Targetting Dollars at Work

About 5:45 am July 11, 2016, just waking up, I recall a snippet of a dream as I head to the coffee maker.  I was on a side corridor of what seemed to be a structure floating in space, due to the view of Earth to the right of me.  It was large and took up most of the view to the outside. The weird thing was I was all by myself wherever I was.  Usually when abducted, you might be left alone on a table, but usually there’s always an escort to move around the ship.  I started to question what I was seeing and that was the end of the dream.

After feeding the dogs, I’m on my way back from letting my chickens out.  It’s about 6 o’clock or a little after, when I hear a helicopter approaching low and loud from the north-northeast.  Being the weirdo that I am, I’ve learned to identify the type of helicopter by it’s rotor and engine noise.  We all have our hobbies.  I was unfamiliar with this particular signature.  It was really low and loud as shit.  So there I am in my boxers, sipping a cup of coffee.  It’s pretty much a full light at this point, the pastel colors of the sun’s rise streaking from the east.  The thumping gets louder, I start to feel it in my body.

The next thing I know there’s a helicopter, all black, tinted windows, a 100 ft or less above my head.  I can’t believe what’s happening.  My 3 pyrenees dogs are all barking.  My chickens are squaking, running for cover.  This was not what I was expecting this morning….  So I just stand there and stare as this black helicopter circles my house.  There’s no markings to identify it.  It’s got an enclosed tail rotor I’ve never seen before.  There’s not a big apparatus underneath it like the white helicopter they fly around my county looking for those evil marijuana farmers.

It’s the mythical black helicopter, hovering over my house. “Shit… they are real” I say to myself.

I got a lot running through my head at this point.  The spaceship dream and now a black helicopter.  “I must’ve gotten abducted last night,” I think. The helicopter moved over to the other side of the valley I live in, maybe 400 yards away.  It’s just hovering there.  It felt like 30 minutes it was there before I realized I should film it.  Duh.  I get my phone and head outside to find it.  It’s really small and hard to find on my phone and then it’ s over a ridge to the south, southwest of me.

So this brings me to another mysterious set of events that happened earlier in 2016.  I decide, on a friday, to get a hypo-regression session with a local hypnotherapist.  The next day, I get a late booking for a massage.  The “gentleman” was in his 50’s, decent shape,  and a government mustache.  I introduce myself with my standard client greeting.  He introduces himself, let’s just call him, “Mr. Brown.”

Mr. Brown says, “I’m a private contractor from the D.OD. in town to administer an exam.”  He repeats this three times.  At this point, I’m like cool…got it the first time.  He says he hasn’t gotten a massage in twenty years.  This was before all the weirdness went down, so I wasn’t suspicious.  Plus being a massage therapist, it doesn’t make my job any easier to be all judgmental with my clients before a massage.

During a massage, I’m not in my logical self, I’m in my silent self, to be more aware of what my hands are telling me about my clients body.  This is harder do when a client talks throughout the massage.  It’s their money, they can do whatever they want, but I give a better massage when I can focus.  He was yapping the entire time, about money, politics and women.  I’m half listening, giving one word responses.  He’s talking about being poor and  mentions he should have been a banker.  I mention the repeal of the Glass Steagall Act, the growing divide between the have’ and have not’s.  I don’t go full conspiratard, even though I am.  I’m trying to stay mainstream but show I do have a few neurons firing off.  He finally shuts up and the massage ends.  It did take him way longer than the normal to undress and get on the table, and also to exit the treatment room after the massage.  But he seemed like your normal middle aged dude with no one to talk too.  He also rebooked for another massage that following Thursday, the day after my first hypno-regression session.

On my way out of the building as Mr brown my last client of the day, I happened to see him sitting in his white van with the window down.  He had the strangest look on his face.  I could tell he was in deep thought, a thought way deeper than the grown up frat boy he portrayed himself as.  That was the first time I questioned his motives for getting a massage.

But I wasn’t a criminal or a terrorist, why would the department of defense send someone to test some nobody massage therapist in rural arkansas. No way I’m the target, I’m being paranoid. Why would the guv’ment waste resources on me?  I have of course heard stories of men-in-black and other types of harassment UFO abductees and researchers have reported.  But until it’s in your face, it’s hard to accept the reality of it.

The hypo-regression session was on that Wednesday after meeting Mr Brown.  I was feeling much better having a night of sleep to integrate the recovered memories and mentally prepared myself the encounter.  We greeted each other with our best fake pleasantries.  He once again took forever getting on the table.  Whatever.  I get in the treatment room.

He starts yapping about people not taking care of their yard, not having pride in their home, blah blah blah.  I’m thinking who cares as I myself haven’t kept up with my yard at the time.  Also my dogs had recently decided to destroy an old sofa I had on the front porch, so there was destroyed couch all over my yard.  Wait he’s not talking about my house, I think to myself.  At this point, I’m totally suspicious of this dude and a little annoyed.  “Who the fuck is the guy?”

Then he says, “Well I didn’t have a childhood like yours…”  I continue the massage, but internally, there’s silence.  I never mentioned a damn thing about my childhood or anything of the like.  So how the fuck did this guy know about my childhood, unless he read some file on me.

“Alright then, it’s like that,” I think to myself.  Maybe five minutes later in the massage, I am on his left side working on his low back. He is on his belly with his head in the cradle.  I bent down on one knee to get a better angle on the TFL muscle.  All sudden jumps up from the table.  He’s got his right arm cocked back like he’s going to punch me.  I realize he thinks I was about to attack him in some way.  I jump up and back turning my head away. I put my arm up by my face so I can see if he’s going to swing and also to block my view of his naked ass.  I’m saying, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” in a non-threatening voice.

He sighs in frustration and just lays back on the table, not saying a word.

Not much was said after that. The massage finishes. He takes forever getting out of the room, again.  I’m still acting like a good ignorant little drone.  In my contrived, standard client goodbye, I look him right in the eye and tell him to have a great weekend.  His fake smile dissappears, exchanged with a look of fear.

This puzzles me. Why is this guy scared of me?…

He once again is my last client of the day.  He’s yapping it up with the receptionist, stating very loudly that he’s a auditor for IRS and that’s his job to talk to people.

“Sure boss,” I think to myself as I leave work.  My mind is racing a bit.  If I was a badass, I would’ve followed his ass home or at least wrote down the license plate number.  But I didn’t do any of those things. I rushed home.  I didn’t even notice when the black suburban got behind me, but it stayed with me until I turned off the gravel road into my property.  My paranoia reaching echelon levels at this point.

I search my house, looking for any signs of change or an intruder.  I am starting to worry about my life.  I live alone in the woods.  It wouldn’t be that hard to suicide me, a fate I really wanted to spare my family from. They don’t deserve that BS.

When you think the eye of sauron is looking at you, you do what you can.  So I made a youtube video telling the world I wasn’t going to commit suicide and if I accidentally died in the next couple of days, investigate it. .

Mr Brown never got a massage again. He did show up at the spa a couple more times, always a day after I went to see my therapist.  The black helicopter showed up once later that summer also, though no in the obvious fashion it did the first time.  I only caught a glimpse of it through the treeline and it didn’t linger.  I did find random vehicle tracks in my yard in the months to follow.  But who knows.

UPDATE:  Mr. Brown showed up at my place of work the same day I posted this blog… lol