I Confess

After years of not knowing I ended up on Mustique. The man who came out to meet me remembered me as a child and as the stupid girl who rejected him - in a way I was the reason he married other women but stayed "free" never trusting any of them. Trust was something he always brought up in our chats over years. He didn't trust me. He said it over and over like a mantra. I never knew why.

I didnt remember him. Therefore I didnt remember breaking his heart. I thought we had met for the first time in 1992 on Mustique- it wasnt even a meeting- more like a failed mission. I never understood why he wrote a song about it. I didnt see any of the other songs as being about me but I did start listening and watching videos to get to know him better.

I decided, on the basis of a hypnotic regression and comments from psychics that we had known each other in past lifetimes. I kept on believing that, while we chatted, missing the point, making flippant remarks which sometimes upset him - because I was so detached. For me, it was like an exciting online dating relationship - but I also often doubted whether it was really him. He used funny handles like "Shaik Iqbal" who I once saw in a chat room with David Bowie.

He often treated me like a sexual object. I was using my humanponysss id when we connected. So I was acting like an online hooker in fantasy-- this was how we connected.

I think this humanpony name came from Hans who said he knew the Stones and had supplied them with sex slaves-- he had me set it up in Yahoo chats so we could chat back and forth before I moved out west in August 2000.

I was both very busy in my new teaching job, and clueless about the internet and especially the dynamics of Yahoo - visibility, for example. I just played along. So I was acting a fantasy role in the evenings -- after spending all day at school. During the day I wondered if I really was talking to Mick Jagger - or just imagining it. Mick was often very serious even passionate - but he would switch in mid-chat leaving me in limbo.

After 6 months of this, in April 2001, I turned 50 and one of his chat personalities, a 19 year old boy, said Wow you're old! And I went for a walk and cried. I was actually devastated and decided to break it off. I told the boy he was a jerk and that everyone said so. That blow landed. He was never the same after.

In 2003 I left Kamloops just as ALO was arriving. In July I met Themis and got on his motorscooter for what became a longterm relationship that has survived 23 years.

Late in 2003 when I was kn Lemnos writing My Cold War, I received an intense marriage offer by text message from Shaik Iqbal. I declined saying I "had business" and never heard from him again.

In 2006 I bumped into Jagger at the Montreal Jazz Festival and we exchanged a few sentences.

"Are you Mick?" I asked introducing myself. "I'm Ann Diamond. Do you know me?"

"Oh no! Lets get out of here!" shouted his petite blonde companion.

Mick smiled at me for a few seconds. "No, I'm Keith."

We joked back and forth a bit before she dragged him away

I was in a daze for hours. His smile had been like a ball of light smashing into my forehead.

After all these years I completely understand why he would find me unstable, nuts, or worse, based on our interactions on line over those 12-13 years.

More than once he has said I didn't treat him well, didnt like him that much, was unfaithful, unreliable, indifferent, cold. Narcissistic.

There is a simple explanation for my erratic behavior over the years, which i finally blurted out in 2020: "I dont remember you."

Until that moment, I hadnt over stated it. Not because I was holding it back, but because I had only recently realized that I had known him long ago, and totally forgotten him.

And then it also dawned on me that he didn't realize I didnt remember what happened to me in childhood when we were first introduced.

There are several layers to my amnesia. Lets start with the age discrepancy which in itself was a huge barrier. But there’s much more to what I've recovered either through flashbacks or personal research - since there's an urgency to all this as I am sure even Mick would agree.

Not only was I only five years old (to Mick's 13) when we met at Dr Cameron's "Open House party" at the Allan Memorial in early August 1956 (this party is mentioned in the John Marks files BTW at the National Security Library where I discovered the receipt for party favors in 2007: fruit punch, plastic cups and a bottle of ether) -- but I, like the other children (my twin brother were probably the youngest) were on LSD, either served in the punch or on candies --

So not only would I not necessarily remember an older boy, after waking up in my bed the day after the party (ask Keith Richards if you don't believe me) - but I might just as easily have forgotten about the magical ceremony that married us as ISIS and HORUS (which came back to me in a flashback for the first time in 2019).

Whereas a 13 year old boy from England on his first trip to Canada would likely recall meeting a tall French Canadian woman, who was my mother, after the party or perhaps before. This could have taken place in Dr Cameron's black limousine which (I have been informed) was deployed to transport important guests to and from the Allan, including children who had been chosen for a special future.

Young Michael would remember all that, and also the little girl he danced with at the party. Returning home he would tell his mother Eva, same age as my mother and a likable talkative kind hearted woman -- and the story would be added to their shared memory bank, discussed, and filed away for future reference.

Whereas I would go home with my mother who had witnessed nothing of the sadistic games played that day at the AMI, with just the psychiatrists' report on how well I had done, and a more negative report on my brother who broke his glasses in one game and had a deep cut on his eyebrow requiring stitches and would not be invited back due to his sensitive nature.

But i would go on in the program, with my mother's help of course, because great things were planned for me (which I was never told about) - and we all know what became of young Mike who spent his whole life on stage and in the public eye.

So reason #3 is: it was traumatic, and apart from being memory wiped at every stage of my programming, I also wouldn't necessarily have wanted to remember young Mike whom I would see, notably in Toronto in 1959, where my brother and I attended a special summer school for the month of July for which neither of us retained any memories of actual classes we attended daily.

One thing I do remember: I was raped on the last day and taken to the doctor who said I might be menstruating early at age 8. "Its rare but it happens..."

I've been over this so often- Lets cut to the chase here. My conclusions about it all, in shortened form.

I think they split my personality into Good little me and Bad me. Or Annie and Fanny. Annie was the good little schoolgirl andbFanny was the child sex slave. My mother enrolled me in after school ballet classes at age 7 but I only attended one or two classes before they started taking me downtown, e.g. to parties in mansions, and also a behavioural lab where I was put in sensory isolation experiments with other children including the permanent residents who are all buried in an unmarked graveyard behind the Allan swimming pool and just off McGill property.

Young Mike went back to England and that year underwent a personality change at school where he became a bad boy, bragged of having had sex and of his lplan to move to America and drive a Cadillac. He also got into music - Chuck Berry' "Little Schoolgirl" was the first song he recorded with his band Little Boy Blue and the Blue Boys.

We can forgive him for taking my virginity in what was probably a drug- fuelled "game" at the summer school - i can only guess. Due to my incredible height he was probably told I was 12, not 8. I remember nothing of the experience, just the aftermath.

At 8 1/2 I spent days in bed, recovering from a string of childhood illnesses, reading a stack of children's classics interspersed with comic books and later Mad Magazine. I had a weird crush on Green Lantern who I think was a substitute for Mike - same Eddie Cochrane pompadour - I think the shrinks implanted this romantic fantasy while training me to masturbate which I did often.

I think this was the plan - to create a mind controlled prostitute who would eventually be trafficked to rock bands.

I think this was what they were doing with Lana Ponting whom they had paired with the young Paul Anka at around the same time, 1958-59. I believe Lana, 16 when she was placed in the Allan for a month in 1958, was rhe prototype for what happened to me later. They wiped her memory after trafficking her to men downtown.

Lana was a "bad girl" - adopted by a family whose father worked for the National Film Board, which made a documentary about Paul Anka and his teenaged fans, girls like Lana whom they subjected to drugs and electroshock and labeled "crazy"

I think the idea was to traumatize the future star by destroying his first teenage love. A broken heart is the key to the door of song writing- Mick's son Lucas just said the same thing in an interview. He has broken up with his first girlfriend and becoming a song writer like his dad

Unlike Lana in 1959 I still lived at home with my family. As I mentioned, I read lots of books. I basically taught myself to read in between visits to Grade 2 and 3, and missing days and weeks of school. One way i know I missed school: my report card showed 100 days absent in Grade 2, 1958-59. The next year I missed several weeks worth of school -- where was I? Dr Cameron's subproject 68 at McGill was in full swing. This is probably when I met Leonard Cohen around the flotation tanks on LSD.

I recall missing a week in Grade 3 during which our teacher, Mrs Williams, read us the children's novel Water Babies, a chapter a day. I know because after listening to the first chapter, I lost track of the story, returning to class one afternoon to class for the final chapter, after the hero had died, having no idea how it had happened.

Just like ballet, where i gave a vivid memory of the first class (where we practiced positioning our feet and arms) ' then nothing for weeks until I was put in the recital not knowing the routine-- sink or swim, with my mother in the audience watching as I scrambled to keep up with the other little girls who'd been practicing for months.

When I listen to Lana Ponting I hear my own story told in fragments- except she doesn't share her love for Paul Anka - I heard that only indirectly through the grapevine. But she does talk about leaving the hospital nightly, after crimping and dressing up, to go downtown to meet her "many boyfriends" -- and returning late one night with a diamond ring which she showed the nurses on duty. "I have a very special secret i cant tell anyone," they reported her saying. Soon after she remembers being on a stretcher, bleeding from the vagina. She had entered the Allan a virgin. The following year she gave birth to a baby -- this is in her hospital records from Misericorde home for unwell mothers. She remembers neither giving birth nor knowing the father, whose name is recorded in the files.

That was Lana, at 16. She only recently obtained her records and learned of the baby.

Who gave her the diamond ring? My guess is Paul Anka, already a millionaire from his first big hit, Diana - about an older woman, his first love. I would bet Crazy Love (1958) was written for Lana.

In the documentary Lonely Boy, Anka bestows gold cufflinks on an elderly casino owner. He says "they'll go with the ring I gave you." Then he kisses him.

Meanwhile, that summer, I'm in Toronto, the mysterious summer school, where instead of graduating I get raped. And they don't ask me what happened- not that I could remember given the fact the entire summer program has always been a blank. After my pelvic exam the doctor doesnt question: "did someone do something to you?" At age 8 I didn't even know the mechanics of sex. He tells my mother it could be early menstruation and they leave me to sort out the emotional consequences- if there were any- in an information vacuum. Three months later I cry myself sick after reading Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid. She stands for me, a little girl forced to leave her home in the sea to pursue the Prince whose life she has saved on land, only to find they have little in common, and return to the sea to become foam.

As for Lana, she was recovering somewhere in the Maritimes-- estranged from her family who didn't know what to do with their wayward teenager.

I'm not just improvising parallel lives here- I'm comparing timelines. The same doctors treated us both, lying to our parents, arranging our lives, training us to be sex slaves to two future pop stars whom they also programmed.

One became a teenage heartthrob - the other the bad boy of rock and roll.

Lana and I become collateral damage.

She was 16. I was 8.