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 Post subject: '70s comic book writer on radio...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 15, 2006 7:39 pm 
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Location: Ann Arbor, MI
I wrote Vampirella stories in the early '70s; my first story was in #5; I wrote the series in #s 17-21. I was interviewed on the internationally syndicated X-Zone radio show on January 3, 2006. You can still listen by going to the shows archives and scrolling to this year's first show...

http://www.xzone-radio.com/archives.html

Click on the blue letters PLAY NOW, at the right of this episode:

"Tuesday, January 3, 2006 - T Casey Brennan - The man who claims to have been one of the shooters from the Texas Book Depository who shot at President Kennedy when he was a child, talked about his part in the JFK assassination and the brain control that he was under. A former top notch comic book creator and illustrator, T Casey Brennan is now homeless trying desperately to get away from his past and to create a new life and future"

There's also a full biography on me in FOLLOWING CEREBUS #6, just released, and available at comic shops and Tower Records outlets internationally...see URL at...

http://spectrummagazines.bizland.com/fccurrent2.chtml

Best,

T. Casey Brennan

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 25, 2006 11:13 am 
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The X-Zone interview is no longer up; but fans can still listen to an interview with me online by going to THIS site...

http://www.annarboralive.com/A3Radio/Hydro/scripts.html

Best,

T. Casey Brennan

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 25, 2006 11:52 pm 
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Welcome to TVNL, Mr. Brennon...

Take a look around the place. The administrator has a radio show and is a fine writer. Explore the forums and, when you feel like it, please take part in our discussions.

How'd you find this site?

Catherine

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That other party, they work for people who don't need help.
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PostPosted: Wed Jul 26, 2006 8:22 am 
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Yes, T. Casey Brennan, I would love to hear more!

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 02, 2006 6:45 pm 
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Catherine & Dori -- Awfully sorry not to reply before now. Either of you, please feel free to email me directly at tcaseybrennan2002@yahoo.com -- to be brief, I'm a has-been comic book writer from the 1970s. In 1996 - now TEN YEARS AGO -- I began writing a series of CONJURELLA stories, alleging my own, and my late parents', unwilling involvement in the JFK assassination. Right now, I'm HOMELESS...there's a story about it at:

http://www.homelessdave.com/tt20060407tcaseybrennan.htm

With these developments, I've been spending more time trying to resestablish my career than trying to present my JFK account. I'd love to be on the radio program. Anyone who wants that -- all they have to do is ask. Thanks for your interest.

New photo of me...

Image

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 02, 2006 7:53 pm 
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Casey, try this link to Jesse's radio show: live@tvnewslies.org

It's the link for comments, questions, and suggestions. He might be interested in your story.

Good luck!

Catherine

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"Behind every great fortune lies a great crime."
Honore de Balzac

"Democrats work to help people who need help.
That other party, they work for people who don't need help.
That's all there is to it."

~Harry S. Truman


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PostPosted: Wed Aug 02, 2006 8:10 pm 
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Catherine wrote:
Casey, try this link to Jesse's radio show: live@tvnewslies.org

It's the link for comments, questions, and suggestions. He might be interested in your story.

Good luck!

Catherine
All right, Catherine. Thank you. I've just emailed this:

Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2006 16:05:44 -0700 (PDT)
From: "T. Casey Brennan" <tcaseybrennan2002@yahoo.com>

Subject: I would be interested in your show reporting on my JFK statements.
To: live@tvnewslies.org

I would be interested in your show reporting on my JFK
statements.

I have made statements in my stories on my own, and my
family's unwilling involvement in the JFK
assassination.

Some pages about me, mostly JFK oriented...

Celebrity Homeless List w/my name, plus fan pages
about me...

http://www.angelfire.com/stars4/lists/homeless.html

This is a comic book oriented fan page with the
trenchcoat photo:

http://www.darkelfdesigns.homestead.com/mkultra02.html

This is my column at Popimage:

http://www.popimage.com/industrial/conj ... 92204.html

This is a Canadian JFK page with the trenchcoat photo
cropped:

http://www.angelfire.com/me/carcano

This is from The Konformist magazine:

http://www.konformist.com/mkkafe/tcasey/tcasey.htm

This is from a professor at the University of Rhode
Island; no photo:

http://karws.gso.uri.edu/JFK/Conspiracy ... ennan.html

Satanic Reds T. Casey Brennan fan page...satire of
Hare Krishnas; has trenchcoat photo wreathed in
flowers:

http://www.geocities.com/tcb_sr

Anathema Research's original T. Casey Brennan archive
reposted with new material by the Mind Control
Forums, but no photo:

http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/tc/tcasey.html

This is the NEW TCB fan page, with Clinton document,
but no photo:

http://pw1.netcom.com/~mthorn/0brennan.htm

Best,

T. Casey Brennan





http://www.annarboralive.com/A3Radio/Hydro/scripts.html
http://www.homelessdave.com/tt20060407tcaseybrennan.htm
http://sideshow.libsyn.com/index.php?post_id=37990
http://sideshow.libsyn.com/index.php?post_id=34595
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T._Casey_Brennan
http://www.music.us/education/T/T.-Casey-Brennan.htm
http://www.wikipedia.infostar.cz/d/da/dave_sim.html
http://dmoz.org/Arts/Comics/Creators/B/ ... _T._Casey/
http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/l/longuard.htm
http://www.pacificsites.com/~lakenews/L ... ella.shtml
http://www.blonnet.com/2005/10/13/stori ... 740900.htm
http://danielfry.com/index.php?id=1905
http://paragonfin.net/Gate/LiberationCh ... 69458.html
http://angelfire.com/zine2/warrenverse/MK_Ultra.html
http://www.a2planet.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=32
http://www.a2planet.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=31

But what is the point, really? I wrote these stories TEN YEARS AGO. Since then, my life has been destroyed, I've been hit by a car, and I've been made homeless. The recent past has been a process of establishing this punkrock band motif, and re-entry into the comic book industry. They don't want to hear my JFK account again. You'll see. But thanks for your interest. -- T. Casey Brennan

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 06, 2006 10:38 pm 
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I believe as the Bush administration becomes more clear in the minds of Americans, they see that things are not what they have been touted to be. And along with that, I believe I hear more people interested in just what DID happen to JFK.

You could get more interest than you imagine!

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 09, 2006 7:32 pm 
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dori wrote:
I believe as the Bush administration becomes more clear in the minds of Americans, they see that things are not what they have been touted to be. And along with that, I believe I hear more people interested in just what DID happen to JFK.

You could get more interest than you imagine!


Myspace people are starting to list JFK figure/comic book writer T.
Casey Brennan as their "Hero" -- two examples:

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fu ... d=42061267

http://www.myspace.com/kristilyn3

Two examples of old T. Casey Brennan comics online...

http://www.a2planet.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=32

http://www.a2planet.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=31

The original JFK story that started it all -- in case you forgot:

Castle Mirage - The Prelude: Conjurella
by T. Casey Brennan

(c) 2006 by T. Casey Brennan

This is the story of little mice. David Ferrie's mice.
No, this is the story of Conjurella, and her daughter,
Glinda; they were both there when I first met David
Ferrie in Ohio, at the Old covered Bridge; so were
Mama and Daddy and Uncle Johnny. Everyone is dead now,
except me, and, I think, Glinda, so there is no one to
ask. But I think it must have been the summer of 1953.
I started school in September of 1953 at Swamp School
on Bricker Road in Emmett, Michigan; a one-room school
on a gravel road which boasted my late mother as the
CEO of its Board; it was sometime around then that the
meeting at the Old Covered Bridge took place.

It looked something like a covered wagon, over a small
stream through a narrow road cutting through fields
and brush that stretched on forever. This was 1953.
The only war we might have lost had been over for less
than a decade. Oh-ess-ess was a whisper that lingered
in the air; a song that was over, yet the melody
haunted us. War measures meant many things to those
caught in the web of that whisper, oh-ess-ess, so
softly spoken, a love song, a lullaby, a death threat.
I don't remember, but I think that whisper was in the
air when we first met David Ferrie. Uncle Johnny
helped arrange it; Uncle Johnny said he was a finder.
Daddy and Uncle Johnny park the car right on the
bridge, and get out "to take a walk" -- there is
something on the car radio, or maybe Daddy and Uncle
Johnny tell us, about "two escaped convicts" believed
loose in that area. Mama and Conjurella get in the
front seat. Glinda and I are in the back seat. Has
MK-ULTRA begun yet? They must have given me some of
the amnesiac hypnotic drug that Dr. E, the hypnotist
whose work formed the basis for Mama's obsession with
hypnosis as noted in Castle Mirage, would later fore
on me in a more conventional setting. Glinda is my
age, she is five. she sees the Perfect soldier, David
Ferrie, standing guard. Everyone has told me: "Don't
see that soldier," but Glinda says, "He Sees that
soldier."

David Ferrie uses his O.S.S. code name, Perfect
Soldier. I don't remember how I know that. He assumes
battle stances, brandishes his rifle, and threatens
the children with rape. but it is Conjurella who is
raped, by the "escaped convicts" who inevitably appear
as David Ferrie looks on. Glinda and I are spared,
and, I think, so is Mama. But I was too still in that
back seat throughout the attack, too oblivious to what
was happening - they had used something akin to Dr.
E's "red lollipops", a favorite drug ploy of the
MK-ULTRA hypnotist who would some day send the Perfect
Soldier on a mission to kill John Kennedy.

I have the Brass Monkey, I think Uncle Johnny gave it
to me. I don't know if it had anything to do with the
OSS. It's not brass all the way through, and it says
"Germany" on the bottom, not "Deutchlann" - Germany.

David Ferrie is hard to remember.

I said I went to Swamp School, that was for my first
and second grades. In the third grade, I started
parochial school, Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Parish
School, also in Emmett. That was in September of 1955.
I attended Our Lady of Mt. Carmel for my third,
fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. Daddy, who had always
had intermittent violent fits, accusing my mother of
an extra-marital affair (and me, of being the
offspring of a local handyman from Texas, Frank
Tilton) was on his best behavior through that period.
He had been elected, or appointed, I forget which, to
a position on the St. Clair County Board of Education,
to match my mother's, on the Swamp Board. I am trying
hard to be a Catholic religious sissy, worrying about
mortal sin, telling me priest in confession about my
Brigitte Bardot pin-ups, and studying prayerbooks. But
in the summer of 1959, after my sixth-grade year,
Daddy got in trouble. Getting out of it involved using
his family "in hypnotic experiments".

That was how we met Dr. E. And how we all met David
Ferrie again. Keep going north on M-19, and you will
reach Yale, Michigan, a tiny town with its own tiny
airport. David Ferrie, Who is calling himself David
Ferris by then, flew into the Yale airport in he
pre-dawn hours to meet with my Dad, and follow behind
us in a car, as we drove farther north, to Hopeville,
to meet the hypnotist, Dr. E. There was no doubt about
it; we were in custody.

My Dad is introduced, and he extends his hand to David
Ferrie/Ferris and says "I attended to Ferris Institute
in Big Rapids..." He stresses the word Ferris; he
knows he is in trouble and he is looking for something
that will give him an edge conversationally. but there
is to be no conversation. A committee of MK-ULTRA
agents roughly hustle him back to his car. Back in the
car, he tells Mama: "We're cooked. This is the same
guy Johnny took us to meet".

My memories of Doctor E are very sketchy, and they are
not always easily rendered sequential. I know that at
some point, through the use of amnesiacs so we would
have no recollection of the more threatening
encounters, he gained our trust, although it is
important to remember that it was as difficult
remembering just what had taken place previously with
Dr. E then, as it is now.

I know that at one point, Daddy was in Dr. E's office,
and Mama and I were in the waiting room, and Dr. E
came out and said, "I want to see how fast you can eat
a red lollipop," and handed us two red candies, which
caused us both to pass out immediately; I only vaguely
remember us being carried limply into his private
office, and that, only after over three decades.

We went up north in August of 1959 on a trip, and I
started back to school in September, at the old Swamp
School again, and it was around then that I met Lee
through Dr. E. Lee flew into the Yale airport with
David Ferrie; I was always afraid of David Ferrie, but
I was never afraid of Lee. He did not know about the
threatening circumstances of our initial meetings with
Dr. E and David Ferrie. He said that Dr. E was going
to give him "almost god-like powers", and that he was
doing "something important for the government". He
said he was going on a trip, but he would be back to
see me every so often. He spoke of great authority
that he would have on his return, and his explanations
of that coming authority vacillated between the
governmental and the mystical.

I saw Lee only a very few times, and one of the
memories of that era is an implant, because Dr. E.
shoved me up against his screen, as I'll describe
later, and said, "You're going to meet Lee Oswald
again at swamp School, but this time it won't be
real." the meeting that was real is sketchy. I don't
remember how he got there, but I remember he was
standing at the very edge of the road, telling me he
was concerned bout how I was being kicked around, but
he was going to do something about it. A lady who
drove by and saw us, Kathy Malarkey, was later put
into a mental institution, though I don't know if
there's a connection.

I only saw Lee the first few days of September of 1959
when I entered the seventh grade. By the time I
finished that school year, the U-2 incident had taken
place, and Dr. E told us: "Don't worry about that one.
We control both sides." On another occasion, someone
associated with David Ferrie told me that MK-ULTRA,
which was directly overseen by then C.I.A. Director
Allen "You're a Good Man, Mr. Dulles" Dulles, was in
the process of artificiaally creating a disease that
would Make the people who caught it hairless "just
like David Ferrie".

I am trying to place all this timewise; I know that in
the early days, I took home a comic book from Dr. E's
waiting room; it was in issue of Robin Hood, under the
brand Quality Comics, and several years old. By this
time, Mama and I were so disoriented by Dr. E's
sessions, that we had forgotten the early, threatening
encounters, and Mama encouraged me to leave a comic
book in the office in return, which I did, a copy of
Brave & Bold #28, an issue which introduced the
Justice League, a team of DC Comics superhereos, I was
later to have some marginal connection with DC Comics,
and my stories appear in some late 1970s issues of the
former DC title, House of Mystery.

I am also thinking that my parents may have taken
other children from the neighborhood to see Dr. E, and
I am wondering if there are any witnesses.

We do not see David Ferrie again with Dr. E, but there
are disjointed memories of meeting with David Ferrie
in my home, and in a neighbor's home, under so much
drugging that I was only dimly, barely aware that my
surroundings were real. it must have been later in his
life, not around the Old Covered Bridge meeting,
because in 1953, he still looked like a man, but by
the time these meetings took place, he was just a fat,
bald old blob. He looked something like my Catholic
godfather, Paul, who was also fat and bald, so I
asigned him the name "Bad Paul", which he liked, thouh
he always did his best to be as threatening as
possible during these meetings, though he never Laid a
hand on me.

I further remember them harassing me at a campground
outside St. Ignace, around the time of the launching
of Telstar, the first satellite to relay television
signals, which you could then see orbiting like a
shooting star. It was in August of 1962, before I
started my tenth grade year, no longer at Swamp
School, but now attending Peck High School in Peck,
Michigan. Campers, including my parents and myself,
liked to sit around a campfire, and watch Telstar. We
loved Telstar; I even had the 45rpm it inspired. but
on this particular occassion, we were discussing the
U-2. A man at the campfire said, well, Powers was just
a coward; he had a lethal injection to take if he was
shot down, he should have taken it. But one by one,
everyone, including my parents, leave the fire, and
this one man remains, and he says, the C.I.A., that
the U-2 was with, he works for them also. I say, hey,
great. He looks guilty for a second, collects himself,
and tells me the CIA has a use for me.

In October of 1962, we flew to New Orleans with David
Ferrie and Air America, as I could help with the Fair
Play for Cuba Committee very briefly. To understand
the manner in which the Hopeville MK-ULTRA office -
The Project, as I learned it was called- could be
lethal with its participants one week, and a
cooperative confidant and ally with them the next, it
will be useful to understand, by way of a comparison,
the effects of two drugs known to the general populace
today; Rohypnel and Ritalin. Rohypnel produces
unconsciousness and amnesia; Ritalin produces a very
singular one-pointedness in users allowing them to
concentrate on exactly what they are doing, and
nothing else. It is possible for a person under the
MK-ULTRA counter-parts of these drugs, combined with
hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion, to, for
instance, blithely pass out Fair Play For Cuba
Committee literature in New Orleans, without ever even
questioning how he got there, or believing that it
should be questioned. also, there are processes of
MK-ULTRA induced amnesia which make it virtually
fool-proof. In the induced trance state, the victim is
subjected to threats on his family members and
himself. He is forced to witness real or contrived
torture-killings of other human beings while in this
state. Then, he is withdrawn from the scene of this
abuse, given hypnotic commands in conjunction with
drugs, told that the abusive treatment was all
imaginary, and that he must not remember it; if he
will not remember it, it will not be real.

I remember the Fair Play For Cuba Office in New
Orleans, and I remember the Christian Anti-Communism
Crusade office on the other side of the building. I
remember asking someone, I don't remember who, but it
wasn't Lee, "Are we for or against Communists?" And he
said, "Both." and I laughed.

Anyway, Lee says the big Fair Play For Cuba campaign
was in August, and I missed it, but we pass out a few
pamphlets, and on the way back, we go into a store,
it's just the two of us, on foot, and he buys me a
candy bar, and he tells me to give them a pamphlet,
tell them you're Lee Oswald, he says, and I do. And he
laughs. Not far down the street, he stops by a tree.
He wants to talk.

He says, "I'm doing dangerous work. If anything
happens to me, I want you to take care of the family."


"Sure," I say.

But I really don't want any part of this. After we fly
back, that night, Daddy pretends to have a fit. I say
pretends, because now that I am an adult, and not
under the influences of the substances forced upon me
during the incidents, I see very well how his
threatening, seemingly erratic behavior, contributed
to the process of drug-and-hypnosis induced amnesia.
My first example of it was, in the early days of
visiting Dr. E, Daddy and I took separate pills,
voluntarily this time, on the premise that they would
help to "induce hypnosis", which, at that time, we
thought we were studying. Driving back, Mama is
crying, and I am lathargic and disoriented. I mention
the pill I took, and Daddy flips out: "I took that
pill, not you!" He stops the car and becomes more
threatening. I say to Mama: "Daddy has gone crazy."
Mama says: "This is a lot worse than Daddy going
crazy."

The incident following the flight from New Orleans was
a parallel; he began yelling "I want you to forget
that trip! You're going to forget that trip!" And I
did, again, for more than three decades.

I also forgot this:

At some point, Dr E asked if I would like to play the
shooting gallery game that he had. I said that I
would. He put me in front of a kind of television
screen with a head brace on the seat in front of it.
He says, "We don't have the gun that goes with it
hooked up yet. But when you see the cowboy shoot the
penny, you'll have good luck."

I look at the screen coming on, and he hits me with
something, I think an injection in my neck, it hurts,
and I slump. But the pictures form on the screen, and
I can hear the words through head-sets.

First there is a picture of a penny.

"SEE THE CENT WITH LINCOLN'S HEAD."

Then there is a picture of John Kennedy.

"THEN THINK OF THE SQUIRREL WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY'S
HEAD."

(Girl's chuckle.)

Girl's voice: "IT'S NOT REALLY LINCOLN. IT'S JUST A
CENT WITH LINCOLN'S HEAD."

Then there are moving pictures of a cowboy tossing a
penny into the air.

"Pop!" he shoots it with a revolver, but instantly,
the picture is of John Kennedy.

The voice says: "THINK OF THE CENT WITH LINCOLN'S
HEAD, THEN SHOOT THE SQUIRREL WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY'S
HEAD."

At another point, Dr. E shows me a whole film. It is
sometime after I have seen something on real
television, I think Disney, about the MacGregor family
of Scotland, which I liked, about all the oppression
they endured, and how, in the end, everybody stood up
for them, and they are back on top. Dr. E. tells me he
has something similar about the Fitzgerald family. I
watch it, and I only remember the ending. It's set in
the late middle ages or something, the Fitzgerald
family is put through all sorts of problems, but in
the end, there's a big crowd scene, and the speaker, a
Fitzgerald himself, has just won some major victory,
and he has everyone in the crowd with Fitzgerald blood
yell "hooray for the Fitzgeralds!" The voices start
up, and in seconds, you see that they are all over the
place in the crowd. And that's the end.

Dr. E says to Daddy: "Well, I scared him with it.
He'll be scared as hell of that story some day."

On the morning of November 22, 1963, I am awakened by
Daddy unexpectedly in the pre-dawn hours. He says we
are going to see Dr. E, then we are going on a trip. I
think he means vacation, so I say fine.

We reach the tiny Yale airport, deserted in the
pre-dawn hours, in no time. Daddy and I proceed to
David Ferries plane, where Dr. E is waiting. Dr. E
produces a hypodermic needle. His face is grim and he
is wearing a parka in the pre-dawn cold.

Now I am scared, and try to get away. I yell "I don't
want a shot!" and try to run. I know now that I m
about to be kidnapped. I am fifteen years old now, but
a pale, sickly fifteen, and I am in no shape to fight
these men for my freedom. I struggle, but Dr. E
injects me anyway, and I fall. The last thing I se
before falling is the parka-clad face of Dr. E.

When I awaken, in the storage room of the sixth floor
of the Texas Book depository building in Dallas, it is
broad daylight. They have obviously brought me in
crated up, or rolled up, in something. Anyway, I get
dumped out, and David Ferrie kicks me in the ribs, and
turns to my Dad.

"There's the assassin," David Ferrie says.

Daddy and David Ferrie make me stand agaisnt some
cartons of books, and not look around. I am groggy.
Sometimes when I would go up north to the Upper
Peninsula with Mama and Daddy, they liked to explore
abandoned buildings, places where I didn't always feel
they had a right to be. I can't remember the injection
now, and I amtrying to place just what is going on,
whether it is one of these unauthorized romps Daddy
liked to take through old buildings.

"Are we supposed to be here?" I asked, groggily.

David Ferrie laughs.

"Don't worry about that," he says, "If anybody bothers
you for being here, you send them right to me!"

Daddy and David Ferrie are laughing now, and I'm
beginning to think everything is all right. At some
point, someone has told me that I am in Dallas, where
Lee is now, and I ask to see him before we leave.

"Did you want to talk to him about comic books or
something?" David Ferrie asks.

I say yes, that I wanted to tell him about the new
Justice League comic just out, and that lee liked the
Justice League, talked about how great it was that DC
comics had brought back their old comic book series,
the Justice society, from the 1940s.

"Well, he's downstairs pushing a broom. He's down on
the second floor pushing a broom."

At some point, the lights went out. I don't know if I
was injected or dosed somehow again, or whether
post-hypnotic suggestion alone did the trick. Anyway,
a hood was placed over my head, and then part of it
pulled away and the gunsight pressed against my left
eye.

Daddy gives the hypnotic command: "WHEN I YELL NOW,
PULL THE TRIGGER."

Remembering this over three decades later, I can hear
David Ferrie saying "I don't want him to see the
gun!!" as he pulls the hood over my face.

David Ferrie says to Daddy: "Can he keep that right
eye closed? If he can't, I'll kill him."

Now that funny screen of Dr. E's, at first it said
"SHOOT THE SQUIRREL WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY'S HEAD". But
just at the last, when they made me watch it, it said
"SHOOT THE SQUIRREL WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY'S HEAD. THEN
SHOOT THE COWBOY BESIDE HIM. YOU DON'T LIKE COWBOYS
ANYMORE. YOU DON'T LIKE THIS COWBOY (Picture of
Governor Connaly in a Cowboy hat). SHOOT THE SQUIRREL
WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY'S HEAD. THEN SHOOT THE COWBOY
BESIDE HIM."

Then they lift me up, in front of the open window.

I hear the voices: "Can he get up by himself?" "Lift
him up!" "Don't let him open that eye!"

Slowly, I am lifted up, groggy and disoriented. I hear
Daddy's crying voice say: "Please don't open that
right eye, please don't open that eye, oh god, please
don't open that eye."

David ferrie says "Can you see John Kennedy on the
little screen?" My heart leaps as I see John Kennedy
in the convertible six floors below, but only through
the "little screen", i.e. the gunsight; I secretly
like John Kennedy, though Daddy hates him, and I am
glad to see him on "the little screen". But it all
happens so quickly, seeing John Kennedy and then Daddy
yells:

"NOW!"

My finger automatically contracts on what I now know
was the trigger. I have never seen the Zapruder film,
except in little glimpses. In my recollection of the
incident, this is what took place: My shot hits the
President in the chest. To my amazement, he writhes
sideways as the bullet hits. David Ferrie takes the
rifle instantly, and fires two more shots as I
collapse.

As he does, Daddy shouts: "Don't shoot Jacky, Ferrie!
Don't shoot Jackie, or I'll kill ya right now!"

David ferrie says: "Shut up, Bill!" - then, as three
more shots ring out from elsewhere on the street -
"Back-up! Good men! They could have left me hanging,
but they didn't!"

I look out the window now, but David Ferrie gives the
hypnotic command: "Don't look at the man we just
shot!"

Either Daddy or David Ferrie says: "It's the end of
the world. There's nothing but chaos out there now.
Nothing."

I am groggy and disoriented, and am trying to take
these words in a Catholic religious sense. I am
looking around for signs of a Biblical Judgement Day,
even though I cannot look toward the convertible at
all, even if I wanted to, that was how great their
power over me.

The next thing I remember is a man with glasses and a
business suit, thirtysomething, short hair and
professional-looking, entering. By now, we are all
away from the window.

I call him Ultra Subaltern.

Ultra Subaltern says, matter-of-factly: "Everything go
all right?"

David Ferrie says, "Well, Bill lost his head for a
minute, but he's all right now." Daddy had no right to
fly in David Ferrie's face like that over Jackie,
they're thinking. Daddy nods nervously.

"You'll pay for that though, Bill," David Ferrie says.


Ultra Subaltern goes to the window.

Daddy says "You're going to the window?!" Ultra
Subaltern says: "I was told to assess the situation.
One of the ways to assess is by looking. Everyone is
looking out windows now."

Ultra Subaltern leaves.

The next thing I remember is David Ferrie yelling
"There's the signal!" Immediately, we were hustled
into the hallway, with him carrying a suitcase. We
walk rapidly down to the second floor. I do not yet
know that the President has been shot, in spite of the
fact that I've just witnessed it, and participated in
it. My head is coming together a little now, and I say
groggily that I'd like to see Lee now that we're in
dallas."

"You'll see him," says David Ferrie, then: "Casey, you
never believe me on these things, but they don't even
remember you. We slipped them something. You'll see."

We see Lee in the halls of the second floor, sweeping.
I say, "Hi, Lee!" but he doesn't even look toward me.
Immedi_tely, David ferrie starts yelling at him: "I've
got some friends here and I'm telling you we're
through with you, you dumb sonofabitch, you goddamned
fairy, yeah you goddamned fairy..."

I don't remember it all, but in the end, David Ferrie
pushes Lee in the chest hard. I am embarrassed by this
hostility toward a man I intended to meet as a friend.
Lee is stoical, tight-lipped, and condescending, like
he's just barely putting up with this abuse.

During this, people run by, and a woman yells,
"Something's going on out there!"

Lee starts to walk away, and David Ferrie says, "Where
are you going?"

Lee says: "I'm going downstairs for a Coke." The
altercation with David Ferrie has prevented Lee from
learning that the President has been shot.

As Lee walks away, I step forward apologetically, and
say. "Er...uh...Lee, the new Justice League comic came
out..."

He looks at me blankly, and keeps walking. I feel my
face redden. What could I have done wrong?

I don't remember the trip back, but the next thing I
know, I was in a chair in front of a desk with Dr. E
in it. Dr. E says, "we're taking you to school. Walk
as fast as you can, and the faster you walk, the
faster you'll forget this. you'll be late, so walk up
to a girl, and tell her you went squirrel hunting,
this morning, and as soon as you do, you'll forget all
this, and the whole trip never happened."

Next I was hurrying down the halls of Peck High
School.

But this was the story of little mice, David Ferrie's
mice, that he used in his experiments while he made
the disease that would make everyone who got it bald
like him. No, this was the story of Conjurella, who
divorced Uncle Johnny, and though she wrote for a
while, I never saw Glinda again. No, this was the
story of Castle Mirage, and my mother's obsession with
hypnosis as demonstrated in this book, and how that
obsession might have come about, in an alternate
world, in a paralell time. Not what truly happened,
for that, no one knows, nor will, ever. Not truth, but
Gothic Fiction; Alice: Life, what is it but a dream?

-- The End --

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 09, 2006 7:54 pm 
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Compelling. Thank you.

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CrimsonEagle
The war to end all wars can only be fought on the front-lines of the mind.

The greatest deception they have perpetrated is that we need them. Our greatest mistake is that we believe them.


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PostPosted: Wed Aug 09, 2006 9:48 pm 
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Joined: Wed Feb 15, 2006 7:26 pm
Posts: 6
Location: Ann Arbor, MI
CrimsonEagle wrote:
Compelling. Thank you.
Here's the LAST one I did...

CONJURELLA FRANKENHEAD & THE 827 MYSTERY
Or HOW THE WONDER WOMAN GIRL LOOKED by T. Casey Brennan

This is the story of the music of the abominations.

This is the story of 827, which was a magical place where you simply could not fall off your skateboard, no matter how bad you were, or how hard you tried, where the men were all punk rockers, where the girls were all wonders of the defiant culture of the 21st century, as radiant, bold, and inexplicable as the newschoolers code of art which they followed.

This is a skateboarding story about how I joined a band and got hit by a car, and another story about how I sold my soul to the devil. In the 1970s, I had written Vampirella stories now immortalized in the 1992 Harris Publications trade paperback, VAMPIRELLA: TRANSCENDING TIME & SPACE. I did not create Vampirella, but rather, inherited her from the late Archie Goodwin, who had infused an initially satirical comic with overtones of Lovecraft, a "Cult of Chaos" which mimicked the black magic cult of pulp fiction, a cult some swore, was real.

Long ago, great serpents we now call dinosaurs ruled the earth. As we all know from reading comic books and various hippie religious scriptures, these did not all die out before man appeared. So, in those days, when both man and serpent walked the earth, the legend of Solomon appeared, claimed by both believers in god, and black magicians. And Solomon banished them in a day and a night, telling them, "After these signs, you may return. First the crucifixion of the Christ, then the stoning of the prophet, then the revelation of the golden tablets, then plague shall sweep the Earth, then shall man's reign upon the world be ended, then shall the old ones return. Then shall they come forth from the old places, then shall they swoop down from the skies, then shall they spew forth in slime from the earth, then shall they come up from the sea. Then shall their serpent yearning be ended; then shall they rule eternal."

Some of the great serpents fled to the stars, some went into the great caverns of the earth, some went into Einsteinian paralell worlds, always to yearn for the day that they would return and take back their ancestral home. They are gone, but not gone, and when they return, their absence shall be but a moment. It shall seem that they were always here, that they never left, like an errant lover that returns to our welcoming arms. As we all know, sometimes they are far beneath the surface, but sometimes in the Earth only inches beneath our feet, yearning, always yearning, to claw up, to return, to reclaim their serpent glory. As we all know, they lurk in dark, secret places, waiting.

So the Vampirella series had tied my name irrevocably to the Lovecraftian pulp mythos, and, knowing that, I had played that card in the late 1990s, as I began writing a series of autobiographical stories that would allege my own, and my family's, unwilling association with the JFK assassination, under the direction of the CIA's now outlawed and exposed MK-ULTRA program. The first of the stories, called CONJURELLA, can be found at:

http://www.geocities.com/avalard/brenna ... rella.html

Though devoid of occult references, it had been followed by a host of sequels, all recalling the pseudo-Lovecraftian philosophy which my past association with Vampirella had validated. And suddenly, my comic book work of the 1970s had taken on a new importance, as I booked such varied appearances as the Motor City Comic Con in Novi, Michigan and the X-Zone nationally syndicated radio program.

So on February 1st, 2003, in one world, I was heading for an 8:00 pm appointment, at 5:00 pm, with the 1990s Ann Arbor underground band, Frankenhead, where the extra time could be utilized for further planning on the Frankenhead CD we had planned, with me, the comic book writer in a state of lateral expansion, doing cover vocals for rock classics. In another world, I was painfully early to see Frankenhead guitarist Jim McGee, he would not be home, or consider it an imposition to come just after 5:00 for an appointment at 8:00 pm.

But in still another world, which was the real one, I was struck by a car at 5:00 pm on Washtenaw, as I entered Ypsi on foot. I was hurled through the air and knocked to the pavement, regaining consciousness only as I was being taken into an ambulance. Had I been on a skateboard, and had mastered the ability to push off, I would have cleared her left front bumper in time. But, in the real world, I had time only to make one leap before her hood caught me in the abdomen in mid-air.

A long time ago, on another trip, before everything happened in Dallas, before I was ever a comic book writer, when Mama and Daddy were still alive, we went to Detroit. We didn't go to Detroit very often, since we lived in the country in Avoca, Michigan, so it was a big trip. My late parents were paragons of The Peter Principle in action. The Peter Principle, from a how-to-succeed-in-business paperback, said that people are always promoted to a position they can't quite handle, then stay there. So, while living a life of rural poverty, my late parents both became nationally known authors and local school board officials.

So it must have been before the Kennedy assassination that we made the trip to Detroit to see the doughnut place, since Mama and Daddy were still nice, which they weren't, for long, after Dr. E got a hold of them. Dr. E had used both my parents, known to the world as paperback author Alice Brennan, and St. Clair County, Michigan, Board of Education member, William James Brennan, for his experiments. Dr. E had pills for us all to take, they were bad pills that made us either pass out or think we could do whatever we wanted. Eventually, they made Mama and Daddy as bad as Dr. E himself, but that hadn't happened yet.

So we all went to Detroit to see the doughnut place. We lived in the country then, and sometimes, at night, we could look into the distance and see a dim glow, almost like a sunset. Daddy looked at that glow once, and said "That's Detroit!". And it was.

The doughnut place covered, I think, three floors. A big sign on the wall said: "The optimist sees only the doughnut; the pessimist sees only the hole."

We kept going back - I don't know why, and my dad got to like the guy who owned it. Or maybe he knew him to begin with, I don't remember which.

So in the other trip, the new trip, I had been hit by the car after months of preparations for a kind of merger with Frankenhead. Initially, I had intended only a horror comic book based on the band's name. Jim McGee and I had produced ashcan editions of a FRANKENHEAD comic, reminiscent of my old Warren stories, posted in part, at:

http://www.geocities.com/frankenheadlives

Warren was the publisher of CREEPY, EERIE, and VAMPIRELLA - the latter, best known for a 1996 made-for-television movie starring Talisa Soto and Roger Daltrey of The Who.

But at the May 2003 party, at the Novi Doubletree Hotel, Jim and I performed a karaoke rendition of WILD THING on stage. Everyone loved it, and everyone knew of the tie-in to the collectors item comics I had autographed all week-end. Ironically, though now penniless and unemployed, fans flocked to dealers tables at that convention, bringing me a variety of items to autograph, paying as much as twenty dollars for items ranging from vintage Warren comics containing my work, to the more recent trade paperback, VAMPIRELLA: TRANSCENDING TIME & SPACE, by T. Casey Brennan and Steve Englehart.

But May had brought an end to my stay with FRANKENHEAD, and I found myself taken in by the magical commune known as 827. Those early weeks had found me barely able to walk after being hit by the car, and sometimes I had to be helped to my feet. But at other times, I was able to stand on a skateboard in 827's deep carpet and do knee-bends, or do drift warily down 827's inclined sidewalk, still unable to turn or push off - capable only in my stance and my ability to stay on. In better days, I had spread my legs instantly in a karate stance, once, at a party, while bailing. But at 827, I had taken my only fall not on my feet, from a skateboard - I fell into an upholstered chair, in a sitting position.

That was the magic of 827. 827 was an aura, a bold reflection of a culture somehow both sociopathic and ethical, a culture where skateboarding was a revolutionary act, where "goth" had become a subculture, not the vague cross-section of shoppers who had purchased my Vampirella comics, and my late mother's gothic novels in decades past. It was one such novel, CASTLE MIRAGE by Alice Brennan, that had been reprinted in Leicester by a company known both as Ulverscroft and F.A. Thorpe, that launched the CONJURELLA autobiographical series in which I alleged my own, and my late parents' unwilling involvement in the Kennedy assassination. Propelling me back into the public eye, I launched into a variety of convention appearances, radio interviews, and write-ups in fan publications and websites, including the Austin, Texas rock magazine SALT FOR SLUGS, which included me in their Winter 1998 issue.

So this was how it all ended. The day before the black-out, 827 closed and I was never to see it again. Instead, on August 14, 2003, I sat on a porch with Jim McGee of FRANKENHEAD in a darkened Ypsilanti, not far from where I had been hit by a car. A kind of glowing fog hung low on the darkened streets, and roaming bands of dazed zombies walked about aimlessly with flashlights. Always the band's composition was the same - white youths, a pretty girl in the lead, and seven to eight able-bodied male companions. All this, of course, had followed a day of unbearable heat, and a sky glowing unnaturally reddish-purple, almost ultraviolet in its hue, but somehow beyond that in its odd blasphemy of sunlight.

As the night wore on, the bands become more hostile, and, as I sat on the porch and watched, flashlight wars would develop with repetitive shouts of "Take that flashlight off of me!" and "Not until you do!". All of that, and 827 was no more.

And, in the old times, the nice doughnut man closed up forever. Then Mama and Daddy made a deal with Dr. E, like I said in CONJURELLA, and they got me involved like a stooge passing out right-wing pamphlets in Peck High School, in Sanilac County, Michigan, then they drugged me and kidnapped me and made me fire first from the Texas School Book Depository Building in Dallas. Later, I wrote about it, and started autographing my old comic books like I hadn't done since the '70s, then, at last, entered the magical commune of 827.

And then, long afterward, I went to visit the man who had begun it all, who had begun 827. The Wonder Woman girl was there, and this was how she looked:

The Wonder Woman girl wears a veneer of intellectuality like Wonder Woman's secret identity, Diana Prince. It is not that it is not genuine, it is only that it conceals, but for a moment, an exquisite delicacy of features, a lithe form, a face adorned with a wavy curl of dark hair that falls down upon her face on the right, though her hair is pulled back and tied. Somehow, that one strand of hair has burst loose, and now adorns her. As the evening progresses, more and more strands of dark wavy hair join their lustrous companion, and it is a slow motion cascade, as, one by one, the strands fall along the side of her face.

The End

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