Those of us who grew up in the no-zone of the Cold War regime are certainly a messed up breed, but at
some point one has to burn those bridges and leave them far behind.
While my life has been one long battle with that enemy within, there
are still some things that amaze me to no end. Among all the MK ultra
victims, there was one particular family that tried to take me under
their wing- assuming I really needed that kind of parental
misguidance. The mother came from utter destitution in post-war
Holland whereas the father came from very rural New Brunswick. They
were clearly trying to overcompensate this with the kind of bogus
glam typical of any social-climbing wannabe. Always trying to model
me into some pretentious mannequin of this unlikely social norm, I
don't think they had any idea of where I was really coming from. Good
grief, her husband was just a sergeant, a mundane desk job to put it
bluntly. The eldest was a radio DJ in Kelowna; and having been
through the Okanagan Valley, it's not like I missed anything. The
other tried to follow in his footsteps- that was until he got nailed
for black-marketing in Mallorca, then lost Lamborghini and all to some
conman allegedly from London. Finding himself skint in Heathrow, he
gets the bright idea to call in a bomb threat on the Tube for want of a million pounds in a briefcase. Of course he goes for the briefcase,
thinking there's nobody around. That landed him in an asylum for one
year, until the authorities granted his mother custody, only to send
him back to Mallorca. Indeed, some people just have more luck than
brains. Hence the younger brother wound up a perpetual peter pan,
DJ-ing for want of an eternal teen age following, to make up for his
own mundane desk job. I remember the fury when he got nailed for
possession back in our teens when one of his enemies tried to set me
up for selling cannabis. His mother slapped me for being „such a
bad influence“ as if he were so innocent and I was the one supposed
to set an example. Don't ask me how, seeing as I had grown distant,
spending much of my time among fellow Germans my age; out of sight
and definitely out of reach. I was neither in possession nor selling,
rather, always in the habit of giving it away before returning to
that stupid military community, so the case got dropped. Of course,
they didn't like the fact I was „hanging around the Germans“,
like I was supposed to deny being one myself. No surprise that they
finally got banned from the town by the Polizei.
What irony.
As for the sister, she was never
anything I could understand much either. Her obsession with UFOs was
really down a dark and twisted path. After all failed efforts to peer
pressure me, I had become her nemesis for demonstrating graphic
skills superior to hers, especially when it landed me a job in HQ,
heaven forbid. She became a „special“ member of NICAP, which at
the time was notorious for CIA experiments in false memory implants
through hypnotic regression. I'll never forget when Jacques Vallee
called Hynek's bluff at the symposium in Geneva. She never did get
over that one. Her needless diatribes against the Air force were
utterly meaningless rhetoric. There was a cold war on with all kinds
of shit sneaking around, say nothing of experimental technologies behind
that masquerade of cosmic hocum. Then she got married to some tank
maintenance sergeant, raised a family, moved to Nanaimo and fell into
anonymity along with rest.
The last I'd seen of that lot was on
some obscure website in Mallorca. The wayward brother had apparently
tried to launch his own TV show on cosmic paranormal shit, while
still side-lining as a DJ and selling holiday flats. He died last
year of Leukemia. It makes me wonder if all that superficiality was
really worth it. As a psychologist friend once put it; „We had to
create new terms to describe these bizarre cases of social
maladjustment“.
