"Illuminating" the Mystery of One Man's Misfortune by Chris Ullman

I have had some profound personal encounters with the Illuminati/Freemason Powers That Be which might be of some interest to you personally, Mr. Icke -- and perhaps to your readership as well -- so I am passing the details of these encounters along for your perusal and for possible inclusion in your archives, should you deem the material appropriate for your web site.

I am also doing it for my own protection. You will see why in short order.

After reading "The Biggest Secret", I struggled with denial for months on end regarding the startling and menacing implications so meticulously outlined in your powerful book. As you have pointed out, David, Gandhi's realization that, "The truth is still the truth even if you are a minority of one," is a powerful and unshakable truth in its own right.

Truth does indeed eat at a person's mind until its foundation cracks like faultlines along The Shelf of Rigidly Held Notions. And such was the case for me after the requisite months had passed.

My awakening to the truth regarding the Illuminati/Freemason/Reptilian circle of mayhem, murder and deceit has been a rapidly accelerating process. Its beginnings were rooted in an article I wrote concerning the Oklahoma City bombing for "The Portland Free Press" in the spring of 1994.

This particular article -- "Oswald, McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Two-step," -- outlined the uncanny similarities between Lee Harvey Oswald and Timothy McVeigh, and was based on the premise that it was quite likely that the script that had been used by the CIA (i.e. Reptilians) to kill John Kennedy had worked so well in Texas in 1963, that the perpetrators merely recycled the same play from the CIA playbook for use in Oklahoma City in 1994.

Another "lone nut" from the U.S. military. This time a militia member, instead of a commie sympathizer. An insidiously gifted monster capable of pulling off impossible feats of destructive savagery. Connect the dots and see the big picture. Not terribly difficult.

Approximately three months after my article appeared in "The Portland Free Press", I experienced an enlightening encounter with a crop circle formation which appeared overnight in a field owned by the State Farm Insurance company in the Portland suburb of Aloha, Oregon.

While I was driving my car in an eastbound direction along Highway 26 towards Portland proper on June 15th, 1994, a voice/lucid thought hit me in the mind with such clarity that I felt literally overwhelmed to obey it.

In reality it was neither a voice nor a thought; it was a message from what I have simply come to refer to since as The Plane of Truth.

This communication, which repeated itself over and over in my head until I was forced to realize that it was something out of the ordinary, told me: "Look for a UFO on the ground..."

Such was the compelling nature of this "thought" that I actually slowed down to a speed of 45 miles per hour, and began to scan the farmland that surrounded this particular stretch of highway. After about two minutes of fruitless scanning from side to side along the roadside, I shrugged, turned up the radio, muttered "Oh well," and summarily forgot about it.

Not three minutes later as I was approaching the aforementioned piece of land owned by State Farm, I saw a barricade to my right made of what I originally thought were orange construction cones, spaced out approximately every fifteen feet or so alongside the road.

But as I drew closer, I noticed that the cars which were parked bumper-to-bumper alongside this stretch of highway were not your typical construction-type vehicles: For every broken-down pickup truck there was a Mercedes Benz, or similarly extravagant, later-model car.

As I drew alongside the parked cars, I noticed that people were milling around in the field just to the right of the highway. As I passed by the scene, I craned my neck and looked back to see what they were hurrying into the field to see --

And saw a crop circle formation. ("Look for a UFO on the ground...")

The story surrounding what happened to me immediately upon discovering this crop circle, and how it changed my life and began awakening me to The Truth, is a long story in itself. I will save it for another time.

But the main upshot of the events that began to unfold after I came back to the site and began to investigate the crop circle formation in an in-depth fashion, was that I was quoted in "The Oregonian", the local Portland newspaper, by one of their "reporters".

(As many of you are undoubtedly aware, most newspaper reporters write down what you have to say, and then make up their own "report" so that it fits the agenda of the powers who reside on the rungs of the ladder immediately above them. Such was the case for me.)

Those of you who are familiar with crop circle formations understand that one of the hallmarks of a "legitimate" formation is the fact that the formations often appear overnight, usually on private property. If these formations are indeed hoaxed, then those who hoax them are risking criminal prosecution, due to the trespassing which is involved in order to make the formations, and the destruction of private property (crops) that ensues.

When I was interviewed by this local reporter, he made it clear that he thought the formation was made by a bunch of drunken kids who were pulling a prank; I, however, thought it was a tremendous amount of trouble to go to in order to pull a "prank", and found it odd that no one had seen anyone making the formation during the night in question: The formation appeared on the bank of a slight upslope in full view of the highway.

Flashlights or another adequate source of lighting would have been necessary to make the rather intricate Celtic Cross formation that the "hoaxers" ultimately left as their calling card.

The reporter changed my words around when the article was published the following day, and wrote the whole thing off to drunken schoolchildren who were "sowing their wild oats..."

My life was turned completely upside down within six months of the appearance of this newspaper reporter's story about the local formation. Within two years, I found myself homeless and alienated from everyone and everything that I had ever loved.

At the time, I thought it was just startlingly bad luck and a series of unfortunate coincidences.

Now I realize that it was a by-product of coldly calculated planning. I will elaborate, in order to demonstrate why I know this is so.

In November of 1994, my relationship with a woman for whom I cared very deeply, suddenly and for no apparently rational reason disintegrated before my very eyes. This woman -- whom I will call Anna -- told me on Thanksgiving Day that she was in love with someone else and was leaving me in short order. I had seen no overt signs of any clandestine affair she might have been carrying on behind my back, and I was shocked, angry, confused and saddened to say the least when she broke this shattering news to me.

But what bothered me the most was that it seemed so extremely out of character for her to do something like this to anyone, let alone to me. We discussed this at length prior to the breakup, and the only rational reason she could give to explain her behavior, was that she thought she was desperately in need of therapy. I offered to get her some help, but she broke away from me before I could get her into a therapist's office.

I missed her so badly and was so wounded by her abandonment, that I literally avoided all association with females until I felt strong enough to again take a chance and attempt another relationship with a member of the opposite sex. In July of the following year, I felt I had put sufficient distance between myself and the breakup with Anna in order that I might finally be able to get myself, "back among the living".

And so, when I met the next woman in my life, I jumped into the relationship with trust and compassion, and the heart-wrenching pain I had endured regarding my breakup with Anna soon began to look enticing in comparison with what was ultimately in store for me.

Within eight months of the undertaking of this new relationship -- with a woman whom I will call Lana -- my life was reduced to tatters. I was arrested for drunk driving, and arrested yet again for driving without a license. My career was all but destroyed. (I had been a successful and rising actor in Portland prior to these incidents, and had no prior "criminal" record up to this point in time.)

My relationship with Lana was a nonsensical, frightening blur of futility and horror. She had severe substance abuse problems, mostly with alcohol, stemming from a sexually abusive past. I had sympathized with her plight, and is so often the case with enablers in such relationships, I vowed to do all that I could to help her.

It nearly cost me my life. Fifteen months after becoming immersed in this dark and twisted relationship, I found myself literally out on the street with no place to go and no one to whom I might turn. Dazed and wounded by what had transpired, I once again managed to pick myself up, dust myself off, and somehow find the strength to move on with my life.

Approximately 13 months after the disaster with Lana had ended, I met another woman with whom I decided to take yet another chance. I was extremely cautious after what I had been through with Lana, and I thought extremely long and hard about it before deciding to again take the plunge with this next woman - whom I will call Kara.

Eight months into this new relationship, I discovered that Kara had a major drug problem which she had successfully kept hidden from me up to that point in time. On the surface, she had appeared to be a beautiful, intelligent, aspiring helicopter pilot who worked for a well-known cosmetics company. In reality, she was addicted to painkillers, was a user of morphine and heroin, and was a prostitute as well. In time I learned that she too, had been sexually abused as a child.

My nightmarish relationship with Kara lasted about a year and a half, almost exactly the same length of time as my relationship with Lana had lasted. Once again I found my life, career and self-esteem destroyed prior to summoning the will and courage to extricate myself from this brutal relationship.

This time, however, I lost a great deal more than I had lost with Lana. This time my reputation was completely ruined, and because of some unique circumstances I was helpless to do anything about it; Kara extorted money from me on a continual basis for nearly a year after our breakup as a result. The hardest loss of all was the loss of my sweet dog, Sally, a Siberian husky who was put to sleep due to my inability to rescue her from a kennel I was forced to house her in during this period of upheaval.

I will never get over her loss.

I thought about taking my own life more times than I can count during the course of these three seemingly random, "hard-luck" relationships. And then I read "The Biggest Secret", an event which was soon followed by a series of psychic and spiritual awakenings, and everything suddenly became very clear. Frighteningly clear, in fact.

Anna, the first woman I had encountered in this triad of "hard-luck" relationships, had been a devout Disney addict from the time she was a young child. Even when she was in her late twenties, Anna had an obsession with Disneyland and all things Disney that bordered on the bizarre.

She owned Disney clocks and Disney shirts; she collected Disney records and Disney posters. She was the only adult human being I had ever known who possessed a year-round pass to the Disney amusement parks. At the time, I thought it was harmless and cute in an innocuous, childlike sort of way. (Anyone who knows the sinister story behind Disney knows that such an obsession is anything but harmless.)

Not long after Anna had left me, she ended up marrying her new suitor. And guess where the happy couple honeymooned? You guessed it: Disneyland. She was thirty years old at the time of her wedding.

Lana, the second woman in this trifecta of hard-luck encounters, had been sexually abused as a child, as I mentioned earlier. Her stepfather, who had been a policeman during Lana's formative years -- a situation that presents itself quite often in sexual abuse cases as you have pointed out many times, David -- had molested her repeatedly and gruesomely from the time she was about seven years old. Lana had told me about this ugly situation on several occasions during the course of our relationship.

But the story of her abuse does not stop there.

Lana's grandmother on her mother's side, is a devout and well-connected member of The Order of the Eastern Star. (This is the female equivalent of the Masonic Lodge, as I am sure you are well aware, David.) Lana's grandfather on her father's side was a high-ranking member of the Freemasons until he died when Lana was about seventeen years old. Lana's father also has overt ties to the Freemasons; whether or not he actually is a Mason is something I have as yet been unable to ascertain.

I did some research on the real story regarding Lana's history of sexual abuse, and found out that not only had her stepfather sexually abused her as a child, but her father had also abused her as well. In fact, just prior to the day I left Lana for good, I discovered that she was still having sex with her father. She was 27 years old at the time. She did not know that she was having sex with him, even though I had all but caught them in the act on two separate occasions.

It was as if a switch could somehow be accessed in her mind, and the controller of the switchboard could literally shut off her conscious mind from having access to what had just transpired.

And it doesn't stop there. Lana's grandfather, the high-ranking Mason, had abused her as well. And so had many other Freemasons. The local Masonic Lodge was right next door to the house she had lived in as a child.

I found out from her sister-in-law that Lana had been passed around for Masonic ritual sex abuse from the time she was a little girl. Her father and grandfather were the central perpetrators of these acts.

And after all the evidence had been gathered and the data had been absorbed and filtered and allowed to settle in my mind, I suddenly saw the big picture .

Lana was a mind-controlled sex slave. She had been programmed to have sex with men from all walks of life.

One incident stands out in particular here: I came home one evening to our apartment and found the walls and mirrors in the bathroom covered with frantically scrawled handwriting. Two frightening sentences had been written and rewritten hundreds of times by Lana in bright red lipstick. They said:


After reading all the information I could round up regarding the programming of mind-controlled slaves by the Illuminati, I realize now that Lana had been programmed for suicide in the event that she began to recall the truth behind her hideous past.

Lana had often expressed concern that she sometimes felt like killing herself for no apparent reason; this is a hallmark of slaves who have been programmed with self-termination programming, as Fritz Springmeier and others have noted.

The fact that Lana had an ongoing sexual relationship with her father - a fact that had been deliberately fragmented away from her conscious mind - was just one in a series of clues that allowed the truth about Lana to evidence itself in no uncertain terms.

Lana frequently demonstrated an overt sexual response to tongue-twisters and clever plays on words. As an actor and radio voice talent, words have always come easily for me. When I used double entendres and clever turns of phrase, Lana would literally transform into a brunette version of Marilyn Monroe right before my eyes. She undertook this transformation with almost any male who possessed these particular verbal skills, a fact I noticed with increasing alarm over the course of our tumultuous relationship.

After I read "The Biggest Secret", it was as if a series of tumblers in an intricate combination lock clicked rapidly and brilliantly into place in my mind.

I was arrested for drunk driving for one simple reason: Lana had tried to commit suicide by jumping from my car on the evening in question. I had struggled with her for several minutes in an ultimately successful attempt to subdue her and keep her from killing herself. But the struggle in our moving automobile attracted the attention of some "do-gooders" who were following right behind us in their own car; this elderly couple happened to have a cell phone, and thinking I was O.J. and Lana was Nicole, they called the police and 10 minutes later we were surrounded by the usual convoy of paramilitary vehicles and the attendant swarm of jackbooted thugs with their weapons drawn and at the ready.

(Note: The Simpson trial was going on at the time of this incident, and it didn't help my cause in the least on this particular occasion. As there is a mounting pile of evidence now that O.J. might not have killed his wife, or in the very least that he has indeed been under the influence of mind-control programming for much of his life, I find this to be a chillingly not-so-coincidental aside. Problem-reaction-solution, right David? Make the herd think every struggle between a man and a woman is a precursor to an act of murder -- and the herd will most definitely begin to police itself. And then scream, "Take away our guns! Lock them all up! Save us from the monsters!")

Lana was on probation for her third conviction for driving under the influence at the time that all of this happened. I had planned on pleading not guilty at my arraignment, but going to court and fighting the charges would have necessitated Lana's testimony. And as Lana was drunk out of her mind on the night of my arrest -- a fact that was duly noted in the police report - I opted to protect her and keep her out of harm's way by not putting her in a position whereby she might violate her probation and summarily be put in prison.

I had refused an alcohol breath test on the night of my arrest. Because of Oregon state law, this act resulted in the forfeiture of my license without the possibility of reinstatement for one full year.

Five months later, Lana came down with a "sudden illness" one evening. She appeared to be in a great deal of distress, and insisted that I take the car in order to get her some medicine. Although I knew it was risky using my vehicle while my license was suspended, I felt that the situation merited my taking the chance. It was the second and last time I ever drove my car while my license was suspended.

After I had purchased the medicine for Lana at a local drug store and had gotten back into my car to head for home, a police car suddenly swerved into the drug store's parking lot, seemingly from out of nowhere. Although there was no reason for the police to be suspicious of me, they slowed their patrol car to a crawl while passing my parked vehicle, and shined their spotlight into my car. After inspecting me from close proximity for about thirty seconds, they then drove slowly to the end of the parking lot to a spot about 50 yards away and parked their cruiser with its nose pointed directly towards me.

I waited for the police to leave for at least a half an hour. They never budged. Believing I had a sick woman waiting for me at home, I reluctantly started the car and pulled out onto the street. I was grateful when I noticed that the police car did not follow suit. I breathed a sigh of relief, and merged onto the highway that would take me back to my waiting housemate.

Less than a minute later I was pulled over by a second patrol car. I was doing exactly 55 miles per hour, which was the posted speed limit on the highway at the time I was detained. I was not swerving, tailgating nor driving recklessly. I asked the officer why he had pulled me over, and he informed me that I had been, "driving too slow, and too close to the car up ahead".

After a brief and futile argument, I was again arrested, and this time I was charged with driving with a suspended license. Just another coincidental bit of bad luck -- or so it seemed again at the time.

Two days before I managed to extricate myself from the relationship with Lana, she made a chilling comment to me one late-summer afternoon while we were standing at a bus stop. Her behavior had become hopelessly self-destructive at this point in our relationship, and I was admonishing her for her increasingly out-of-control outbursts. "Be careful," she hissed, shifting into an evil personality that I had begun to notice evidencing itself with increasing frequency in the prior two weeks. "Be very careful. Or I'll get you arrested again..."

Lana, I then realized, had gotten me arrested on purpose on both occasions. The first time with the drunk-driving incident -- I later found out that Lana had tried to launch herself from other moving vehicles in the past, which had resulted in the arrest of other drivers -- and the second time when I had unwittingly gone to the store to get her some medicine like some ignorant, would-be, knight-in-shining-armor. She had called the police and told them to be on the lookout for me on that particular occasion.

There is much more to the real story behind Lana. When I met her, she was working as a waitress at a night club where I was doing standup comedy. The owner of the club, I later found out, is a convicted pedophile who has served time in the Oregon state prison for child molestation. This particular individual, I also later discovered, has numerous business and social ties to high-ranking Portland-area Freemasons.

He made it a point of hiring women to work in his bar who had been sexually abused as children. This was not by chance, as the reader may now be starting to realize. (None of the things the Illuminati does is left to the vagaries of chance.)

The night club where this monster plies his trade is located in a freestanding structure immediately adjacent to a huge, turn-of-the-century office building, which is literally choking with Masonic symbols and images. After my breakup with Lana, and after reading "The Biggest Secret", I felt nauseated when I went back to this area of town one night and took a long, hard look at the building's outer edifice, as well as those of the surrounding buildings on the block.

There is a basement in this dark, gloomy structure that gives off some of the most horrific vibrations I have ever experienced anywhere on this earth. Lana told me of wild sex orgies that took place in the basement of this establishment -- orgies in which she allegedly never took part. (I'm sure her memory of the orgies was wiped clean from her mind after her handlers at the club were done with her.)

I am certain that some unimaginable things have taken place in the basement of this building after hours. I felt it when I went back to the place three years after my relationship with Lana had ended. Lana told me that the building was connected by "an underground tunnel" to many of the buildings clustered in this area on the east side of Portland, directly adjacent to the Willamette River. I never asked her to elaborate on this statement, for I had not yet read any of David Icke's books at the time and had therefore not made the underground/Satanic-ritual-abuse/Reptilian connection.

But the truth has a unique ring to it that is all its own. And once you see the separate clues and weave the fabric together, this ring of truth literally screams at you.

And that leaves us with the expanded story of the third woman in this series of what I now know were not happenstance relationships.

Kara was the most monstrous of the three women. In retrospect, it was as if I was being given an increased dosage of Illuminati-poisoned females as the progression played itself out over a four-year period of personal terror and misfortune. After researching the Illuminati at great lengths, and after having experienced some amazing psychic revelations over the course of the past year, I know with absolute certainty now that Kara was the embodiment of evil produced by an unyielding assault of Illuminati mind-control programming and ritual abuse.

Kara was addicted to drugs as I pointed out earlier. In addition, she was also addicted to aspartame, often drinking as much as a case or more of Diet Coke every single day of her life. She often made the comment to me that she could not remember things that had transpired only hours earlier, an obvious indication of advanced aspartame poisoning. She had trouble with her vision in the latter stages of our relationship; she also frequently stumbled and fell down for no apparent reason. As you know, these conditions are both symptomatic of aspartame poisoning.

Kara was a multiple personality. She was a narcissist as well. She was also a practicer of black magic, and I would often come home to find her in the process of casting spells. I thought that it was just harmless mumbo-jumbo at the time; as the situation progressed, I began to realize that she was indeed capable of summoning dark forces to affect the health, actions and mental conditions of other human beings.

Although I did not make the connection at the time I lived with her, Egyptian symbology adorned the walls of Kara's house as well. She claimed to be the reincarnated embodiment of an Egyptian goddess. From the looks of her, I could not argue this point -- Cleopatra herself would have been jealous.

I never could find out for certain who had been the central perpetrator behind her sexual abuse. She had told me that it had been her next-door neighbor; as Kara was a pathological liar, a sad situation provoked by her twin conditions of multiple personality and narcissism, I now feel that this was not the case. Her ex-husband informed me months after my breakup with Kara that she had told him that she had been sexually abused by one of her cousins.

(An interesting note: Kara's ex-husband is deathly afraid of Kara, and swears that her black magic was responsible for the disintegration of his own personal and financial life, as well as the death of one of his business partners. Kara put a spell on this unfortunate man, which her ex-husband claims resulted in the sudden onset of a rapidly spreading, inoperable stomach cancer.)

All I know for certain is that once again, here is a woman with some unresolved conflicts concerning her father. And guess what her father's occupation was during the time that she was sexually abused: He was a policeman. Funny how these "coincidences" keep popping up...

She admitted to me that he had been physically abusive to her when she was a child; he had oftentimes handcuffed her and forced her to ride in the back of his squad car when she "acted up" as a youngster. In addition, he had physically beaten her on several occasions. As is the case with many policemen who are in cahoots with the Illuminati, he was also an alcoholic.

Combine this with Kara's almost pathological infatuation with her "daddy" and his "good looks", and you can draw your own conclusions here.

Whatever the actual situation was, I know that Kara was severely tortured and brutalized when she was a child to the point where her core personality was fragmented in such a fashion that she hid away her true self deep inside her psyche in order to avoid incurring further harm and damage.

Kara was a master at using advanced psychological torture techniques to render anyone helpless whom she considered to be "a threat" to her clandestine existence. I experienced a taste of this first-hand in the latter phases of our relationship. She would mix lies, truths and varying degrees of aggressively hostile and then subtly passive verbal abuse in order to break down my conscious will.

Several times this formula reduced me to a state where I could literally not speak without stuttering, stammering and/or just shutting down mentally. (Her ex-husband confirmed that she had used the same techniques on him, which likewise reduced him to a mass of quivering jelly. Kara had often bragged to me about how she was able to put him in this state of mental helplessness. I did not pay much attention to her claims until she started doing it to me.)

She also frequently used hand-signals to control her pet Rottweiler, which would induce the dog into varying states of passivity and/or aggressive behavior.

I know now that somewhere along the line, Kara learned to program others and "handle them" by the deployment of Illuminati-based programming techniques. She majored in psychology in college. I quite literally felt like I was completely controlled by her over the last five months I was involved with her, and in retrospect I realize that I was literally under her spell.

Everything I did was done on her behalf. It got so bad, that she could actually send me away from her house for a period of days, and then summon me back when I was needed. I was truly not in control of my own behavior -- I was a slave to her.

Kara had an obsession with Satanic rock musicians. When I met her, I was involved in producing some music demos for songs I had written over a 20-year period of my life. A major record label was interested in my work. This was one of things that attracted Kara to me in the initial stages of our relationship. I do not personally write or perform Satanic music; however, I realize now that she felt I could be useful to her as a stepping-stone with which she might propel herself into the dark inner circle of the musicians she so urgently wanted to associate with.

Three months before our breakup, Kara began to badger me into securing backstage passes for her and her sister to an upcoming rock concert to be held in the Portland area. As I had connections to the parent label of this particular well-known Satanic band's record company, I finally decided that it was worth it to get her the passes for a couple of reasons. Number one, she would stop bugging me about it. But more importantly, I felt that it provided me with the perfect means to be rid of her for good, as she would doubtless jump on to the back of some unsuspecting band member or production assistant once I arranged for her to get the passes.

Securing the backstage passes for Kara and her sister did the trick. Although it took me another 15 months to get her out of my life for good, I eventually did break free from her spell. I found out, interestingly enough, that Kara was used by a couple of the bands she eventually hooked up with as a paid sex provider. Kara is obsessed with MTV (which I refer to as Mind Control Television), and I now realize that the videos and songs from some of these bands program her -- and others -- to partake in increasingly debasing acts of sexual and spiritual depravity.

As of this writing, Kara is working as a stripper at a high-profile "gentlemen's club" in a suburb of Portland. This club has overt ties to the Freemasons; many of the girls who work there have been literally held against their will while they undergo severe forms of trauma-based mind-control programming. I have talked with many females who barely escaped from this club with their minds and souls intact.

As an interesting aside, this club burst onto the local scene at the expense of another profitable "gentlemen's club" that had been located only three blocks away. This club was forced out of business by aggressive members of the Illuminati-controlled city council, which whipped the married female citizenry into a frenzy that ultimately forced the competitor club to close its doors.

As soon as the competition had been shut down, this Illuminati club opened for business. (You would find the geography of the area surrounding this club quite fascinating I am sure, David.)

The city's police headquarters is literally right next door to the club. Four blocks away stands the city's Masonic Temple. Across the street from the temple and one block north stands the Police Athletic League. (Cute acronym, isn't it? "Come see the police, children. Why, we're your PALS...")

Strange vehicles are parked in front of this structure day and night. Young female children are frequently seen inside the building, playing billiards and engaging in various forms of "recreation".

But the most sinister structure on this block just might be the hairdressing school directly across the street from the Police Athletic League. After I had read "Trance Formation of America", I just "happened" to stumble across this building one day.

I know that it is being used as a mind-control programming center for female sex slaves by the local Illuminati. The place is closed most days of the week. Women can be seen cutting hair and "training" sometimes in the afternoons when you look in the smoky windows, but when I went inside under the pretense of trying to discover more about the curriculum of this "school" one afternoon, I was completely stonewalled by the receptionist. The surreal vibes in the place made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I have experienced some phenomenal psychic awakenings recently, and The Plane of Truth has revealed to me that this place is indeed being used to torture unwitting young girls and prepare them for a life of sexual servitude to the local Illuminati. When I walk down the one-block section of this suburb of Portland, Oregon, I literally feel sick to my stomach. The evil in this area of town is so palpable you can almost taste it.

Another frightening part of town is the area just to the northwest of Portland proper along the city's light-rail train line, known as MAX.

The trains all have the Eye Of Horus on their sides -- the local CBS affiliate advertises on these trains. Moving from west to east, the train runs underground before it surfaces in this bizarre area on the northwest side that I mentioned in the last paragraph.

On the reverse run while taking this train and going from east to west, a very large stone building becomes visible a couple of blocks away from the point where the train runs back into the aforementioned tunnel.

It is adorned with a large engraved etching in the stone facade immediately above the doorway, which says simply, "The Scottish Rite of Freemasonry".

Moving in the opposite direction, from west to east on the Illuminati train tour of the city, when you first emerge from the tunnel you come across another masonic lodge -- smaller this time, and decidedly older than the aforementioned structure -- adorned with the masonic compass on the front door, and greek-looking deities on the stucco work dotting the outside of the building.

Weird renditions of Pan, Hercules, and other deities stare down at you like something from a demonic painting as you glide past on the train.

But perhaps the most frightening thing you see on this ride through the northwest part of town is the following: About two blocks from this last freemason outpost is the Kindercare Playschool. (This may ring a bell or two with David and some of his readers...)

I know that this is not a coincidence.

It has also been shown to me that children are being abducted from this building, taken through tunnels that connect underneath the city, and brought up inside the masonic structures two block away where god-knows-what is being done to them by god-knows-whom.

At first, I thought I would remain anonymous when submitting this article to your web site, as I have already been visited by black, UN-marked Apache helicopters in full battledress, due to my involvement in the chemtrail issue.

However, I realize that the truth will indeed set us free, and I know that they already know who I am.

Conversely, I already know who they are.

So what's the point of cowering in fear.

I also want to go on public record somewhere in order to provide a written record of who I am, and what I am all about.

I have been shown that these freaks are going to try to set me up in much the same way that they have set Fritz Springmeier and others up.

Not only have I been tracked by helicopters for the last several weeks on end, but more recently military jets have been tracking me, flying in squadrons of two directly over my head, about a mile apart, twice each evening, for the last two weeks or so.

As a friend of mine who knows a bit about the security agencies' tricks told me, I should start taking precautions and go on record about who I am and what I am all about, in case they attempt to kick my door down, plant kiddie pornography on my computer, and then place drug-making paraphernalia and drugs all over my living quarters.

I also understand they like to paint those who see truth as white supremacists, so let's just put this all on the record as well:

My name is Chris Ullman. I am not a drug -dealer. I have never sold drugs in my life. I have no drugs in my house. I am not into child pornography. I am a normal, heterosexual male; and, yes, I appreciate a good-looking woman as much as the next guy.

But I am not into porn; especially kiddie porn. I have never been a member of, nor have I ever been an advocate of, a white-supremacist group.

[Isn't it interesting how "the elite" accuse others of being involved in the very same kinds of things that they are involved in: White supremacy (elitism); drug-dealing and drug-abuse (see the Bush family); and kiddie porn (see every major male politician in the world.)]

So that should set the record straight. Thanks for listening.

And if I should somehow end up disappearing, or end up in jail facing any or all of the above charges, or end up in a mental hospital, I hope some of you will sound the alarm bells and come running.

Keep up the wonderful work, and remember that there are many more of us out here who are being awakened. We will be there for you in your darkest hour -- should you ever experience one -- whomever you may be.

(That last statement of mine was intended not only for David, but for any members of his staff, or his network of friends, or any of his readers as well.)

I now realize beyond a shadow of a doubt that each of us who has fully awakened to the truth regarding our enslavement on this planet, is in the process of ascending to a higher state of consciousness and personal power beyond our wildest imagination.

It is too late for these Reptilian freaks to stop us, and they are in a panic. This drama has played out across the big screen of time in many other eras and in many other locales of the universe.

Darkness and light -- Set and Horus -- doing battle at the end of the age.

This is what the chemtrails are really all about, by the way.

But I will save that for another day.

It is truly an amazing time to be alive...

Chris Ullman
Beaverton, Oregon
email: cmullman@usa.net