A Mask Behind a Mask Behind a Mask
My dad had an old injury that had left him disabled and he had led a life prior to getting married and settling down that was wilder that most movies. Right before he died, he said to me "This last time, makes 16 attempts on my life". He grew up in the ghettos of New England at the height of WWII, His mom was a mistress to man named Leslie Lewis (Americanized, really Llewelyn ) that my dad knew was syndicate, but later speculated was OSS..("How many non military were vacationing in Hawaii right after Pearl Harbor? And even then the mafia and spies went hand in hand.") Leslie came over to the U.S. from Wales at 14 years old, he was supposed to be met at the docks by his cousin John L. Lewis, but something got mixed up and he was out on the West Coast setting up mine workers Unions before meeting with Roosevelt. So Dutch Schultz met him at the docks. My dad's most treasured memory of his dad was when he took him as a kid to meet John Dillinger, in New York after his death and they talked about how the FBI had covered it up. His Uncle, was a U.S. MP over German POW's here, but if they knew what he was doing, even though humanly it was righteous and good, he'd have been killed by his own side for treason and collusion, he strongly believed in the ideal that No Man's war is worth your soul and your moral compass should rule over orders. His grandfather was French Canadian and Indian, they were from Acadian's that had been pushed down to Louisiana, and was among those that had came back, and was always under the cloud of that the government can come in and drive you thousands of miles away from your ancestal home, As the Ferrons had been nobility in France, and sent to Canada under the French King with one of the king's personal concubines for leaving a Castle (that was gifted to the Knights Templar) in France to set up the first blacksmith forge in Canada. Ferron means blacksmith, and for a while my dad worked at one in the oldest forges in America. His Grandmother was from Ireland. So my dad learned French, and Gaelic and German, then Latin in the Catholic church, before starting school where they forced him to speak English which he hadn't learned. Then he learned Chinese, in a story I relate HERE. When his grandfather died, when he was young, all of his things either disappeared or were fought over, and with him and any fortune he had gone, his mom was often on her own with him going between poorhouses with him living on the streets. He and other urchins would work as gangs to steal food, otherwise they wouldn't eat. He said that They would distract the store clerk then they would all run in and grab food and then meet at a park and share the food, while the gang leader would give them a lecture on how stealing is bad but so is letting children starve, that's actually worse. It was the only way they would survive so they were in this together then they would all talk about how many days it had been since they ate anything. His mom was mentally and emotionally abusive to almost everyone by all accounts, as my dad said, "She must have been nice at least one time in her life, as my dad fell for her, but I never saw it." The times that his dad was around, there would be plenty of money and he'd be used to run numbers or as a good luck charm at the poker tables. Then when his dad went back to his regular life, the wife and kids that were oblivious to his double life,( he even went to school at times with his half siblings, never being able to tell them, and them oblivious to the urchin in dirty rags.) In the Early 50's he lived in Brockton Massachusetts, right when Rocky Marciano who grew up there was becoming famous. Fighting was huge in the area and he found out that he was good at it. while also different immigrants were creating their neighborhoods. There wasn't busing and he would have to walk through different neighborhoods to and from school. Each one had their mafia, then the teenager gangs, There were some where he was automatically accepted by his heritage but there were some that he had to fight his way through every day, and they had escalated to knife fights. He knew better than to attempt to walk through a neighborhood that he knew that he stuck out in So he was making a wide berth around the Mexican neighborhood. Finally one day he decided to make the shortcut through the Mexican neighborhood and they came out and watched him , but no one came to fight him, So he continued. After a couple times the gang came out to meet him. "You've either got to be crazy, dumb, or a serious badass to walk through a Mexican neighborhood when your Irish, we checked. You don't seem crazy, are you dumb enough to think that your black hair would get you through here?" My dad got out his knife. "Ahh so now I know, you think your badass enough, but you're a South Paw, I never went against one." They struck up a friendship, with my dad teaching him ambidextrous knife fighting and them teaching him Spanish. they would pass him off as their Cuban and French friend, a persona that would come in handy later. To escape the harsh New England winters and the fighting, he would hang out in the library, reading everything that he could. One thing he found interesting were all the books that they were getting rid of, books that spoke in really high terms about Germany and Hitler, or books on magic or ancient writings, you would not believe the amount of knowledge that they disappeared while everyone was distracted by the war... That was all pretty organic, but what groups do you think became interested in a polyglot that was extremely well read, knew how to fight, and steal, had made a number of cross cultural alliances and could create personas for different situations and knew intimately how mafia worked. One thing that my grandfather made him promise though, was that he would never join the syndicate. Officially my dad worked a number of hard labor and security jobs throughout his life, unofficially he was an undercover cop, deeper than that, there were a number of things that didn't add up, like "I was an atheist for most of my life, I didn't believe in anything supernatural or power outside of me" versus "I had studied every esoteric and magic book that I could, and found that there was actual power in all kinds of things from black magic to voodoo, and I could put curses on people, or hypnotize them" versus "I had a heart attack and I'm laying on the floor, and the ceiling opened up then Jesus came down with blinding light, and I said "Jesus, you're real! I fell to my knees and denounced everything, then I started saying an oath that years later I found was an ancient Jesuit oath word for word, I don't know how I knew it. Jesus said 'stop, I won't accept , that' Then I said it again, and Jesus 'no, you don't know what you are doing' When I said it a third time, he said, "Alright. Accepted" Then I was back in my body, healed." Versus "When I was a child, my Pa took me to Mass, he had a regal bearing and no one ever dared embarrass him. The Church had these heavy doors that it took Ushers to open with bars. In the middle of mass I'm bored and staring at the stations of the cross in the stained glass, then Suddenly I'm someone else, I'm a grown man in Roman soldier Uniform. My thoughts and memories are different I'm Irish and I miss Ireland and resent all the people here, and just being here in this hot dusty place. Jesus is up on the cross and they want to know if he's died, I want this to be done anyway, I take my spear and pierce his side. and blood and water spray out all over me, In that moment, I'm back to being 4 year old me but the scene is still there, blood and water spraying onto me. I start screaming and the scene has disappeared and I'm just standing in the middle of mass screaming. I ran out and pushed those heavy doors open on my own, and ran home. I never went back. When my Pa came home he just gave me a smile and a nod then lit his pipe. Or things that didn't add up until you put in the extra dots: Like "We signed something to give Hollywood rights to make movies off of our stories, to help pay for the expenses of monitoring us all the time." "They're always listening, my only hope is that by continuing to talk, I'm convincing more onto my side" Then connect the dots to a story my dad told me when I was little in the 90's. My Pa took me when I was about 4 to this ancient building and there were men in robes and a these things laid out and I was told to pick up or play with what I wanted to. The only thing I wanted was this dagger, I picked it up and was looking at it. Somehow this upset everyone in the room and someone took the dagger from me saying that can't be right, but I started trying to get it back saying "but it's mine, you can't take it!" My Pa took me out of there quickly." Then when related this story to someone, they showed me an almost identical scene in LOST which came out a good ten years after he first told me. Sometimes there were glaring inconsistencies like "I went to join the military to be a paratrooper but they wouldn't let me enlist because of my foot" versus "when I was training when I'd make a jump with the parachute I had to learn to land on my side in a way as my foot wouldn't hold me." "I was never any official military" versus "After the court martial they demoted me, but they couldn't find any position where people didn't see me as a leader. I got kicked off a ship for insubordination because there's a general there but the men all turned to me instead of him." Or things that if he talked about, he said it was either $10,000 fine or 10 years in prison involving technology that isn't supposed to exist or scientific exploration of the supernatural or time travel. "Once they had me remote viewing a Russian Submarine and I thought that 'Yeah it's a Russian sub' would be good enough, and I could back out, but they wanted me to read to them what it said on this panel but I didn't know anything about the Cyrillic alphabet then, so I had to describe each symbol. So I was sitting in this chair talking to them, but I could see as if I were looking through a vR headset." Then there was what for the most part he didn't know that he was a part of or fought against being a part of and he would only get glimpses into it though synchronicity or rare moments of lucidity when the core personality remembered, and he would talk about the things that they would have him do during 'the three days, and it was always three days, as beyond that the hypnosis breaks down.' versus "They found a way that they could open up pathways through time, but it all involved 3's we could go in for 3 days, and we could actually go back 3 years or see 3 years in the future" versus "Sometimes I would get a phone call and they would say certain things and my vision would go blurry and then I'd come to 3 days later with no memory, I didn't know where the calls came from or what I would do. I would come to in another state or country and have to figure out how to get back. One time, I didn't have money on me to get back and I came to in Arizona, so I stayed for a while and made some Hopi friends, they told me that there was a prophecy around me, that's where this ring came from, they had it made. The lightning bolt, step pyramid, cloud and spiral, I don't remember all of it but when the spiral comes, my spirit will be poured back out." (I believe this is it, I've been seeing the spirals, it's no coincidence that I'm telling his story, after facing death myself from people still wanting it quiet) And that went back to when he was a child too. The story of how he met Him: "I was skipping school with my Mikmaq friend and we would go down to the river and play all day, funny when we hung out we never spoke aloud, if we did, I didn't remember it, (I believe telepathy,[he had a number of stories on that] and another language he forgot he knew, Mikmaq as that would come out later) We were playing chicken with guns one day. We would each hold up a smaller and smaller coin and shoot it out of the other's hand, I shot the dime out of his, then he missed the dime and got my wrist. So when the doctor came in to treat me, he said 'I just came back from treating soldiers in the war, and I come home to kids playing with guns!' The doctor got out the stuff to cauterize the wound and had me put my elbow on the table and make a fist. Then he started, The Nurse said 'Aren't you going to give him anything to numb it first?' Doc said 'If he's big enough to play with guns, he's big enough to handle the pain' So he stuck a giant Q tip with the stuff to cauterize it right through my wrist, I dropped to my knees and the nurse held my head down to keep me from passing out, but I never cried and my arm didn't budge. I think that impressed him and he became my doctor from then on, though I can't remember any other interactions with him. That made more sense later when I heard that he was killed going into Langley by those Pakistanis, around the time that my life became really strange and supernatural, I was told that I'd have been deprogrammed, but my handler had died." When I started waking up to things, I thought well I can't go to the police or the news, but some of this information needs to get out, and I need to give them incentive to not kill me." So he came up with telling the most people the craziest things, then killing him verified the story. He went with bars and told every single person that would listen. "It started getting the attention of the FBI and I had 2 suits following me, so I took them to the Indian bar. I walked in and moved right into the thick of them. These idiots walked in, and tried to follow me, I never had to say anything, the indians knew from sizing it up. Two Indians stood on either side of the men and picked a fight with each other, but instead of punching each other, they each punched an agent. Then started a full on bar brawl, with everyone fighting with each other with chairs and bottles but missing and hitting the agents. I kinda wanted to stay and watch the action, but a group of them grabbed me and led me through the back. Eventually they caught up to me though, by then I'd been in every single bar in the area telling everybody. They asked me, 'How many people have you told?' I said 'I lost count after 200 so now it's either you kill me and enough people have see you following me and verify my story or let me just be the crazy drunk, who if anything he said was true, he would be dead for spouting it off to everyone." They let me go. Another time I was in Florida and the op fell apart and I took off, I hid in the swamps for days but when I got back on the road they caught me. I got picked up by these two agents, and they said "Why are they all so hot to get you? There's agencies I've never heard of and most of them seem like they would just as well kill you.' I knew then that I had them, I went into my hypnotic voice and convinced them to drive around longer and not call in that they found me. Then I told them my story. When I was done I said "And now you know what I know, and they wanted to kill me to keep it quiet, what do you think they will do to you?" "Damn you!" They dropped me off and told me to keep my head down and not pop back up until I was out of state." Over the years my dad tried to make sense of what was so many disjointed scenes instead of his life, he studied what they had done with Monarch. Eventually he said that he had 6 different personas that he had set up consciously and he controlled the triggers and when to use them and was always worried that he would be found out of who he really was, acting. But from seeing his story from the outside, I counted more, that weren't acting, they were splits where it was still him, and all his background memories of all the things that he did officially or his core memories, but also had memories of projects and things that he did that conflicted with what even he himself officially believed that he had done. When things were going strange in 2020 I naturally turned to him, only to find out that I had never consciously thought about him slipping between personas and now I'd tell him something in one, only to find him in a different one not sure if he was gaslighting or acting on top of all the other madness. Then I started to realize that while we were talking in English I was also having this daydream where we were talking in other languages in like a liminal space in my head. I thought, I don't know these other languages but hey it's my daydream, I can daydream that in another dimension he taught me these languages. What's weird though is that things from these daydreams kept adding up in real life. It gives new meaning to the memories of sitting on his lap while he listened to Radio Havana and Cajun music, or when we heard Diana died over the French radio, it never dawned on me that we were listening to it in French. Or that he told me that my first language was German, but everyone else dismissed it that I was just learning talk and all I would say was "das ist mine!" and that isn't actually knowing German, versus memories of talking to him and he understood everything I said, but when I talked to other people they couldn't understand me so I'd keep my mouth shut. Then there's been times when I understood another language, until someone pointed it out, then it became gibberish. One time I enrolled in Portuguese and got books on it and planned on learning it but dropped the course and lost the books moving. Then I was at a friend's house with insomnia watching the news on TV. My friend came in and said "oh you're still up? Why are you watching TV in Spanish?" I said "I'm not it's Portuguese." As I said it, it became harsher and unintelligible as I questioned, that I don't know Portuguese. But my dad had worked with a group of Portuguese. But even now I struggle to go past just remembering numbers in different languages. If I were to count the number of languages that I attempted to learn but as far as I know I NEVER did beyond limited words and phrases it's 11. In 2020 I dreamed that I was at a library and there was a book that was propping up a table leg. I wanted so badly to read that book and when I pulled it out to read it, the table overturned and started falling off the balcony down to the people below. I tried to warn them, then I could feel myself waking up so I turned to the book before I lost the dream. On the front of the book, it just had my dad's birth year, and as I'm waking up, i see the pages are blank. Last night, I was driving to my dad's old house and I drove past an overturned table on the road, then last night I dreamed that I was in that same building from my other dream, only it wasn't a library anymore, they had turned it into a hotel.