it all for me right then and there.  I was out of immediate danger, and seeing local doctors and clinics to help bring my body back into some kind of shape.  Some aspects of my illness got worse, and I started getting Grand Mal seizures.  In a few months, I was considering moving to some friends who could cater to my need for “assisted living”, as I was on a long waiting list to be go to a nursing home, where I could be cared for, in North Las Vegas, Nevada.  They had medical marijuana there and CBD oil that would control my seizures magnificently.

 

I called a former ULTRA student of mine and offered to pay him about $2000 to drive me from Boca Raton to Las Vegas as he was already good friends with the people I was going to be renting a room with.  We got all the way up to the day he was supposed to show up, and he had never left Houston and never called to say he wouldn’t be coming.  So Deb and I made calls and I got onto another bus, for a sardine packed, miserable three day ride to Las Vegas, where my new landlords would be meeting me at the bus station, and I would begin yet another new start in Nevada.  I got my medical marijuana card, and I started weaning myself off as many of the pharmaceuticals as possible, for the side effects were crippling me.  It was a hard two plus years in that house for me, just by reason of all of the side effects and changes that I had to work through.

 

During my stay there, I was being scoped out everyday by the Blackjack Squadron, out of Redding, California, but now with their own sub-station at Nellis AFB.  By helicopters or high tech vans, they would scan our place daily as if they were keeping tabs of where I was and what I was doing.  I was sure of it as they were never interested in my house mates before I came.  Again, I started being contacted by the “tall blonds” again, and then the “tall whites”, that are known to have their own enclave somewhere on the Nellis reservations like Area 51 and such.  I was resisting the telepathic calls, because it has NEVER been a good idea for MKULTRAs to start listening to the odd voices that show up in our heads.  The mental “downloads” were blowing my mind, and I would smoke more and more weed to tone that down a little.  It really didn’t help much, but I was a bit mellower in my own skin, as ravaged by disease as it was.  It was determined that I could have a face-to-face meeting with a “tall white”, who went by the name of William, and that I would have to leave the house and take a little walk in a certain area and he’d meet me there.  I still wasn’t sure if the telepathy was REAL, or I was just having sick conversations in my own head.  In my lifetime experience, I *HAVE* to ask myself these questions ALL of the time in order to keep my sanity and not do anything stupid or dangerous.  MKULTRA specializes in this kind of torture of it’s victims.

 

 

It was a cool Las Vegas night and I went for a stroll.  The fresh air felt good, and even if there was no “William”, I was sure the walk would set me up for a nice and restful night.  Across the street from a local Denny’s Restaurant, I met William near the corner.  He was about my height (6’5”)… you see: *I* am a “tall blond”, but I really didn’t understand that quite the same back then.  William has thin, sandy colored hair and what we used to call, “thick, Coke bottle glasses” that made his eyes look unusually large.  We talked for a little bit under the streetlamp, and during our chat, William slipped off his glasses and was wiping them off with a napkin under the lights.  I watched and noticed how the lenses failed to make his fingers look bigger.  They were not much more than window pane glass.  I looked back up at his face, and his eyes still looked about twice the size of my own!  

 

“We gotta talk, brother,”  I said.

 

“We certainly do,” William replied.  “I hear that you are very fond of coffee,” he said.  “Care to join me across the street for a cup and a conversation?”

 

There are a number of local people, who knew all about these alien sorts, so I took it in stride, being a bit more confident that I was NOT responding to some kind of psychosis in my own mind.  We talked about the Black Jack Squadron and the dangers we were facing, and discussing some people who needed help leaving the planet that they were looking for.  I agreed to making a big scene for the benefit of our watchers for later that week, and drawing LOADS of attention from the Black Jacks, and in the confusion, William’s people got to where they needed to go without incident.  I was feeling a whole lot better about all of this now than I ever had before, and fully confident in my own sanity, and cleverness to manipulate “spooks” into a corner for all of their interference.  I was also not chasing off the Plieadians when they would check in on me.  Some things were difficult for me to assimilate or even to believe, but I understood these talks were LONG overdue, and I listened without arguing,.. much.

 

It was the Ides of March, of 2017, and for about the third time in my sicknesses, I started dropping massive weight again and getting sicker and sicker.  I was awakened one morning by a very concerned Medicine Bear (his name) and I was puking and retching and passed out in my room.  Bear had called immediately for an ambulance, and a few big guys had an awful time trying to lift my ravaged and thin body up into the ambulance. For some odd reason that I can’t explain, it turns out that when I am unconscious, that I seem to weigh a great deal MORE than my usual 230 pounds.  That should be easy enough for two or more  strong men to carry to an ambulance.    I didn’t come to, until I was in the Emergency Room and they had me strapped down on a gurney and trying to shove a big tube down my throat.  I thought I was back in an MKULTRA lab and in danger of my life,.. or WORSE!  Even in my weakened state, I managed to break my right hand free of the leather restraint strap and tried to finger strike the doctor in his larynx, but some quick technician behind me had loaded the anesthetic into my IV and I blacked out into a coma that lasted ten days, in the Mountain View Hospital in Las Vegas.

 

During my time in the coma, I was wandering through a darkened hallway towards an open door to a lit room.  Walking up to it, I was half expecting to find the “Pearly Gates of Heaven” or some such type of thing.  I knew this was VERY bad that happened to me this time.  Outside of me, in the coma ward, specialists had me hooked up to every kind of monitor imaginable and watching my kidneys, liver and other organs diminishing in function over the ten days, and then down to ZERO!  Within my coma, I was walking into a conference room that appeared to be on the top deck of a very large flying saucer, and a large C-Shaped table set with chairs all around it and a chair in the space in the middle.  The walls could be made to seem to disappear so that we could observe space unrestricted.  It could also be narrowed down to a single “bay window”, because I kept getting distracted by the view.  I was not afraid.  I figured I was already dead, or worse in an MKUTRA laboratory, so what did I have to lose here?

 

Around this table, sat maybe eight or nine of those “tall blond supermodels” I had been talking about earlier, and most of them wearing those blue jumpsuits we see in the pictures for a lot of those channeled messages that I used to ignore as I saw them.  I was directed to take a seat, or stand or pace as I needed, in the middle of the table.  There was a blond woman in the center, that looked vaguely like the actress, Kate Blanchet.  I’m not sure of how that’s properly spelled.  I just use it for a reference here.  She seemed to be directing this meeting.  It looked a lot like me being “on trial” for something, but I felt very comfortable in their presence, and nobody treated me even a little bit unkindly.  Each of them had questions, and answered mine as well.  It seemed as if we all had worked together before somewhere and were simply discussing the events of our mutual jobs together.  I noted one woman, at the far right hand of the table from me, that had white hair and light brown skin, which was a different tone from most of the rest, an assortment of blonds, strawberry blonds, pale brunettes as such.  I noted in our conversations, that there was a noticeable kind of “wince” when I referred to them as “aliens” .  Near the end of our ten days of talks, the “Kate” looking woman came and sat close beside me and didn’t take her eyes off of mine, to make clear that it was important that I understand what she was telling me.

 

“Where do you think your race came from?” she said, with a level gaze.  “Do you really believe you came from a test tube wielded by tiny, bulbous headed gray creatures?  Or are you going to insist upon calling us aliens?”

 

I can’t deny it.  They don’t look like us at all.  WE look like our stellar ancestors.  We can even reproduce without any test tubes or manipulation.  We are the same, only different in that we’ve been “chop shopped” by our true “alien overlords” into the over sexed, psychopathic slaves we are today.  I was in “heaven” after all, I thought and these are my family, my ancestors.  Any of them could have stood beside me here on Earth and looked like my better looking cousin, sister or brother!  I felt almost “ape man stupid” for what I thought before this, but none of them ridiculed me in any way for it.  They endured me, patiently and lovingly and I was finally getting the message that Dr. George Estabrooks had fortified my mind against in the MK program.  Remember that guy?  I did.

 

Well, I was starting to feel very much at home here, and I was also noticing in our talking, that people would stop just short of addressing me as a titled sort of person.  These people made my genius-ness look dumb, and yet, I was being treated like I was an important person.  Maybe now, you’re getting the “Commander” part of this story’s title.  But it’s a little more complicated than just that.  I’ll explain later, why I chose to allow that silly sounding moniker as I had.

 

The Plieadians themselves, seem to stop aging somewhere near thirty.  They don’t even consider marriage until they are around seventy-five.  SOME of them are physically immortal and seen the Universe when it was young.  MOST live a few thousand years and their soul migrates to another body, species, gender or whatever seems appropriate to them at that stage.  Time really doesn’t translate well for Fifth Density beings.  It is ONLY relevant HERE.  So, those years I mentioned here are approximations to make it easier to understand.  I’d been taught many things that had turned my whole idea of “reality” upside-down, and inside-out.  But, I had been prepared little bit, by little bit over the years.  Had they sprung this on me even back in the 1990s, I’m sure it would have engendered a helluva nervous break down.  

 

 

We had discussed how when I was a boy of only ten, that I had the use of a three hundred foot wide, three level, flying saucer, that I used to take my sisters and cousins into on special nights for an adventurous “mutual dream”, or so my Grams and I reasoned back then.  But it was a lot more than that, and I would never think differently, because I was already programmed by the most formidable Black Project on Earth to never even consider the possibility of that being real.

 

They told me a bit about the history of our world and galaxy and how the human form has never been a stranger in this universe since time began.  Why all of these ships were parked all over our solar system and near Earth, and how they were working in unison with other races to liberate those of us waking and evolving away from our slavery here, and what our parts in this “Ascension process” would be.  That was sobering and awesome at the same time.  They told me about the Prime Creator/GOD, and that didn’t surprise me so much as I’ve read the Bible and GOD even told Job, that he couldn’t “bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades”, so I figured that was a great recommendation for them.  Those who dedicate themselves to the beauty and safety of the Multiverses are called “First Cause”.  We used to call them “angels” here.  I was greatly attracted to this kind of service, but I have a history I don’t know.  In fact, nearly ALL of us represent an entire species with amnesia.  At first, I thought it had something to do with multiple planetary extinction scenarios happening here over the eons of time, but that wasn’t it either.  There had been a war over this piece of space ages ago, and the Reptoids won it, and run it.  But that’s all changing now.

 

 

We had discussed how and why I “chose” to come here and live this life.  I had to be one ballsy and reckless maniac to do something like that, I thought.  A couple of the men in the room laughed at this jibe and shook their heads as if they knew a secret that was going to blow my socks off.  And the we got into the state of being my body was currently in.  I was in no pain while I was with them.  I was really enjoying my stay, but I was going to have to return here, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant at all.  I’ve had visions of my latter years on Earth for over 40 years at this point, and I already understood the kind of price it was going to demand of me, and I was fully prepared to face and live that reality, if I had to.  I’ve always known that I have a role in this world.  Still, I was warming up tho these people a lot, and I felt stupid and did not want to let them down.  I wanted to stay with them.  I felt “right” here.  So my last question before I had to leave through that darkened doorway was:

 

“Is there anything I need to do to prepare for this new part of the mission?  Should I be focusing on anything in particular?” I asked.

 

The two men that laughed at my joke before, and even a couple of the women chuckled at that question, and said,  “Don’t worry yourself about that at all.  ALL you have to do, is what comes natural for you.”  And I walked back to the door, wondering it was something to do with my ninja skills or such, because if I had a middle name: It would be “Vindictive”, and that really didn’t seem to jive with the general tenor of our conversations, and they had remarked that I was most “militant” among all of them.  Even for a Procyon.  I had no idea of what that meant, and I couldn’t ask because it was as if the power went off and the room became as black as pitch!

 

Meanwhile, a team of physicians and specialists at Mountain View Hospital’s Coma Ward, the monitors are showing that my blood glucose was over 1800, I lost just over 100 pounds of body weight in my ten day coma, and my organs were all shutting down to nothing at all.  My blood was far too poisonous to do ANY kind of good trying to revive me.  It was the middle of the night shift, and a nurse was sent up to unhook me from the monitors and wheel my cadaver down to the morgue.  It was over.

 

I could see, or hear NOTHING but blackness.  I could not make out my own hand before my face.  Why would I be blocked off from everybody and everything?  I thought, I must be dead or something.  It was then there was ONLY one sound in that black place:  The sound of delighted laughter!  I laughed because I knew I wasn’t by any means “forsaken”, and they were still watching me, and this was just another part of my journey, and my eyes opened in a darkened hospital room, where a male nurse was sorting out the leads he had just pulled from my body to take me downstairs.

 

 

“Could I have some water?” I croaked weakly.  Which startled him and got him dashing out into the hallway and people coming in to see.  My chart, posted on the wall at the end of my bed had a long list of the things I was suffering from.  A new entry on it said I was also suffering Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia now.  WOW!  I didn’t have cancer when I came here, but I got it in spades NOW!  Apparently, the nurse was about 10-20 minutes in coming for my body.  There was no rush.  It was not like I would be going anywhere but for a dirt nap.  The leads got hooked back up, and the doctors watched the readings as my liver and kidneys started coming back online for them.  First at 15%, 32%, 55%, 77% and almost a full 100% in the next 24 hours!  I’m told that never happens.  I was SO wasted away that I didn’t even have enough muscle left on my bones to roll over in bed.  It took me an exhausting 35 minutes just to get halfway there.  Doctor Doddie came in to advise me of the situation I was in.

 

“I know, doc,”  I croaked.  “It’s not my first time at Death’s Door.”

 

“NO!” she said.  “You were NOT at Death’s Door.  You were on the other side, and somebody THERE, wants you HERE, very badly!”

 

“I know that too,”  I said.  “I just hope I don’t disappoint them.”  She shook her dread-locked hair and smiled a funny smile at me.

 

Within a day, they wheeled me up to a brand new room in the Rehabilitation Center, and she had another talk with me about it.

 

“I heard that you fell, trying to go to the bathroom by yourself,” she said sternly.  “And there’s some things I have to tell you.  The lady across the hall from you came in with a blood glucose of about 850, and she was in a coma for three days.  That woman is NEVER going to be the same again from this, so I don’t want you getting your hopes too high.  YOU came in with TWICE her glucose levels and were in a coma for TEN days.  Your white cell count was a massive 150,000, and then you even died on us for a bit.  So, when we get you in for therapy, don’t expect too much too soon.  Most of these people will be here and training for the next six months.”

 

 

As it happened, the woman she had mentioned died a day or so later.  About six weeks after that, with a little bit of body weight put back on, I walked out of Mountain View Rehab with a cane, that I haven’t used for the past two years now.  I tried the Chemo Therapy for my cancer.  I had the BEST oncologist in the Western USA, and she gave me an 80% probability the “Triple Threat Chemo Treatment” would put me to rights.  To keep this story from becoming tedious, she damned nearly murdered me in the Cancer Ward with total disregard, and I fired every one of them and I came home, researched my situation (I’ve earned doctorates before) and started treating myself, and I got MUCH better than ANYBODY expected.  I would have liked an overnight miracle of rejuvenation, but it didn’t happen that way.

 

I took CBD oil for my epilepsy.  I learned about the proper “terpines” that my conditions required out of the medical marijuana I was smoking.  I had two morphine prescriptions when I left the hospital.  I don’t like morphine, so I didn’t get them filled.  I probably SHOULD have though.  I could have sold them and used the money for better food and meds.  I had to do something about the pain of my cancer and all though, and I found that weed with fair percentages of “myrcine” and “carophylene” have wonderful anti-inflammatory effects and would keep me comfortable in my own skin for hours after the buzz wore off.  I taught myself to “smoke SMART”.  I could function with this.  Simple baking soda, added to my drinking water every day, would make my blood alkaline, and while I was still getting monthly blood tests, they were showing that my White Cell count went down THOUSANDS of points in a few months, as opposed to the hellishly expensive Chemo and cancer medicines.  Whatever I could not get in proper foods, I made up for in healthy supplements, and when I moved to downtown Las Vegas, I no longer needed “assisted living” or even a nursing home anymore!

 

As I got back to all of my friends online, I noticed again, the channeled videos that I always turned my nose up at before.  Some, I listened to, were just SO much “bliss idiot talk” and not much real substance to the messages.  But eventually, I found some even with pictures of people I’ve met in various space jumpsuits, and the messages were actually relevant to what I was immediately going through, or they were something that I had already been briefed in, by them.  I need to explain my abhorrence of “channeling” here.  Which, I'll do just after I demonstrate yet another level of "connectedness" to this.  I could only  shake my head.

 

Of the crazy synchronicity that followed:  One of the shockers, was about an interesting, hour-glass shaped birthmark, inside of a tan rectangle, on my right thigh.  At some point, I got to share some emails with Linda Moulton-Howe about some of my own involvement in the Black programs, and she led me to a great research tool in her Earthfiles website.

 

I was browsing my laptop in my trunks, and reading about some people's encounters with the Nordic aliens, and a symbol kept coming up.  The hourglass symbol.  It means something about "the merging of worlds".  In Runic script, it means "Break-Through".  And judt to the right of my laptop, I am looking at that same familiar symbol on my right thigh!  WAIT!  There's MORE!  

 

 

Embedded in this Screenshot of Linda's website, is a snapshot of my birthmark.  But, as I said:  There's MORE!  Someone pointed out they saw my birthmark on an ancient petroglyph, on a rockwall in a canyon, about a 90 mile drive south of me, near Laughlin, Nevada!  It stands just to the left of a giant, longhaired "storm kachina"!  I am learning that I am not only learning about THEM... but I am learning unbelieveable things about ME!   I'm in this DEEP!   I'll share that here.

 

 

 

 

From around my mid teens, as a practicing witch, I ended up with what I thought,  was a fae mentor to train me to be a better witch.  But it was actually a demon, named Shabriri and I became quite “possessed” and this took me some serious searching to get this thing out of me.  Suffice it to say:  I found out then that Jesus was no joke.  That was a LARGE portion of “crow” for a proud witch like me to admit to.  But that monster got removed forcibly from my soul, in Jesus’ name   And I was at peace within myself for the first time in many years.  I was about 21 at the time.  It would be the best part of a year after that experience, when I would be finding this Jesus for myself, and I adjusted my “reality” to accept that, and that was among the wisest things I had done.  Getting “churchy” wasn’t much of a help, but I learned to follow his teachings, which gave me options in situations that I never had before.  I used less spells, and more prayers and raised myself a family, and kept clear of deals with devils even more so than I had with MKULTRA, and I had benefited greatly for it.  I understood what it was like to have someone else riding high in the saddle of my own soul, and I would NEVER give anyone that opportunity ever again.  So, maybe you can understand my aversion to channeling;  Someone allows another spirit or telepath to talk through their own mouth.  I will never go that way.  They seem fine enough to me, and I see nothing wrong in their messages, and I’m even grateful for some of those messages.  But I will ALWAYS captain my own ship!

 

My key problems with telepathy, are BECAUSE I am a first generation MKULTRA soldier/agent and it was NEVER a good idea for us to start responding to the “voices in our heads”.  BAD beyond belief in our cases!  But, that IS the nature of telepathy, and the messages coming through were they best advice I ever gotten, and made me even less likely to hurt someone that sorely deserved it… Up to a point!  But, I loved how things turned out when I accepted their advice.  They NEVER commanded me ANYTHING.  They’d ask, or make a suggestions that I was always free to ignore, and sometimes I had, and didn’t do as well.  I also could not discern too well, if I was actually creating these conversations in my own head, so sometimes, I was going to need a face-to-face meeting with someone, or some kind of physical confirmation that these things actually took place in REALITY.

 

As I lived in my downtown apartment, in one of Las Vegas’ most dangerous neighborhoods, I had been physically attacked several times.  Each time, my skills and strength nullified the situation without much more than a broken bone or a few missing teeth, and I’d discreetly disappear into the darkness of the shadows and make my way home unharmed.  I took some photos to show all of my friends where I was and how well I was doing, and light and orbs would gather about me and obscure my features.  This, I was told, was the effect of my ascending vibrations… all of their great advice was helping me heal my body, my mind and my eternal soul.  We ARE immortal.  No lie!  We don’t HAVE souls.  We ARE souls!  A tiny spark off of the Prime Creator, given a free will, and set loose in the Multiverse. I was beginning to understand the depths that humanity had been lied to, and for what reasons.  I was discovering too, exactly why the powers-that-be in this world were desperate for us to NOT learn some things about who we are and where we really come from.  It kept us under their power and control for their own ends and never OURS.  We are here to change that.  THIS war is different than any wars before it, but there’s EVERYTHING for the Reptoids to lose, and EVERYTHING for US to gain!  

 

 

This book could get to rival Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” novel in length, if I took the time to go into every detail of these, and I wanted to keep it short and concise.  It was only important for me to share with you the things that changed my mind about where we are currently at in our history.  I’m still here, and I do many radio and internet interviews when they ask.  I will continue doing so, and you all can spring any questions you want on me at those, and I’ll happily share those with you.

 

Those of us “awakened” to the reality of this world ARE going through MANY levels of changes.  Our bodies are uncomfortable and responding in ways we’ve never experienced before.  If you are sick at all, it is HERE you are sick of, but your bodies are adjusting to a MUCH needed change of environment where people like ourselves can flourish and enjoy our life experiences.  It is how our Prime Creator always wanted us to be…. but, these were OUR choices, and since our SOURCE gave us free will, it must be respected, and we gain whatever rewards or consequences our choices mandate for us.  Everybody wants GOD to do ALL for them, as if they are audiences, sitting in a seat and waiting to be entertained.  Jesus emphasized that we could be “Children of GOD”, and it is clear that is EXACTLY where we came from.  So, since puppies do not grow up to be chimpanzees, the Children of GOD can be expected to grow up be “gods” and not simply mere “men”, and if we toss our religions aside for that relationship to our SOURCE, we will learn to stand in our own fullness, beyond the scope of the blinded to see or understand.  

 

Please understand:  I am NOT claiming that when you die, you will go to a Plieadian space ship.  That was specifically for ME.  I didn’t know it coming up in this world, but I understand that I am a significant part of that crew or team.  The main reason that I called myself “Commander Stormm” for this story and such, is because I am NOT “channeling” anyone else.  I am personally sharing such as I have learned as I am personally responsible to do.  Ranking with them, is not a prestige, it is a responsibility, and the entire crew agrees who has that best to serve.  No egos allowed here.  So, whether I command that crew or not, is irrelevant to this topic.  I most certainly am “beloved” by this crew, and if I was the guy who mopped the deck everyday, I’d be honored to be doing so.  But that won’t be the case.  They’ve followed me my entire lifetime here, and saved me many times from the consequences of my battles here.    

 

Most sincerely,

 

Commander Stormm

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

     

 

      

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.02.2021

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