To be or not to be tagged. That remains the question in my TI experience.

RFID System

I have met or corresponded with many who believed or knew they were tagged. One individual in particular, an American national I believe read either my book or the PDF version in circulation before the paperback was published, contacted me about 8 years ago and intimated he felt that I, like him, was tagged. This individual, whose name I will not publish here, managed to get together what I have failed to do. He had the implant located and removed from his body. He made it officially known, and later took the case regarding, against the US government, to court, and won. His story can be found online through a simple search.

I was so happy about this result, happy for him but also about the implications for me given his insistence I was implanted. Makes a lot of sense when all I go through is taken into consideration. It makes me know I am not wrong. The implant is in fact the most obvious thing to me. I can tell very easily that there is a tag in me by how much harder it is for me to evade what I refer to as the beam given all I know about directed energy technologies. I cannot disappear and live happily ever after where they cannot find me. I cannot evade surveillance using the cheap methods shown in Hollywood films or other, more realistic options. No building is big enough or full enough to disguise my tint. Locating me within thick structures is a matter of using coordinates sent out by the implant. The beam always finds me. I only lose it when I get into elevators, but then this is too transient to be useful. The beam is all over me as soon as I leave a faraday cage, and if I have been gone for long, then there will be hell to pay.

There is only one day in my stay here in Africa when the beam was not felt for an entire day and night. It was a month ago, the twentieth of January 2015. Curiously, the by-election to chose a new leader for Zambia was held on this day. All I can say is that the fiends must have had their hands full. Otherwise the beam easily keeps pace with me, whether I am in a car moving fast, on a bike swerving around potholes, and so on. When you see my face go into a frown or I break out into a sweat, it is usually as a result of this shower.

Down here in Africa where such like the BBC are regarded as gods in their own right, where the news and programs they broadcast insist on painting implant claims according to that one obvious nut-job, as emanating from the mentally challenged to psychopaths, most people are brainwashed. The last thing one can do here is make mention of such a belief. This will be the surest way to lose credibilty, with disastrous consequences to boot.

But no more for me. I am going public.

Suspicion that I was tagged, meaning implanted with an RFID (Radio Frequency ID) chip, goes back to the very first days I discovered I was a Targetted Individual. I even had a strong hunch of where and when the implant operation was done. I know where in my body the chip is located.

Braziliedreef in Overvecht, Utrecht

There is a memory I carry around in my head of the night it all happened, how the details of the incident were registered by my conscious. It was 1993, and I had just moved to Overvecht in Utrecht, Holland. My new address was at Braziliedreef 86, on the second floor of the flat in the picture. I had made myself known to most of my new neighbors and would often stop by for a chat, sometimes more than just a chat. By then, my new-found friends had informed me of strangers standing around in the shadows, observing my flat. I myself once caught sight of a man standing in the shadows below, observing my flat after I went out on the balcony late at night. I did not make too much of it because of the manner it happened. The mileau and culture also contributed to this outcome. The person I saw out there, standing in the trees where nobody could see him, remained calm. He just kept staring at me, not moving an inch, leading me to conclude he was just a local, either curious about the second black man on the flat complex or out there on some other business and I had just caught his attention or disturbed him by opening the curtains and shinning the light on his hideout. I did nothing, did not greet him, ask questions or act in such a way I made him feel guilty, but merely went back indoors after doing what I had come out to do.

The truth of what was really going on only dawned on me after my neigbors related, with increasing concern, more such sightings. Obviously, these strange men had come to case the area out. It was not clear to me just why they had focussed on me, but I took confort in the notion if it was an investigation, then whoever had ordered it would find the truth out and leave me alone. I was not doing anything wrong after all.

But one night, as I lay asleep in bed, I was woken from the dark oblivion of sleep to semi-consciousness by a female voice asking why I had such big back muscles. I believe she made an error. She was not supposed to have spoken while she and her colleagues were doing what they were doing to me. She did speak, and her voice made me aware of my surroundings so that I started registering not just current events, but what my mind had been registering before, albeit in a dreamlike manner. Had she not said anything, this registry would not have been available to my calclating conscious mind then, and come morning when I awoke and was fully conscious.

I know this is what would have been the most likely sequence of events because, fortunately for me, I had experienced the same thing before. It happened when I was a child, during my circumcision at a hospital when, under heavy sedation, I became conscious during the operation. It is from here that I know that, initially, what was perceived was not going to be available to my conscious because the part perceiving was not making sense of the reality around it. Only when the surgeon opened his big mouth did I awake from the dream like state and make the realization the worst had happened. I had woken up midway through the operation. I could not warn the surgeon in any way possible ... could not open my mouth, eyes or move any other muscle, though I remeber him suspecting something was wrong and asking someone whether he should give me more of the sadative, then the other saying something to the effect of 'that might kill him'. As was the case again, consiousness came first. Focus was precipitated by voices around me.

When the woman asked her question, I focussed my thoughts and saw what was happening to me even when I did not awaken fully. I realised I was being turned over so that I lay on my front, head to the side. I became aware of two others in the room, two males, silent, busy. As was the case on the operation table in the hospital, I must have given off signs I had gained consciousness and, unlike had been the first case, was put deeper into sleep because all went dark afterwards. And so ... me being turned over like a pancake in my own bed by three strangers, including bits and pieces before the voice, was all there was to this dream that disturbed me so once I awoke that morning. In a bid to relegate the memory, to banish it from a mind already too paranoid, I remember wondering whether my own mind had conjured it all up from my own observations of myself. I went up to the mirror in ernest, wanting to ascertain whether my back muscles were really big enough for mention but, as is the case with looking at your own parts when you have nothing there to compare them with, it was hard to judge. In fact, I thought I was rather skinny in that part of my physic. Dreams can be products of desires or fears, but I could not see desire or fear reflected in my transformation into a female in the company of two males watching my self get turned over in my own home, in my own bed, without the slightest of hints I would play the super hero.

The oddity of the dream and especially its similarity to a boyhood experience is what would later convince me that the events had not been dreamt up. It had all happened. This must have been the night when I became part of what I am sure was a massive international program by the world's major intelligence agencies known by modus operandi to make events happen rather than wait for them to happen ... a more effective way of controlling events it appears ... to "low-jack" as many of those they considered potential key players in future world events they wished to follow in their lives. This was no doubt a good plan that I am sure has led to many positive results, especially those relating to infiltration. You see, if those tagged fit a certain profile, then chances are that once these poor souls are prodded enough, turned as such into men hateful of a system, they will eventually find their way into all manner of organizations, for example crime syndicates, terrorist groups or they could become key players in foreign regimes. These organizations will in turn have no hiding places should push come to shove given within their ranks will be all manner of radicals, intelligent, desirable, useful members, who, unbeknownst to all, are tagged.

It is this knowledge that makes me suspect, sometimes, that not all of the instances we have witnessed to date where major terrorists were tracked to their hideouts were due to any intelligence ops by any operative, or betrayals, but simply instances when following beeps on a screen led to a big catch. Sadam Hussein, for instance, fished out of a hole by his beard, may have had the secrecy of his hideout location compromised by his tagged confidant ... one among many who got low-jacked back in the early ninenties.

I'm a modern fellow who should not be rendered down and out by a bunch of simpleton miscreants pointing directed energies at him, even by way of a cheap radio controlled lens aboard a cheap vessel blasted into the outer reaches of the earth's atmosphere using cheap explosive substances, waving cheap sollar panels for its energy ... considered highly advanced technology. They would have been left in the dust before they even began the surveillance and attacks. The tag is the only thing that has aided the fiends.

With all of this said, I fear for what will become of me, in fact of all targets of these weapons, whom I know are individuals who can make the difference, people who would change our world for the better, if a world war were to break out and we were still low-jacked. I can only hope that the inevitable transition from a period when major powers go all out with their satellite attacks to one where they have blown each other's satellites from the skies will happen before a fiend thinks to make quick work of our cases. I know that, unless I have amassed the cash required to build me a protected bunker Saddam style, I will be fried to a spot. These directed energy weapons are that powerful.