Sat Mar 23, 2024 11:33 pm by globalturbo
Montauk
by Jack HeartThe foundational premise of Preston Nichol’s infamous Montauk Projects trilogy was the artificial production, amplification and introduction of an oscillated frequency to subjects, usually prepubescent boys, with the right Nordic blood type. When seated in a chair, designed by von Neumann to achieve harmonic synthesis between the subject and the introduced frequency, the subject can project alternate realities, even beings that can interact with this reality. Wormholes can be opened up and time manipulated for the deployment of an army of mind controlled super soldiers created by secret Nazi technology. The Babylon Working is the ultimate consummation of the Magick of Aleister Crowley and it was the raison d'être of the project, which was implemented under the direction von Neumann. Most of the experimentation took place in a Deep Underground Military Base (DUMB) beneath Camp Hero, a now defunct radar station by Montauk Point, Long Island.
Amongst Nichols’ circle of friends, his story was taken so seriously that John Ford, then president of the Long Island U.F.O. Network, and three of his friends were given lengthy prison sentences after being “entrapped” in a 1996 plot to poison then Suffolk County Republican Chairman John Powell, Suffolk Legislator Fred Towle and Brookhaven Conservative Party chief Anthony Gazzola, by exposing them to radium. I formally met Nichols in '92 or '93, shortly after the publication of his first book, through my mother, who at the time was one of J J Hurtak’s “Beloved.” Hurtak had a lot of circus acts, among them Deepak Chopra and Richard Hoagland (don’t call me on it Richard, I have pictures) but Nichols was different. He invited himself to the presentations and would sometimes just cut in on a lecture to give his own. When he talked they all shut up and listened. Even Hurtak suspended his brutal murder of the Qabalah and endless evangelising for the “Brotherhood of Light” to hang on Nichols every word. Generally, me and my wife laughed at my mother and her friends, Hurtak included. They had no explanations for the things we had done and seen, let alone the things I had done and seen. Nichols did, starting with the fact that my father, whom from what I heard was the best shot in the Screaming Eagles at the time, had been stationed stateside at Camp Hero during the Korean War (supposedly to shoot for the 101est in competitions). After that, the answers just kept coming. Now that I know them all maybe it was never such a good idea to be asking any questions…
From 12 to 18 years old much of my non-school time was spent in Montauk with my father and his friends. They were all sports fisherman and charter boat captains. I actually drank beers dockside with Frank Mundus the guy they modeled Captain Quint after in the movie Jaws, seen some sharks out there almost as big too. But I never saw nor did anything in Montauk that could be considered extraordinary, except for maybe once. It was right after I graduated high school and I wrote about it in my as of yet unpublished book:
'We had all just started hanging out together again. By then Kenny and I had Tommy and Egil as constant companions and John had Eric. There were girls of course, for some. Kenny always had a steady girlfriend and Tommy was the blond haired heart throb of Copiague High School but we wanted to have a 'men's' extravaganza to Hotdog Beach in the Hamptons for the fourth of July. Kenny had a big bag of fireworks left over from what he couldn’t sell by the fourth and John had just gotten a two-pound brick of some really fine hash. We packed all the 'contraband' into Eric's old station waggon and left at sunset on July third. On the way there John became insistent that we should go shoot the fireworks off at the old military base in Montauk. Nobody had ever been there and nobody else wanted to go. It was forty miles out of the way, but John said there would be too many cops at Hotdog Beach and we would get him busted for the two pounds of hash he had taken along. John threatened to take his hash and go home so we were left with little choice. That hash could be converted to girls at Hotdog Beach and it wasn’t the fourth yet anyway so we gave in.
We pulled off to the side of the road at the base and had to walk about a quarter mile through the woods to get to the beach below. No sooner had we started walking than John, who was leading the way, starts making hand signals like he’ s GI Joe. Suddenly I was blinded by a bright light and when I managed to focus my eyes there was a cop with a big flashlight in one hand and an even bigger gun in the other pointed straight at me. He says "alright tell your friend to come out with his hands up." I was only seventeen at the time and nobody as of yet had ever pointed a loaded pistol at me. Eric was by now hiding in the bush right in front of me so I said "Eric come out it’s a cop and he’s waving a gun around." Eric complied and the cop starts telling us this was private property and he could arrest us for being on it. I wanted to ask him if it was standard operating procedure to shoot teenagers for trespassing in Montauk but there was something I was even more curious about. I asked him how he had known we were there and he tells me, still aiming his gun at us, he had gotten a call. We hadn’t been there for even a minute and there was not a soul around. Then he tells us we have to get out of Montauk or he would arrest us and proceeds to follow us about twenty miles all the way to South Hampton. We had two pounds of hash in the car so needless to say it was a very tense drive.
We went back to Eric’s basement all the way in Amityville, on the other side of the county, to ditch the hash and await Johns inevitable, or so we thought, phone call. It was about midnight by the time we got back and we sat around till noon smoking Johns hash and waiting for him to call. He never did. Eric called Johns mother and told her what had happened. She begged him to take her car and go look for him. Halfway between Hotdog Beach and Montauk we spot the four of them looking worn and bedraggled walking towards Hotdog Beach. When we asked them why they didn’t call all they could say is there were no phones. The town of Montauk was maybe a mile or two from the base. Like I said I used to walk to the lighthouse all the time and it’s even further from town than the base. All of them were very evasive about what they had done when we left, only saying they had stayed the night on the beach and gotten a ride to almost where we found them. John said he had seen the cop and that’s what he was signalling about but he was a good hundred feet in front of us and the cop was behind us. Their story never did make any sense. They couldn’t even tell us who had given them a ride and why they had been dropped off in the middle of nowhere.
Eric and I had taken some of Johns hash along for company so we all headed back to Hotdog beach. It wasn’t long before a car load of girls pulls up next to us hooting and hollering. They gestured for us to follow them and we did to a rundown house somewhere in the Hamptons. There were four of them and I guess they were a year or two older than us and they all looked like they had been around. When we went in the house one of them told us her name was Maid Marion and we should be quiet or we would wake her grandmother up who was sleeping in the next room. It was three in the afternoon. We hung out and smoked hash with them for the rest of the day. Granny never woke up and the door to her room remained shut. Everybody got laid except for Eric and I. That wouldn’t have been so unusual for the time, except for Egil. Egil? He talked about Maid Marion for the next couple of years till he went back to Norway to join his father.
I would not believe anything Preston Nichols says except that he is from East Islip but he would tell anyone who would listen that the Montauk experiments, whose objective was not only to bend time but create super soldiers, were carried out by Nazi’s who had been merged with American intelligence during 'Operation Paperclip.' They were led by John Von Neumann a Hungarian Jew who had come over during the thirty's. Von Neumann was the greatest mathematician on this side of Bernhard Riemann and he did so much top secret work for the government that when he was dying of pancreatic cancer in the fifty's he was kept under twenty-four-hour military guard to keep him from talking while he was on pain medication.
John’s grandfather spoke with a thick German accent and ever since we were kids I used to tease John that I knew his grandfather was a war criminal and I was going to turn him over to the Jews. John would get really flustered which is why I did it. He would insist his grandfather wasn’t even German he was Hungarian. Well he sure as hell looked like a German to me. In fact, one could easily imagine that sweet little old man exchanging his rose pruners for a dental drill and merrily drilling away at a prisoner saying ‘you vill tell me vhat you know.’’
Thanks to: http://jackheart2014.blogspot.com
