A sequence
Comment
A sequence is first and foremost about a short part, which I remember from the beginning of the situation, where I was influenced with these influences. That part indicates that these criminals can have known about me from my childhood. But I cannot be sure about that. February 14, 2016.
A sequence
What I write about in this text, is vague. Something indicates that it can be correct. If it had been clear as the sun in a cloudless sky, as if it had happened yesterday, clearer than everything else I remember, beyond all doubt; then it typical could have be a memory hallucination. This is not like that, and therefore it can be something correct with it. However, it is other difficulties regarding this. This is something I remember from the beginning, when these influences were done against me. Immediately after I have been influences of this drug, or these drugs, my memory can have been influenced and changed. But this has been in my thoughts for some months now, and I think there is something or other, with this.
It is first that I am in a corridor in the top of the building, in 1976. I cannot remember why I am there. I can have been working nearby, and been asked to come and look at something. Or, it can have been something I had to do in the corridor. There were different people in the corridor, and one of them said that one person inside one of the offices there, wanted to talk with me. And I went in to talk with him.
Inside that office, it is a short sequence, which vaguely has appeared in my memory. I cannot remember what happened before or afterwards.
The person asked me where I grew up. I told him where it was. He answered that he knew that place. It was a do‐it‐yourself builder fellowship with row houses, by working people from a large shipbuilding yard in Oslo at that time. There were many of these row houses. He asked if it was we, who lived in the edge of these row houses. I answered yes. He said that then he knew who I am, and that he, then knew what he should do. This was in 1976.
This can be everything. It can be true. And it can be something which only shall give me a feeling about something like this. It is impossible for me to be sure about such things.
▪
Here is a picture of me from my birthday party in 1962, when I was seven years old. I am together with some of the other children in the neighborhood. I had been at one of the other’s birthday party, some months earlier. I was the oldest of them, we had been together for many years. Together we gradually had seen how the hoses become finished. Other children nearby were older than me, they went to school, and therefore I didn’t see them so much. These children talked to me now and then, and were kind to me. This was a place where I liked to be.
My birthday was at June 8, 1962. I have a picture of that my mother’s mother visits us at June 20, 1962. I remember that she wanted, that I should be together with her at the mountain pasture. I didn’t like that. But I had to. That was against my will. I had liked to be there together with my parents. Together with my parents I also traveled to my father’s family, and other places.
When I had been together with my mother’s mother that summer, she in the end of the summer vacation, talked to me about that my friend’s father was something very bad. I didn’t like that either. But she talked about it in a way which was, that I had to believe in what she said, because she knew what she talked about. I didn’t understand anything about it.
I think that when I come home, I tried to talk to my friend about this, and after that, no one wanted to be together with me any more. When I started school everything become very mentally painful for me, but I didn’t understand anything about why.
This was about that my friends father was communist, that was common at that place. At the shipbuilding yard workers had lend a hand to sabotage against the occupying power during the Second World War, and workers had been randomly killed. This was only a few years earlier, at that time in 1962. To talk bad against these peoples, was understood as very malicious. The communists were popular in Norway after the Second World War, because they had fought so hard for our freedom, against the occupying power. Many of them were killed. Their idea about that all humans are equal, is neither something to think bad about them for.
I think people’s thoughts about these things have been messed up. People had a complicated understanding about these things. People looked at different ideas which they thought about and talked about. People could typical have contradictory views about these things, and it could be something difficult for people to deal with.
It seems like my mother thought, that no one wanted to be together with me, because I was too clever. And she said to me that it was possible to be too clever, and because of that, no one wanted to be together with me. That was when I should learn the alphabet. I didn’t learn the alphabet during the compulsory schooling, my teacher at school also helped to reach that goal.
While growing up I had strong mental pains, but I didn’t understand why. When I came to my father’s parents at Christmas in 1962, I had been so thin that my grandparents hurried to the shop and bought a plate, a bowl, and cutlery to me as Christmas present, and they said that I had to eat more. I think that helped a little. I liked to use these things when I ate.
All the summers I had to be together with my mother’s mother. When my parents traveled away, I cried, but my parents didn’t see that. My mother’s mother nag all the time to get me to laugh.
This division of my life into two parts while I was growing up, took me away from my contact with my parents. I didn’t talk with anybody about these things, while I was growing up. I was 100% alone with it.
I think it is likely, that these criminals, who use mind control, have influenced my mother’s mother. But I don’t know anything about that. She was a kind person, who had some simple one‐sided ideas. There were much anti‐ communistic propaganda at that time. She was a helpful person, who wanted to be kind to others. She had had a son who died of pneumonia when he was two years old. She lived with her farm animals and wild animals in the wilderness. I had much fun at the mountain pasture; together with my mother’s mother, there were other children to play with, and many funny things to do.
I was taught by my parents to see things from different sides. My mother told me that it could be something good in different ideas, that people had good intentions with their different ideas.
All I have written about here, is very vague. There is something or other, with it. But it is difficult for me to be sure about what I have written about here. It is something very indistinct.
Sunday, February 14, 2016, David H. Hegg