POISON IVY
My third Big Bang (climax)
I had a book I had brought home from the Baron Byng High School library which I hadn't read or even opened. It was called Trilby by Georges Du Maurier - the story of a naive young singer who is controlled by a mesmerizing Jewish handler. Either the librarian had recommended it - she'd recommended other novels she thou
It was important to me to figure out when my MK programming ended and how and why. I think the answer is in that sequence that began when I got my pink diary in 1963 and recorded my first dream. In the dream I was floating downstream in a bathtub when I landed in the woods and encountered a band of wild, screaming, near-naked Mohawks covered in feather and waving their tomahawks. I ran for my life until i came to a tall white tower, standing all by itself in the forest as ig abandoned there by British invaders.
It was the only time in my life when I actually died in a dream as the whooping horde flooded up the stairs and trapped me at the top of that windowless tower. Where presumably they hacked me to death just as I woke to consciousness.
I knew I had to write it down because it was life changing -- but what did it mean?
I feel this dream was a premonition of my trip to London a few weeks later, where I met the Rolling Stones and was roughly treated and "exposed" or shocked out of the role I had been designed and programmed for. After I came home, I was debriefed, dismissed as a failure -- I had failed to seduce the singer and had received negative reports from Mick about turning up uninvited, costing them time and money, and behaving badly. Just how badly I behaved, i have no idea but clues in my flashback and songs suggest I didnt remember Mick was supposedly my "boyfriend"; and I think I ended up sleeping with his "best friend" probably Andrew. Because there's a song about that: Go Home Girl, which the Stones recorded soon afterwards.
I think that summer is when my alter breathed her last, and expired. Lets call her Poison Ivy for lack of a better name.
"Poison Ivy"
She comes on like a rose,
But everybody knows,
She'll get you in Dutch,
You can look but you better not touch!
Poison Ivy,
Poison Ivy,
Late at night while you're sleepin',
Poison Ivy comes a-creepin' around.
She's pretty as a daisy,
But look out man, she's crazy!
She'll really do you in,
If you let her get under your skin!
Poison Ivy,
Poison Ivy,
Late at night while you're sleepin',
Poison Ivy comes a-creepin' around.
Measles make you bumpy and mumps'll make you lumpy,
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch.
The common cold'll fool you,
And whoopin' cough will cool ya,
But Poison Ivy, Lawd, will make you itch!
You're gonna need an ocean,
Of calamine lotion.
You'll be scratchin' like a hound,
The minute you start to mess around!
Poison Ivy,
Poison Ivy,
Ladadadadada [three times then fade]
I think Dr Cameron and his colleagues had been programming me for years, to become a mk'ed courier, spy, prostitute and sex slave. This probably began in 1958 when they snuck me out of ballet class and brought me downtown and to parties in mansions where children mixed with politicians for blackmail purposes
And my newfound skills were put to use at the Toronto summer school in 1959. I think Mike went back to England after his first taste of sex with a girl he was told was 12, although I was only 8. Because I told my mother the next day - likely in disobedience to my instructions -- and she took me to the doctor who carried out a pelvic examination and concluded it was just an early menstruation. So now there tension between our families which my mom, like the diplomat she was, tried to iron out while defending her daughter's honour and future prospects as the wife of a politician or social influencer.
From that summer on Mick embarked on his career as a bad boy, and started a band, Little Boy Blue and the Blue Boys. On their first demo he sang a Chuck Berry song about a little schoolgirl. "Don't be nobody's fool," he advises her.
I took his advice and in my 1963 diary I wrote that I preferred being rational to being a "feminine" fool and victim -- I wrote this down a few weeks before heading off to London for my big bang.
When I returned, with my Mary Quant baby dolls suggesting the opposite of what I promised my diary, Dad realized what was going on and took our family took on a trip across Canada.
Camping under the stars for two weeks, we had time to recover and come together before returning to Montreal where the crisis had passed. Cameron was starting to let patients go -- in preparation for his final downfall and exit 6 months later.
The program in this early phase was collapsing.
And rock and roll was starting to shake the world up.
This is what saved us that time.
My dad wrote his report on my Underwood. Dr Cameron escaped with his patient files after they closed the Behavioral Lab and the children are buried behind the Allan.
I continued playing Bach's Minuet in D on our piano for two more years until Mick showed up at our door...
****
I had a book I had brought home from the Baron Byng High School library which I hadn't read or even opened. It was called Trilby by Georges Du Maurier - the story of a naive young singer who is controlled by a mesmerizing Jewish handler. Either the librarian had recommended it - she'd recommended other novels -- or something drew me to it as I searched for something to read over Easter Vacation. But the truth is I never even opened it.
Because of course I never knew Mick Jagger and he never came to our house and to suggest otherwise would be a crazy fantasy -- especially since there's no trace of his presence anywhere in my voluminous writing or in my memory until 50 years later when that day came back to me in an astonishingly detailed flashback - and the last 30 years made sense, just like that. BANG.
****
Of course these and other small but real victories were blotted from my consciousness as I grew up as a baby boomer believing in the myths of my generation:
Parental Alienation
Sex drugs rock and roll
We are going to change the world..
We failed to realize just how much the world was changing us.
I left home at 19 thinking I was finally escaping a stifling environment, having ignored the aftershock of the real tragedy that engulfed my family, a drama that revolved around me - including threats to our lives that went over my head - I felt ready to embrace the Revolution and whatever else life held in store for girls - or rather "Wymmin" - like me.
As far as the men at McGill were concerned it was about the money they had wasted on training me for a career I wanted no part of. I had smoked Marijuana a few times - maybe that helped to undo my programming. I had taken LSD twice- one trip was Heaven, but the second time was Hell.
I had had a relationship with a rock star before he was famous and didn't remember him. Possibly I had known him as my other alter, whatever her name was, Lil or Poison Ivy or Susie W -- and when they deleted that prostitute alter, her memories of Mick also went out the windows, or into deep storage with my files.
If anyone had suggested that I knew Mick Jagger, and was the subject of a string of songs, I would have laughed the whole idea off. And knowing Mick, he would not have been interested in my tall, shy bookish core personality: high school prefect, A student, editor of the school paper, etc etc.
And meeting him, I would have felt totally inadequate, dorky, ridiculous - knowing I was not his type.
Now I wonder what kind of legacy Poison Ivy left behind when she disappeared for good? How many men and boys was she involved with between 8 and 12 before they deleted her? And did some of them come looking for her later, only to be disappointed because "she's so cold" and they expected to pick up where she'd left off the last time...
Meanwhile my dad withdrew more and more as my mother's health kept collapsing and I didnt know I was the cause of our downfall.
Manufactured amnesia, courtesy of the doctors, kept us locked in a silent prison
On the dining room table was a jigsaw puzzle that we all worked on in our spare time. My mother most of all.
And then there was "paint by numbers" - boxed sets that served as hobbies when we weren't watching TV
Sometimes letters arrived from England to which I dutifully replied although there was little to report on going on in our dull lives and when something did "happen" it was usually too strange and indescribable to fit in a letter
Our real lives existed outside the scope of language
I had dived back to my underwater cave in the shadows where I watched the play of light up above on the surface where the waves were
But eventually the buried memories would return just as bodies that are submerged float to the top
Have you seen your mother baby... On that camping trip my mother was already ill ...
Partly due to her untold story: who killed her father? Was it the same Duplessis cult that sold the orphans to the CIA?
Jump to present / crone stage where the young girl i was look back at missing time
Later failed attempts to reunite with Mick were thwarted by the missing files... and the groups who control them.
What is in those files? Names have likely been redacted. Notes from psychiatrists... dates ... drugs... analytical comments... who knows?
It is hard to go through life without your memories. And if someone has your psychiatry file as proof you are "schizophrenic" -- it is time to find out what is in those files.
Hand me my files...
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