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  Things We're Afraid to Say: Webs of Everyday Media     
Date: Fri, 2 Feb 2007  12:00AM PDT)
From: Send an Instant Message "John French" <mosshead7@yahoo.com>  
Subject: Brainwashing for terror
To: friends@foxnews.com

Last night I had a disturbing yet insightful dream regarding a terrorist brainwashing camp. A couple of friends and me were recruited to come check out this "educational" presentation about how to better our plight in life.
At first it seemed as if we had the choice to be there and the choice to leave by our own free will - However, as the presentation defined the points of why life was not as good for us - because of "western thinking" and the U.S. - men with masks which covered every inch of their faces but their eyes started appearing within the group - and as the talk and hatred intensified these masked men also appeared around the w/ guns and pointing them at us for further intimidation - like as if to state that if we dare disagree, we would be shot.
At one point a couple women were brought out to "test us" - they draped their hair over us, over our heads, chests, laps and rushed their hands over us - and a strong feeling told me to look straight ahead w/ a stern face of blankness and maybe disdain otherwise I would be beaten w/ the end of a gun like the person who reacted w/ arousal.
I did not pass one test  - a test of showing hatred - I wasn't brainwashed like the others around me - and I was thrown in a pool of water w/ my hands restricted - and while I had the feeling that I was drowning, I could see the leader through the water standing at the top and at the side of the pool indicating to me that only he could save me. They did not let me drown but they did not break me either.
The whole feeling of the building we were in was one of a high-tech feeling, of affluence - like inside of a corporation - like a pharmaceutical or research company or something.
We were taken into this room which was like a media room and for hours upon hours the images and sounds we saw and heard were all of war - of people being shot, blown-up, tortured - people we were supposed to relate to and people we were supposed to hate - and at all times our reactions and demeanor were being monitored with more rhetoric thrown in at appropriate, vulnerable times. This was a well orchestrated affair.
And I kept thinking. I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe how I got sucked-in to coming here and now they want me to lose my whole identity and become what they want of me and that only. It's like I've disappeared and I can't believe the outside world and authorities have no idea what is happening beneath their very noses.
During the barrage of images and sounds of war - of killings and bombings - I knew everyone I entered with were brainwashed and had no other choice but to become what they wanted of them and that only - Whereas I, on the other hand, still had free will and was free of mind and longed to get the hell out of there - which, by some diversion, chance and opportunity I found a way out of the building and made it onto the grounds. I was so happy, thrilled, elated and in ecstasy as I lept over fences and barb-wire and tall hedges - a fortress of well manicured barriers to keep people in and out - and as I could see the neighborhood open up and I knew I was finally going to escape I left the ground for good and started to fly - I was flying - flying high - soaring away - passed affluent rooftops of a residential neighborhood like that of where I live in Sewickley but it felt even more tradition and ornate like around London in England or something.
When I finally made it to my home it was quite different - everyone was way uptight, nervous, anxious, edgy. Things had changed. And it was weird. I was home but no-one noticed me. No one noticed me at all - not my mother, my father or brother. And my brother and father were watching those videos I saw in the media room in that corporate, high-tech feeling building I was in with the brainwashing. All my favorite books were gone. All my cool stuff was gone. I asked my mother what happened to my favorite books - what happened to my books and things - but it was is if she could not hear me at all or refused to notice or answer me.
Then it was me again - I was coming out of this dream as gradually as I entered it - This was evident once I saw one of my animal spirit guides and I was back at the "Indian cave" by my parent's home here in Western PA in the hills above the Ohio River. And I was walking through those hills - in the footsteps of those that walked there before me. My "power spot" nearby.
This morning after walking our little-big Lhasa Apso, I realize that in my dream I don't think I was flying as a whole person - w/ my body. I think I was shot in the back before while trying to flee the building and my spirit and my soul were soaring outside and through neighborhoods and away. And that's why my family did not see me or answer me when I returned.
I believe this was a visitation and not a dream.
Best of Hope,
StrawHat Productions

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Poetry  By John Alan Conte`, Jr.
Copyright 2007
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