Project MK-Ultra

 

thefilmarchive | April 07, 2010

The Project MKULTRA Compendium: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASI... Forty-four American colleges or universities, 15 research foundations or chemical or pharmaceutical companies and the like including Sandoz (currently Novartis) and Eli Lilly & Co., 12 hospitals or clinics (in addition to those associated with universities), and 3 prisons are known to have participated in MKULTRA.

Watch the full broadcast: http://thefilmarchived.blogspot.com/2...

A considerable amount of credible circumstantial evidence suggests that Theodore Kaczynski, also known as the Unabomber, participated in CIA-sponsored MK-ULTRA experiments conducted at Harvard University from the fall of 1959 through the spring of 1962. During World War II, Henry Murray, the lead researcher in the Harvard experiments, served with the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), which was a forerunner of the CIA. Murray applied for a grant funded by the United States Navy, and his Harvard stress experiments strongly resembled those run by the OSS. Beginning at the age of sixteen, Kaczynski participated along with twenty-one other undergraduate students in the Harvard experiments, which have been described as "disturbing" and "ethically indefensible."

Merry Prankster Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, volunteered for MK-ULTRA experiments while he was a student at Stanford University. Kesey's ingestion of LSD during these experiments led directly to his widespread promotion of the drug and the subsequent development of hippie culture.

Robert Hunter is an American lyricist, singer-songwriter, translator, and poet, best known for his association with Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead. Along with Ken Kesey, Hunter was an early volunteer MKULTRA test subject at Stanford University. Stanford test subjects were paid to take LSD, psilocybin, and mescaline, then report on their experiences.

Candy Jones, American fashion model and radio host, claimed to have been a victim of mind control in the '60s.

Infamous Irish mob boss James "Whitey" Bulger volunteered for testing while in prison.

MK-ULTRA plays a part in many conspiracy theories given its nature and the destruction of most records.

Lawrence Teeter, attorney for convicted assassin Sirhan Sirhan, believed Sirhan was under the influence of hypnosis when he fired his weapon at Robert F. Kennedy in 1968. Teeter linked the CIA's MKULTRA program to mind control techniques that he claimed were used to control Sirhan.

Jonestown, the Guyana location of the Jim Jones cult and Peoples Temple mass suicide, was thought to be a test site for MKULTRA medical and mind control experiments after the official end of the program. Congressman Leo Ryan, a known critic of the CIA, was murdered by Peoples Temple members after he personally visited Jonestown to investigate various reported irregularities. * MKULTRA is referenced in the plots of The Ambler Warning by Robert Ludlum, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe, Firestarter by Stephen King, Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, Just a Couple of Days by Tony Vigorito, The Manchurian Candidate by Richard Condon, Masquerade by Gayle Lynds, The Telling of Lies by Timothy Findley; and The Watchmen by John Altman; the films The Bourne Ultimatum, Conspiracy Theory, The Good Shepherd, Jacob's Ladder, The Killing Room, Bug!, and The Men Who Stare at Goats; the television series Angel, Bones, Conspiracy Theory with Jesse Ventura, Fringe, The Lone Gunmen, Numb3rs, Quincy M.E., The West Wing, and The X-Files; the games Conspiracy X and The Suffering: Prison is Hell; the character Deathstroke the Terminator in the Teen Titans by DC Comics. * The bands mk Ultra, MK-ULTRA, and a side project of Frank Tovey took their names from these projects. MKULTRA is also referenced by such musical artists as Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Canibus, Exit Clov, Fatboy Slim, Green Magnet School, Immortal Technique, Manic Street Preachers, Muse, The Orb, Sirius Isness, Lustmord side project Terror Against Terror, Tokyo Police Club, Unwound, and Dead Prez.

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Nerves.

There are many
             many
                        millions of nerves,

 

each one is a single cell but these are more correctly termed neurons. 

It is estimated that there are up to 100 billion neurons in the human brain.

It is likely that there are more neurons in the human body than any other cell type.

There are also the main named 'nerves'. 

These are the collections of individual cells that all follow the same anatomic route through the body (within a single connective tissue pipe or sheath); for example the sciatic nerve and the radial nerve.

There are three main types of nerves and, according to Wikipedia, 214 named nerves.

 Allowing for bilateral symmetry one could expect the answer to your question to be 428. 

However there are many unnamed nerves, such as those that run to small sensors in the skin or the periosteum, and many that are repeated many more times than twice (the intercostal nerve in yellow for example).

So the answer in fact must be that there are many thousands, but quite possibly millions, of bundles neurons.

 It is said that there are enough nerves in the human body that if all the other cells were somehow removed the network of fine nerves would be numerous enough to enable you to easily recognize the individual concerned and to recognize every tissue layer in his or her body.

Crocodile Tears

     I didn’t like what they were teaching me, didn’t want to be taught that way, so I grabbed my pole and boat and oar and made it with the crocodiles. Swimming with them, I try to mock them mocking me with their wide, smiling snouts and conniving sneers. They look at me look at them and know I can’t see past the ancient pools of black, leering slits of laughter beneath a drying sun. They eye me apathetically, probably not at all. I struggle to be patient like them, but it’s weary business, croc of shit business.

            It’s been awhile. I take a break.  Climb into my boat. I abandoned those teachings, but I brought the rest. My boat looks just that way, like the rest. Long and wide like an almond, with carved sidings. I run my finger along the turrets, which croak. Sounds like music. Four wooden shafts stick straight up from four corners, forming the tavern which is my home. Red fabric, like an old bandana, spills over the sides in tendrils, slashed and faded by the crocs, by the wind, by the sun. This roof of faded paisley throws little shadows all over my arms. I look at the crocodiles to see if they like this. They do not care.

I must learn to be like them.

            My cooler is filled with beer. Without it, I would not be able to swim, would not be able to drift with the crocodiles. It will do me no good, but I ponder the mystery of that lavish leer anyways before reaching in for a cold one. I feel around; they feel the same, but I want to choose the right one. Harpoon. That’ll do. Pop the cap and toss it into the water. The plop is satisfying, is the only sound I’ve heard all day. I grin maliciously at them, floating in the water like logs, existing primordially between here and there, but always sober. They don’t know what it’s like, to drink a pint. Bastards.

            I am angry. Condemning them patronizing me, which they aren’t, but I dragged the qualities of those people like makeup, gooped onto their rough bodies, so I can get a rise without a reaction. But it is not the same.

            Back in the water. On my back, floating languidly beneath the drying sun. My skin is parched, like theirs. It takes a long time for it to get that way. I have to roll around in the boat, rubbing my naked skin against the sidings, just to make it rough. And that’s before the wind.

            On Sunday, the longest day I ever learned. At dawn I came to learn their ways so I too could stop looking. Now it is late, late in the day. Like a lolling log I float on my back, though I pale in comparison. They are beasts. I, an ordinary monster. No wonder.

            Drying sun has cracked and spills its yoke, lapping gently in the cool, green water.

            My brothers and I, we wrote on trees, late in the afternoon, afternoons like this. We wrote on trees and smelled the bark, dug our fingers under the crumbling, brown-stained pine.

            I float over to him, the big one with the rough brown edges, who reminded me of bark, of my brothers. I call him Bukowksi. He is dozing, floating listlessly. A log on water. I stare at him, hungrily craving his subsistence, wanting to float like him, like a log. Remembering my brothers, I pull a pen out of my trunks. It is felt tipped. I want him to feel good and tickled, like someone running their fingers up and down your back. Above his back left knob of a leg, a smooth area, marbled brown and green and grey, faded and dried. I can see the salt grains, which look like rocks in the low angle of the dribbling sun.

            I bring the pen to his back, gently, softly, and slowly, began to write –

good film.

It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing.

It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well.

 There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can't live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses.

2 days in Paris

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this is why i love life

It's so menial
~~~~~~~~
   and interesting

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