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poetic justice
the witnessing of mk ultra
by kailey w

This is part of a story that's in my new book. I will probably post peices of it from time to time. It is in my book you call this place civilized?

The Witnessing of MK Ultra

Part One…The Beginning…

I've often heard that truth is stranger than fiction, I just never thought of the instances a statement like that would describe. I guess I just figured it pertained to aliens and things of that nature. But then, for me, the strangest occurred. In fact, the events were so odd, I wasn't even sure if it was real. I thought I'd finally gone off the deep end, and become delusional. That being, I had unfounded fears of persecution, for whatever reason I thought I was being followed. I kept seeing these strange vehicles over and over. And how I see them seemed to have relevance, like something in the back of my mind pulled my attention towards them. There were times I'd just find myself staring at people looking at me. I had just figured it was ESP, I've had it forever, but I can't really control it. I was homeless in Portland, OR during this time, and hung out in a lot of places with high drug activity, no pun intended. Anyway, I used to point out the Feds to those concerned, maybe that pissed them off. Maybe that's why they made themselves more known. Suddenly I felt like I was being watched all the time. I noticed the same cars over and over, on completely different sides of town. I noticed all the "strange" cars were brand new mini vans with tinted windows and no plates. Sometimes the people driving would stare at me. I was starting to get really uncomfortable. I didn't do anything illegal, so I couldn't figure why they'd be doing this.
So, as I found, anything is possible. So I don't really need to tell you that it happened. But I can say it was the strangest event I have ever been forced to deal with. Nothing in the world could prepare me for what I was about to go through.
This has to be the tenth time I'm writing this. In the beginning I didn't even want to hint that it's real. Something like this could destroy the rest of my life. I will remain very anonymous, until my life permits me to be more open and active about it. Anyway, I didn't want to say it was real, I wanted to write it as just another drama story. But I didn't like how it turned out, I didn't see it having an impact on anyone. In another attempt I narrated it. Acting as if I were two kids that just stepped into a world of hell, but it was hard to tell what happened and express what I felt while acting like it wasn't me. I found it hard to stay in the third person and the entire thing lacked emotion. So here I am, writing it again, and hoping I get it right this time. I figured if I don't that no one needs to hear it, I'm too particular to publish crap. I don't think I can heal anymore by writing it over, and I refuse to torture myself with it.
It's been a long time since this first started, so I've forgotten the details, but I'll do my best. I know I was living on the streets of Portland during the beginning of this, not having a house is something I've been dealing with since I first left my mom's home, it was O.K. at fifteen, but I was really starting to feel the effects of it at twenty. Five years is a long time when you live your life in a day, sometimes in the moment. Pan handling, holding signs pleading for help and fortune telling are how I've managed most of the time. First I try and find the most productive places to stand or sit, and when I do I tend to frequent the area. In Portland that place was the bus mall downtown, so that's where I went when I needed money. One night I found a guy I sorta knew standing where I normally "worked". I can't recall if he was alone or not, he may have been standing with some people when I first arrived, but I didn't talk to anyone else, nor can I remember if we were alone. I had first met him in a park most of the city bought pot in. The Park Blocks. The cops called it pot park. Actually it was the first place we found when we came to Portland, But it's kind of hard to miss what appears to be a five street long block party in a city thirteen streets wide.
Anyway, this guy was there. As we started talking I can recall thinking of how he reminded me of Agt. Mulder from the X-Files in his tie and trench coat. When we first met I think he was dressed like a collage prep, he may have even told me he attended school. I'd seen him in the park fairly often, the only other place I had seen him was in the square, which is also an infamously hot spot in “Porkland”.
So we were talking. Then out of nowhere he said, "it's going to happen, write it."


more about kailey w


love = pain
by kailey w
topic: writing
published: 6.14.10

the difference
a poetic rant
by kailey w
topic: writing
published: 6.22.10


kailey w
6.19.10 @ 2:46p

please tell me what you think---even if you think it sux. Its the beginning, but I think that the most important part of the story

teymur roshdi
6.19.10 @ 4:17p

I think your new book would be a best-seller, it 'captures' the attention because of your poetic narration.

kailey w
6.19.10 @ 5:17p

thank you :)

kailey w
6.19.10 @ 5:18p

i'm not sure what i think of the beginning of this story. Its easeir for me to write poems cuz I think in poetry. I write in my mind before I put it on paper. I can't do that with short stories.

teymur roshdi
6.20.10 @ 4:28a

The beginning of your story is perfect, something 'hermetic' in it and this is just your 'style' .

kailey w
6.20.10 @ 2:55p

thanks..,that makes me feel better cuz Ive already published my book...lol

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