Dead Dog's Tale

I won my black belt in Judo at 14 during a Batsugun.  A Judo Batsugun is when a tournament's competitors line up, from the lowest-ranked white belt to the top-ranked black belt. The lowest-ranked white belt steps out on the mat and challenges the second-lowest-ranked white belt. The contest winner challenges the next Judoka, and so on until the highest-ranking black belt is called out. I was third in line from the beginning. That night, I took my black belt off the highest-ranking black belt under 18 in Southern California.  Later, I discovered it's partly what got me noticed by some interesting people, and my name was "highlighted." I was 17 in the mid-1990s when an organization recruited me to hinder the advance of MS-13, looking to gain footholds in rural areas of Idaho, Oregon, Washington, & Montana. They would train males 15 to 16 years old and "seed" them in small Podunk towns in the Pacific Northwest. These seedlings recruited members, primarily o

I first heard about him while I was in Las Cruces. An old Apache knife fighter and Brujo, still honing his edge and blooding his hands in the desert. Based on a rumor, I spent a week trekking up and down the Rio Grande searching for him but learned from his friend in Mesilla I'd missed by a few months. It was in Lordsburg I caught up with him, a short and round man with eight or nine rattlesnake heads circling his hat band.  He flatly denied he was who I was looking for. I wasn't buying it, so I lunged at him after a couple more protests that I should go away. He had a knife as fast as a rattlesnake's strike, the tip pressing firmly into the skin under my chin. I smiled as he rolled his eyes. He'd blown his cover.  That evening, we shared a pack of Pall Malls and a 12-pack of Modelo in the alley behind his house as candles to Jesus Malverde and Saint Jude flickered in the darkening shadows. We told stories about hunting down our common enemy when he stopped abruptly. &q

I began dreaming of an experience I had more than thirty years ago. I never forgot what happened, but when I recall memories, they were ephemeral, like grasping smoke, and I would quickly forget again. However, since the dreams began, my memories of the experience are becoming more concrete. I want to further solidify the experience for myself and see, on the off-hand chance, if anyone else has information that could assist me in resolving these events. This occurred at Big Bear Lake in Big Bear, California, in the summer of 1986. My family had access to a vacation cabin there. We stayed a week. But none of that really matters concerning the experience...as far as I remember.  I was swimming in Big Bear Lake. I remember the lake was busy. Tiny islands, rocky outcroppings, and hidden coves dot Big Bear Lake. I liked adventuring and swimming alone, so I headed to the out-of-way outcroppings. In 1986, I was hyper-fixated on dinosaurs. I regularly imagined slipping back into time through a

  3/22/24 Update: Written in 2017, my encounter with what I believe to be Men In Black or M.I.B has become my most popular and beloved work in my genre of American Horror and of what I term semi-fictionalized fiction. As a lifelong experiencer and abductee, I believe due in part to my top-tier clairvoyant and mediumship skills ( I am the ONLY psychic, medium and occult to have predicted EVERYTHING about COVID-19, the Border Crisis, the 2020 Election etc, starting in 2014 read all about it in my evidentiary proof claim HERE ), I have been involved, in part, some stages of my life more, other times less, with Psychism, Remote Viewing, the Occult and Intelligence, however whose Intelligence exactly, I still don't know, for over 40 years. This was not the first time I have been approached by strange, mostly human, entities, but it certainly stands out as among my most memorable. I thank everyone who has come forward and shared with me their own MIB experiences. I believe I hav

Surprised, I opened my eyes to find myself standing. My gaze was fixed on a vast crystal blue sky. A soft, icy breeze coiling around the hilltop conveyed the morning cold. I began shivering and asking myself how I got here when a glint of silver caught my attention. I looked over my shoulder to see a bright metal disc with a mirror polish, gigantic in proportion, hanging silently above me. Upon my realization, I was suddenly seized with a terrific force. Some invisible vice locked itself around my whole body; the air crushed from my lungs as it gripped me ever tighter against my consent. A loud metallic click resounded as I strained against what bound me and reverberated inside my brain. The disk and I began to interface. A deluge of images flooded my mental processes. I was a human particulate futtering between states of consciousness and dissolving in equal parts terror and astonishment.  Amidst the churning ocean of digital chatter I was drowning in, a single directive emerged, stro

Keeping a low profile at the Dream Catcher RV in Demming, NM, I remained hidden inside a rough-looking 90s C-class RV, letting my travel companion drive and arrange all the needed accommodations. Like a vampire, I would emerge to hunt only at night, cloaked in shadow and covered by darkness.  Blood and tears stain the I-10 E, a corridor of misery for the abducted on their way to be sold and traded, either coming up from or down into Mexico. In 2018, the I-10 E was a low-visibility red-market supply chain feeding Phoenix, AZ, and Las Vegas, NV. I had been summoned to break a particular link in that supply chain.  It was becoming increasingly commonplace for human traffickers using the I-10 E to pad their load with natives from the surrounding reservations, primarily infants and toddlers. In response, a coalition of private financiers who, for many reasons, could not be sanctioned by official Tribal Governments began hiring sympathetic and morally aligned outsides to act as phantom tomah