Immigrant who lived off welfare dies in England

At this palace, the guards placed those six dresses on hangers all around the mind control room. The colored dresses brought out the foundational slaves in me who were programmed to be obedient and perform specialized tasks. As they used hand signals, the programmers said, "This is who you are now. This is who you are when you visit the queen here. Your job is to deliver the children. If you don't do your job, we will kill the child you don't deliver and you will watch us kill the child you don't deliver. We will skin the child alive in front of you if you don't do your job."

As they filled my being with these commands and threats, a handler moved a needle inserted into my lumbar area, so I felt excruciating pain this whole time.

I saw six children each, ages six to nine, slide down an outside pipe covered by raised horizontl double doors close to the ground in this large castle. Some of the children complained that rats ran around the pipe. Little bumps in the ramp separated the children so that they didn't crash into one another during the descent into the lower level basement. Each group of children had a different color assigned. A palace guard placed a jewelled stick that same color in-between groups. It was rather like a factory assembly line.

Just as I had seen in the American palace, transporters brought children here by van and kept them in cages. The groups of children had a similar look, strong and healthy, blond or pale brown hair. Several black children also slid down the pipe. The children mostly arrived scruffy, then got washed and dressed, the girls in pleasing dresses, boys in trousers, white shirts and bow ties, all supplied by the palace. Government and church leaders, the rich and famous figured as the customers.

Ornaments and gold covered the halls, ceilings, and doorways of the palace. The walls held chandeliers and paintings everywhere. Wall to wall carpets patterned with large designs covered the floors. Royalty chooses the most expensive and gaudiest. Since they need and think they deserve the best, why should they use dolls or dildos or paid prostitutes? Why not use kidnapped children?

Another day, the next section of this memory sequence emerges after I walk down the long, wide entrance hall in my temporary home. I see the hall become wider and longer with ornate walls, ceiling, carpets, and numbered thick doors on either side. The queen led the way. She wore a long yellow gown, a train, and a diamond crown, and carried a sceptre. I followed her in a yellow taffeta gown, and five or six young children who would have their lives ruined walked obediently behind me.

The owners ran a whole business in pornography and child sexual slaves. In the underground lower level with a dirt flood, a room with many robust cameras occupied the corner.

...

I believed that I must take the children to the rooms or they would be skinned alive in front of me. I felt each child's heart split in two. Rag dolls. Dispensable. Throwaways.

...

In the palace basement, the abducted, given away, and rented out were groomed and dressed. The maids put a fancy maid's uniform (a black dress with a white apron and a little headdress, like a hatcheck girl's) on me. They took me upstairs to a wildly ornate room -- fancier than the Plaza Hotel. I carried a clipboard with the numbers of the rooms and children. I delivered each child to a room, then returned for more children. I had a code for knocking, once or twice with knuckles, then with the side of my fist, then with knuckles again. I delivered the child to the matched room depending on what the perpetrator requested. The drugged robotic part of me pushed the child gently on his or her back and the pernicious arm of a pillar of the community, behind the partly open door, reached out and pulled the child in.

The royal hospitality for palace guests included emblematic towels, special bars of soap, and handmade chocolates, plus a child slave.

When I was thirty, the princess first appeared at this palace.... maybe ten [years old]. She wore a royal little dress and led the children into the rooms. When the queen led the way, she had a smug, pleased expression on her face. The princess frowned and cried.

I saw the princess each time I visited, on the stark steps. At twenty, she looked floral. At thirty, thin and glamorous, svelte. She wore a big head of hair and resembled a Hollywood symbol by modestly sexy. Children who were not her own surrounded her. She walked down these utilitarian steps flanked by small children who loved her. I loved her for the connections she made with people, her vulnerability and perhaps her beauty.

Upstairs in the palace they provided sexual favors for people of importance in the world. I had to participate as a prostitute when I was twenty. The leaders allowed men to burn you with cigarettes, but they weren't allowed to tie you up and whip you. I imagine all this happened to the children also.

...

I did not slide into the political underworld. I entered through a side door. The queen and I bowed and curtsied to each other. I stood next to her as she greeted perpetrators. Bodyguards, big thick men, walked behind me. I sat on one throne and the queen on the other. The assistants strapped me to my throne and put my feet in an ice bucket. They injected my arm painfully, inserting something under my tongue, and put a head vise and electrodes on my body. Mind controllers showed me many hand signals. When I was twenty, I was raped as I sat on the throne. When I was thirty, forty, and fifty, men visiting royalty resorted to touching the flaccid penises to my clitoris. Alison [my therapist] asks what the queen did. The queen sat there, smiling, nodding.

Afterward we entered a Masonic hall in the same edifice, made up of four rooms, pale yellow, green, pink, and blue. A different sacrifice took place in each room. The Masons who had climbed all the way up those steps did some of the sacrifices. I had to perform sacrifices as a masked royal executioner held my hands. We murdered an infant, and six-, thirteen-, and thirty-three-year old victims. Alison asks who was present. Many of these politicians, the queen, relatives of the queen, the people who rule the world. Sheer ambitious political people mostly born into this networked web.

Before dismissing me, they administered another close down. I lay on a table in the basement of the big palace. A huge needle went into me and twirled as the programmer recited, "North, south, east, west. Memories fade away. Memories blow away. South, north, west, east. Circle the globe. Reverse the circle. All memories into the wind. You were never here. You never saw this. You are ignorant of all memories." After each statement, the torturer hammered me over the head causing a concussion and spun me.

That ended this royal-criminal episode. They took me out of these death chambers, down the gaudy, ornate corridors, and via stairs into the basement. Servants put back my regular clothes and an uncle drove me to the airport. In the limousine, some part of my mind held and ruminated, "Threat of skinning alive, do it or else, do it or else, walk down the corridor, deliver the child, if the child doesn't talk, the child will not be killed. What is life worth after this? What is life worth after this? Why was I involved? What did they want from me?" and then my memories disappeared for most of my life.

After my therapy session, I feel an oppression bearing down on my shoulders. As soon as I arrive home, I feel grief pouring out of the center path in my heart.

As he lay comatose on his deathbed in 1936, King George V was injected with fatal doses of morphine and cocaine to assure him a painless death in time, according to his physician's notes, for the announcement to be carried ''in the morning papers rather than the less appropriate evening journals.''