ONCE THE MIND IS OPENED, SATAN IS SURE TO ENTER

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Organizations with a wide range of political and criminal agendas have historically relied on coercive interrogation and brainwashing of various types to force submission and information from enemies and victims, and to indoctrinate and increase cooperation in members and captors. In modern times, these techniques are used by political/military/espionage organizations, race/ethnic hate-groups, criminal groups (e.g., child pornographers and sex rings, and international traffickers of women, children, guns, and drugs) and exploitative and destructive cults with spiritual or other agendas. Methods of “thought reform” used by such groups include intimidation, social isolation, religious indoctrination, threats against victims or their loved ones, torture, torture of co-captives, and brainwashing through social influence or deprivation of basic needs, such as sleep or food (see Releasing the Bonds: Empowering People to Think for Themselves (2000), by Steven Hassan).

SOURCE:  Excerpted from Mind Control: Simple to Complex. Photograph of trauma-induced programming ordeal for DSG, courtesy AGENT VM32.

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HUMANOIDS

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“Similar methods of programming, sometimes combined with witchcraft spiritual abuse, are used to mentally install “humanoids”, e.g., robots, shells, etc., that contain no part of the person’s true humanity, i.e., no personality fragment. These humanoids carry out specific functions within the mind, or in external actions.

Programming overides the victim’s free will. Programmed individuals (usually specific personalities) follow commands and perform actions that are in clear violation of their free will, moral principles, and spiritual convictions, generally without conscious awareness.”

SOURCE: Excerpted from Mind Control: Simple to Complex. Graphic by Commissar GE75, 2016 ERA HORRIFICUS.

DRILL

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“It’s all thanks to their imaginary friend known as Drill, who plants horrific ideas into their innocent and trusting heads. But who is this Drill and what exactly are his ulterior motives? I fear we’ll have to wait a while until this imaginary (and possibly extraterrestrial) foe gives us any real answers.”

SOURCE: Graphic imagery of altar arrangement and depicted portrait of Drill Sergeant Grey courtesy Commissar GE75.

DO NOT BE HUMAN, BE A NOCTULIAN!

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“He carries a wooden punishment paddle that has been drilled with holes, many, many holes. The holes are to lessen wind resistance when he beats you and he will beat you – he will beat you like a bad little girl or a bad little boy but he will not beat you because you have been bad, he will beat you because you have not been bad enough.

When he bends you over and paddles your bottom it is a loving discipline because he is saying to you: do not be human, be a Noctulian! Although the way he phrases it may sound more like ”TOUGHEN UP YOU WIMP!” or it may even sound like the churning and grating of hideous machinery in a terrible, dark and grim factory somewhere in the astral wastelands.

Did I mention he also carries a cat o’ nine tails made of a hideous leather-like substance which is interspersed with spikes? You are truly a fortunate soul if Drill Sgt. 333 decides to go after you with that particularly unholy implement.”

SOURCE:  Excerpted from Drill Sgt. Grey: A Disturbing Analysis Liber 333, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2014 (ISBN-13: 978-1492282204, ISBN-10: 1492282200) Article originally appeared in inaugural issue of False Prophet, privately issued from the Hinterlands and reprinted by Black Light Distribution.

Graphic from a recent late summer self-criticism session, courtesy of clandestine organizational personnel and photographed at an undisclosed location in the United States of America.

DRILL SGT. GREY – A DISTURBING ANALYSIS

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A NOCTULIAN craves DISCIPLINE.

DRILL SGT. 333 is the LEADER of the VVM (Velton Vindex Movement.) He is a grim, grey alien with large, almond-shaped eyes and a small, skeletal figure (which is in contrast to his over-sized head.) He wears a Drill Sgt. Uniform (including a large, harsh brimmed hat with the numerical code ‘333’ emblazoned on the front, military pants tucked into combat boots and a military battle-ready logistical jacket emblazoned with the numeric ‘333’ and on which is pinned an insignia of the Nine Angles, a patch bearing the sigil of the TOB and upon the collar-tab epaulets is the numbers ‘333’ – the latter which appears on both of his thin, starved shoulders.) He wears a black armband with large white letters sewn onto the clothe bearing the initials ‘VVM’. His mouth is only a slit which never smiles. From his mouth emanates only hate because he hates you, he wants to discipline you, he wants to punish you, he wants to push you over the brink so that you fall – like chaff – into the blaze of the abyss, the blaze of subversion, the blaze of the clandestine, the blaze of torture, the blaze of discipline.

He carries a wooden punishment paddle that has been drilled with holes, many, many holes. The holes are to lessen wind resistance when he beats you and he will beat you – he will beat you like a bad little girl or a bad little boy but he will not beat you because you have been bad, he will beat you because you have not been bad enough. When he bends you over and paddles your bottom it is a loving discipline because he is saying to you: do not be human, be a Noctulian! Although the way he phrases it may sound more like ”TOUGHEN UP YOU WIMP!” or it may even sound like the churning and grating of hideous machinery in a terrible, dark and grim factory somewhere in the astral wastelands. Did I mention he also carries a cat o’ nine tails made of a hideous leather-like substance which is interspersed with spikes? You are truly a fortunate soul if Drill Sgt. 333 decides to go after you with that particularly unholy implement.

The name tag on his battle-ready logistical jacket reads ”GREY” – just in case you do not recognize him when you see him… But if you do see him you will surely recognize him, because only the most fortunate boys and girls receive the very specific sort of balloons and surprises that Drill Sgt. Grey has to offer.

Every foul verbal abuse that issues forth from his mouth which swirls and rotates with the horrors of Nythra will make you more motivated. Each beating he gives you will bring you closer and closer to the Abyss and insanity (like a trout swimming upstream, the Abyss will make you immolate yourself in the hideous and caustic ordeal of shedding the causal.) The more miles you run and the more push-ups you do chanting ‘333’ will help you transform from your current state into a bloated frog: bloated on the blood current of the Velton Vindex Movement and basking under the radioactive glow of atomic mushroom clouds who look down upon you with leering, spiral eyes.

VIDE ALIENUM SUPER COLLEM – CLAUDEM, ONUSTEM, ET NECARE PREPARATEM

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DRILL SGT. GREY – A DISTURBING ANALYSIS PT. 2: ENCOUNTERS 

“Dying moonlight framed upon dark walls Throughout this black home the silence is deafening None can hear what echoes from within But I can hear the endless screaming Behind the locked door.”

“DON’T YOU LIKE IT?”

The message came to her non-verbally via the auspices of conventional hearing, instead, entering her mind through an intrusion into her very root consciousness itself – telepathic communication which first took the sounds, inaugurally, of screaming machinery being churned into itself, harshly, insanely, but which, through some esoteric fashion, transformed itself – within her mind – to words which she could somehow understand.

“NO DADDY! MAKE IT STOP!”

Huge, thick rivulets of deep crimson, blood, elixir, dripped down the pointed chin of the alien’s almond-shaped face – from a thin, slitted mouth, behind which only small, sharp and predatory fangs could be seen.

Eyes, black upon deepest black, unchanging, uncaring, unmerciful – and indeed, undead; gave no indicator, no solace, no indication of any emotion, of any mercy – of any empathy remotely related to the “understanding” which marks the exchange between human betwixt-human and, which in her case, had apparently become a standard now obsolete.

Atop his head was perched a curious item, a broad-brimmed felt hat, possessed of a high crown, pinched symmetrically at the four corners. On the center front of this hat was emblazoned the numerals three-three-three which appeared black, yet thick and pulsating, as if the numbers themselves had been imprinted onto the accouterment with blood, obtained via some foul, evil and torturous practice and – no doubt – culled from, perhaps, the most innocent of victims.

Seemingly pixelated images began to burst into her vision, her eyes rolling up into their sockets, images that seemed alien to her own earth planet, in quintessence, yet were possessed with strange shapes that seemed to resonate with her despite their bizarre nature – and – indeed – the trauma-laden nature of their delivery.

The alien rubbed a skeletal finger, dripping with the blood of the little girl’s parents, across it’s military BDU jacket, which hung relatively limp against it’s emaciated, undead frame. In his other hand he held a crystal tetrahedron, drenched in blood, which pulsated with pale, disturbing light.

Embroidered upon it’s right chest was the legend “GREY” – apparently, it’s surname. A strange geometric symbol, which the little girl would, later, learn to be the insignia of a group called the Order of Nine Angles – dedicated to opening up portals to other worlds and bring in Acausal, Dark Gods, through catastrophic acts of terror and profuse bloodshed, was pinned in medallion form upon it’s left.

The sound of several booming male voices, yet too deep in metre to be human at all, began to echoe out from the corners of the room, sounding a sinister chant unlike any that had been heard prior upon that earthly terra firma, each voice seeming to hold within it the inconceivable potency of every evil act, every horrific deed, every act of disruption, terror; cruelty and deceit; manipulation and inducement to insanity that she could imagine that they had done; that sinister chant could be felt upon their breath from afar, like a cold shade.

“AGIOS O BUDSTURGA!” screamed Drill Sargeant Grey.

Drill Sargeant Grey fingered the long disciplinary paddle attached to his utility belt, drilled with holes to reduce wind resistance and cause additional blistering and bruising, with no discernible emotion upon his face. Emotions has been killed, burned away – burned with the infernal fire of Satanic ordeal, Satanic trial and the uttermost limits of transgression of human laws in every moral sense.

“To those outside it is a simple construction of wood But those inside know what is truly in store… Behind the locked door.”