TO:     John Taylor, 76470,3001

Re:     More information

John, first of all, I would like to ask your occupation and interest in asking me the
questions that you have.  I'm hoping that you are a bonafide investigator, since you
seemed to be, and not some "Shrink," with whom I do absolutely no business.
-----------------------------------------
        Secondly, I thought I'd add some more background to my own experience as a
"Sleeper," such that you, if you are an investigator, will spread it around appropriately.
        I explained to you that I'd had an unneccessary hernia surgery.  That was set
up during one of my initial hypnotic sessions in Honolulu, in the building right across from
 First Hawaiian Bank, where I also was once employed.  (While there, the firm allowed
some "FBI Agents" to film the building across, over a few weekends.  In fact, FHB Staff
assisted with my own 'change of occupation.')  I remember standing right next to the
floor-to-ceiling window across the way, as I was asked how well I could endure pain.  A
special "test" was arraigned, and I was asked to bear down upon a gloved finger put up
my inguial opening, and asked to bear down as hard as possible.  This was under
trance, and the suggestion was made that when someone mentioned it later, I would start
to have "Hernia pain," just as I then felt.  Other things were done, too.
        Years later, in Cologne, I was called into the CIA Office of the IRCD Safehouse
where I worked from the Duesseldorf Consulate, and that suggestion was then made in a
mild manner, "I heard you were suffering from a hernia, Rick?  You should go and have it
checked out."
         I was at once all aghast that this man I somehow knew from another "Life"
could even know about it, but there it was - The beginning of constant clenching pains
down there.  I rationalized it to be from sitting in the new, small, Fiat that they'd assigned
me to drive daily.  Eventually, I saw a British Army Doctor, who OK'd the operation, and I
went to the SHAPE HQ Hospital for this operation.
        Many remarkable things happened.  The ward was cleared out except for me,
that week.  While waiting to be taken into the Operating Room, the nurse gave me the
usual shot of Valium, but when I didn't fall asleep, she went and filled another and gave it
to me, and I fell asleep.
        The "Doctors" were very upset, because the first shot was never meant to be
valium but just sodium pentathol.  They had to wait four hours for me to come to, and then
 the real stuff went on.  In short, I remember my boss standing there with a surgical clamp
in my hernial opening, and pressing on it while telling me to "Feel the pain."  Other
things, such as putting his fist under the arch of my back, as I was arching from the pain,
suggesting that if "I didn't want to have back problems, I'd hold that 'natural' arch that
high."
        Thusly, the association to deep pain was made to any hint whatsoever of the
thought of speaking of the operation, or to him, or to the nature of my duties in
Intelligence, whatsoever.  I HAD to keep it a dire secret.  I spent a near decade almost
always hunched over from one or the other self-imposed pain, not knowing that I myself
was causing the pain through self-inspired muscular contraction.  I subconsciously
believed that my holding out tense against the pain was minimizing it, not causing it.
        The end behavior of course, was to deny completely, having anything to do
with any Intelligence person, activity, past, WHATSOEVER, whenever, for years hense.
        You can carry that on with other such Sleepers.  I can only guess that the
"Nasal implant" will come out to be something similar.
        Mind you, I did later come upon vital espionage knowledge that had to be kept
quiet until just recently.  I guess the whole thing was really well planned in advance.  This
is REAL, and I have verified it through newspapers and research; no "Belief system."
        But, after obeying orders to come to Maui, it was but a few years before I was
seduced into a "Honey Trap," and made to marry under government-pressed "Rape"
charges, a Filipino Immigrant.  Over the years, She has, just as in the "Manchurian
Candidate," become my "American Controller," if you will.  What makes her unique is that
 she takes direction from local detectives,  even as they seemingly try to figure out what
I'm all about.
        For example, she has exerted control over not only my personal life and
emotions, but every job I've held or lost, since.  Mind you, I've never gotten my head
very high, because of her charges and things she spreads in the community. I could
detail it, but basically it always starts with some suggestion on her part to apply
someplace.  I'll note that it seems as if my blanketing of applications to other places just
"get lost."  I think local detectives yank them after a friendly word with the Personnel
Director, involved.
        She will use every wile possible to get me to work at her designated place, for
 example, Marrie Callendar's, as a waitor.  I found it very interesting that I was assigned
to the only other male (trainer) on the shift, "Jay," known for being "Very gay."  I had to
"Follow him everywhere..."  And yet this was one of the watering holes of the MPD...  Also
strange, something that happened at each of my other jobs, is that the a/c duct over MY
work area would never "Work."  I've read somewhere that it's a common place for
surveillance cameras, but that the a/c makes the lens fog, so it's typically turned off.
        Well?  Someone wanted to know my sexual orientation, didn't they?  The same
was very true for the next place I was to work upon her suggestion, The Westin Maui.
There, again, I was "The Bad Guy," and could all the other Security Officers help keep
an eye on me?  Again, homosexuality, theivery and the like was inferred and I was even
shown lewd cartoons that implied such, "Du-Cock-Us in the Bush," for example.
        I could explain on, but wish to discuss another suggestion she'd made to me
as it does relate somewhat to the nasal transplant idea:  She suggested that my breath
was bad, and that her dentist, Dr. Kahoe, had told her that I must need a "Tongue
cleaning."  It was "Her" dentist, the one she insisted we use.  I always noted how much
he dispised me for having married her, as if he'd had inclinations, himself.  She does
have that knack of being appealing to such authority figures...
        I went in for that and he swabbed my tongue on the right side, but not the left,
saying that I "Wouldn't want both of them done!"  A few weeks later, my wife pointed out
that I had a white patch along the side of my tongue, and Dr. Kahoe referred me to a
dental surgeon.  When I walked into the wrong office at the clinic, the dental surgeon
trimmed off the skin, and sewn it up.  However, there turned out to be some kind of
conflict with the surgeon who I was supposed to go with, and I was eventually referred to
him.
        And to Castle Memorial Hospital, too, where a partial hemiglossectomy was
done by a former US Army Surgeon.  Of the strange things I remember from this
operation, one is that of the constant referance to how much pain and blood there would
be in a tongue surgery.  To the constant thought of death by cancer.  And when I went in,
they stuck something deep down my throat and snipped at something.  Then, they cut at
some guaze holding my tongue and I went out.  But, believe it or not, like the previous
surgery, I remember men in suits in the room, afterwards...
        Of all things, when I awoke, I noticed a stitch on my chinline on one side and a
scab on the other.  I felt pain in my mouth, obviously, but also in my throat, stomach and
underside.  I was perplexed by that, and just then, my mother was let in, who almost
fainted.  The doctor hurriedly removed the stitch on my chin, saying that it was a
neccessity in order to hold up some piece of medical equipment.  There was "Terrible
swelling" under my chin, he said, but I was a bit perplexed by the way I felt fatter.  From
the previous surgery, I had expected to hopefully lose a few pounds.
        Notably, as I went back to work, one of the other taxi drivers exclaimed that I
must have had a "Reverse liposuction!"  None of my Aloha shirts fit any more, and my
wife got new ones.  That "Swelling" under my chin has never went away.  I have a "Gut"
that also refuses to slim,  and instead I gain bulk as I try to exercise it away.
        Most interestingly to me is that I often cannot breath well.  I'd patiently waited
for my mouth area to clear up, and they all tell me I have no "Further carcinomas, cured,"
yet I often have asthma-type congestion and the like.  It's as if I can't keep the air out of
my stomach (I pass gas a lot), nor can I keep the water out of my lungs.  Swimming, I
need a snorkle, and daily, I cough a lot.
        I often will awake in the mornings, and feel as if there's something in the back
of my throat, and throw up.  I start the day with bloodshot eyes, and the neighbors, of
course, all think I'm some kind of terminal case.
        There ARE times that I wonder if they've put something in there, and my usual
response is to pull in my shoulders, and to breathe more shallowly.  I feel a sense of
panic, as if being smothered.
        A recent X-Ray by an EENT specialist to help me with sleep apnea showed
"Superflorous tissue in the throat area," but he denied it was carcinomic.
        Based on what I was told in Cologne about some known KGB method of mixing
plastique micropellets and silicone to make an undetectable human bomb out of
someone, I at times wonder if I've become that test case, as well.
        Arriving back on Maui, the previous social stigma of "Rapist," "Suspected
Narc," "F**** Haole," and suchforth was added to with "Cancer patient," and of course,
"Somehow," my childhood brush with Hepatitus B was made public, and everyone
suspected me to be, obviously, a homosexual pervert par excellance with all the
expected side-effect diseases.  I obviously had little social life, nor expectation that
anyone would befriend me enough to learn my secrets.
        From being an outdoors type to becoming a person hoping to just live long
enough that my son might know me some, I became sendentary and obese.  I drink beer
daily, often the only solace I have, and my wife frequently buys it, "On sale."  Notably,
that added beefing up covers up my odd "swellings."  I refer briefly to a mnenonic, given
in Duesseldorf, of  "Rick Van Winkle.".
        Of course, arriving home from that operation, I remember being told that my
wife had been "Switched."  She DID look different.  A neighbor later  told me that my
"Wife not my wife."  This dovetailed with what I'd been told in Duesseldorf about another
KGB technique:  Apparently, it was nowadays possible to find a near biological identical
twin for a person, and this had happened to one of our own.  The target later said that he
had been sure that somehow, his wife was no longer the same, even as she did the right
things, spoke the same way, etc., but after all - Just who could he tell about it?  This had
happened during while he was away for a small surgery.
        I remember, of course, being ordered in Duesseldorf to obey an intermediary
agent I would know by her legend:  That of Saint Philomena, only with an "F," as in the
"Fillippines."  There is a story, associated with mnenonics, about her.  Mainly, I am
commanded to shoot her with "Latin Hyphens," in my writings, not real arrows (like the
Manchurian Candidate did), and that she would also be known by her symbols of
(monetary renumeration), the palm leaves.
        My wife's name is Filomena, but all her friends call her "Luming."
        The prime export of the Phillipines is "Domestic Help," as you may know.
        Living with her over the years, it is clear to me that her motivation is anything
other than "true love."
        I have memories of coming home from the surgery, with local detectives who
diverted me from my taxi at the airport to come with them.  One had keys to my house,
and I have other strange memories, and instructions to carry out from then.
        As you can see, from the beginning, local authorities have opeated under the
premise that I was a "Commie Spy," or maybe a low-life who someone higher up wanted
to be pushed down and monitored for personal or even sexual reasons.  They
participated in many ways in "Finding" things on me, most of which they dreamt up.
        So, it's probably very hard for anyone to accept that I am a bona-fide
operative, recruited by one of our own agencies, to play this role throughout.
        It being a little late, already, I certainly wish these authorities would get it
together, and give me my guns and dignity back.  I'm sorry if their shrinks can't tell the
difference between someone truly nuts and someone acting the role, dutifully obeying
orders given to him to do so.
        The greatest ironic laugh of all is the certainty posed in the Leftist APA's
Diagnostic & Statistical  Manual III-R, that anyone who "Claims to work for the CIA," or
"Claims to know past Presidents" is to be classified as paranoid-schizo.  And, thereby,
as un-pc, and as potentially contagious and socially worthless as an AIDS patient.
        Now that the dire secret concerning TOPAZ has expired, I wish these people
would hop to it and normalize my life.
        TOPAZ is a long story in itself.  However, I don't mind adding that Rainier
Rupp was not approached and arrested (he immeadiately confessed) until after I brought
up the matter with Military personnel at Tripler Hospital, where I insisted upon going
before speaking to Hawaii State Shrinks.  I spent time in prison, refusing to talk to them -
And you guessed it - The inmates I was put in with wanted to talk about homosexuality
and Past Presidents.
         I would wonder if anyone would be interested in seeing my personal photo
album from 1977?  "I've got a picture of Big Foot..."
        To return to the subject of the nasal implant:  No, if anything similar, I flash
back on reading a statement by an MFS agent (in Cologne) who claimed that that agency
could force one to have such an operation, as had happened to him:  That the message
was to "Bite your tongue."  Don't speak out, or else.  That it also made his speech
patterns untestable by voice analysis.
        To cough and wonder why I'm coughing again only serves to make me wonder
if they DID put something, or cut something in my throat, during that tongue surgery, and
to bring back those memories of the time.  And, consequently, to remember, that I best
keep my tongue, and wait.  To breathe more shallowly, in order to quiet the throat.  And,
assumably, cut off higher brain functions with less oxygen.
        Nasal implant?   No, you'll PROBABY just find it to be Psychological
Operations of the Espionage kind.  And, waiting in the wings, you have a legion of Liberal
Shrinks ready to jump on the opportunity, a public scare, of "They're everywhere, they're
everywhere!"  To provide "Protection," "Advise," their own criteria (Like the DSMIII-R),
reason to seize [Orwellianthink: "Recover"] all weapons, and most naturally, another
level of government authority (Towards the Police State,) Gore's new Mental Health
Control Bureau.
        And these men will have absolute investigative authority surpassing all
Constitutional Rights, as well as the ability to arrest, interrogate and incarcerate - Even
invade the body and surely the mind - without Miranda warnings, arraignments, bail, and
the like.
        After all - YOU could be one, and never even know it!
        (Their contribution to the Sleeper's goal of Fear and Chaos)
Rick