UNITED STATES—Merry-Jade cussed again. Things were not going so well after all. No matter what she did or what she wore she kept getting burnt. She could feel the needlely pricks of electric current on her stomach and chin. Her chin was now red. Her left elbow had received a couple of sharp charges, which had made her jump. Her room on the other hand, was delightful. She had set up her tech G4 aluminum laptop on the long fixed desk area under the charming arched window overlooking the almond tree orchard. This particular Artist Residency had been architecturally designed as artist’s workrooms and studios, right down to the single bed alcove in each room. Monks would kill to reside here. She tried putting a pillow, then two between her stomach and the computer, she tried wearing lots of jumpers which was annoying because it was a late summer and she liked the idea of sitting, writing all day in her bikini. When she saw herself sitting on the left side of the computer and stretching her arms across to reach the keys, craning her neck, she finally caved. What the hell was she going to do for the next six weeks!

Merry-Jade went downstairs to make a coffee. At the communal table a few of the other residents were in a lively discussion about living and working abroad. The other British girl was talking and gesticulating elaborately:

“I finally realized how Americanized I’d become when I asked the Queen of Holland for her autograph. No, I’m Serious! I then spent the next three days cringing as only a true Brit would. Technically, I had asked her to sign my program during the dinner because I saw her sign someone else’s who, I’d failed to notice, had actually been the recipient of that year’s grand award. She was… how can I put it? She had an otherworldly-like graciousness. Her kindness tumbled out with words attached, as if this type of faux pas from a subjected person was the every day. Totally remarkable, I was touched.”

There was a loud crash on the floor, sounds of shattered glass. “Oh! WHO did that!”

Everyone in the room turned towards the kitchen area: Merry-Jade had dropped the coffee jar “It’s so annoying when someone doesn’t screw the lid back on properly, what a douche.” She continued.

“What’s got you all uptight, baby?” the cornball Austrian photographer said with his ‘I’m only here to cruise sans the wife,’ voice.

“My brand new Apple G4 is burning my skin. I can feel its intensity right through to my organs. There’s no way I can sit in front of it anymore. I’ve tried everything. I can’t use it to write my next piece or prepare visuals for the show scheduled in November. I must be really sensitive to something inside that thing, maybe it’s because it’s made of aluminum, I don’t know. Does this place have a typewriter?”

“Oh my God! You guys have to come and see this. What the f*** is going on, I can’t believe it!” The other American was calling aloud from the sitting room to anyone and everyone, with such a sense of urgency and panic that everyone crowded into the room and we all watched in horror as CNN broadcasted 9/11.

Jane Gang Clean Up

In late September 2011 Merry-Jade was back in London, having sold her G4 on Craigslist she was now without a computer. She was on the mobile to a childhood friend who was going on and on about something, everything was still a blur, she wanted to go back to New York but what for, right now? She had subletted her apartment for another two weeks and anyway, there was all these reports about the toxic dust in the air around what was now called Ground Zero. She desperately wanted to be there yet so relieved that she hadn’t been there when it happened. She was a sensitive, self-obsessed type, watching “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” had given her nightmares for at least two years straight. She wanted to get off the phone her ear was burning. Suddenly, a burst of electricity surged through her head. Outwardly calm she said: “I gotta go.” And put the phone down. Something was definitely not right. Sitting there on her mother’s couch she didn’t know what to think. She felt afraid something big had happened and she hoped it would go away, that it wouldn’t take effect and change anything anymore negatively than things already were. She called her sister from the home phone, which was beginning to be more commonly called, a landline. The landscape ever changing.

“Lula, how is everything? I think my show in Chinatown has been cancelled. I haven’t heard anything from the gallery or the promoters. I’m still having problems with the electromagnetic stuff. And now my head feels like it’s been shot full of electricity from my mobile. Totally tossed up. I can’t think straight. That’s definitely IT. No more cell phones for me. How are things with you guys? How’s Vard doing, did you go upstate?”

Merry-Jade was Lula’s younger sister, half-sister, same mother. Her father had come from Trinidad in the 50s. Her mother, to the Colonials moving to Brit’n was, among other things, a Craft and he was a Test. They blazed a lot and had Merry-Jade. They celebrated life and didn’t care what other people thought of them, back then or now.

In the summer of 2003, during the heat of New York City’s Blackout August she met her own match on Ludlow. He was an actor favoring the method school, heros fluctuating between Hoffman, De Niro, Dean and Depp. Her passion was performance art, the body endurance type; Abramovic, Burden, Journiac and Pane were her timeline favorites. She worked as a VJ and often mixed in performance patterns. They were both into physical disguises. Neither of them knew that they were Traces till some years later. Traces, like everyone else, come into this world covered in a protective coating of sh*t: past and presence. They work it off, evolving by noticing. Many get too terrified of the potential responsibility: The size of the sum and of all of its parts and they slip back into unconsciousness. Others have no choice but to carry on, for they are an intrinsic part of the unfolding of the Unfold, the very first drops of the next wave pushed into being the future weave of life’s tapestry. These are the Cleaners. Mother Nature’s darlings. Merry-Jade and Dice were on their way to becoming Cleaners.

It’s getting easier to track these types because they emit a high frequency tone on all levels through all senses. And as the movement for clean conscious living: Mind, Body and Spirit is becoming more mainstream so the Traksters and their methods become more streamlined. The Game is escalating.

Tracking Cleaners and various other Resident Aliens has become a sport.

Alpha Intelligence has figured out a way to smokescreen Fun; Leisure and social time among other things is mass controlled through electric shock treatment via consumer electronics. Look around, hundreds of urbanites going about their day listening to playlists. Take a bite of the Apple. It’s an illusion. And, completely effective in using music as a distraction while earplugs administer a low dose of electric current into all these people’s brains specifically aimed into the youth. Genius. And what a bonus to have older demographics joining in, riding a Harry Potter. It’s an advertiser’s dream, tricking the punter into a false sense of pleasure while selling millions of unregulated, double-edged product. Mildly electrocuting people, civilians, this is the latest in crowd control. When swarms of civilians fill the streets, as in the Hong Kong protests of 2014, the electric shock treatment powers up through the cell providers. Ironically as people mass within a few hours to protest, electric shock timing and capacity likewise, expands and increases.

Merry-Jade was on her way to visit The Industry of Death on Sunset Boulevard. She was working in Los Angeles as part of a show at the Hollywood Bowl. Dice had told her about this museum and that it might shed some light on her own problems with electro magnetics. Here is a place that reveals the story, the history of Psychiatry. The angle is bare bone reality illuminating the widespread use of electric shock treatment by decades of quacks and inbred pats. An orgy of mutual hand jobs shook down the years from one pompous Hampton to another, in the name of fakery, trickery and human experimentation.

Scrambling people, scrambling thoughts. Electric Shock Treatment.

‘They return to clean up excessive negatives.’

Cleaners appear in different places clearing the air, opening windows. The natural world taking care of its own, organically. A feng shui on a planetary scale, clearing out the corners of darkness and stuck energy. Ancient Aliens, Angels & Cleaners are a few of their names in this Karmic Purification Program.

‘The wind-blown edges of weathered frames flaked where the day’s dust settles, collecting the silence of actions now past’.

So called, Aliens have been showing up for centuries; Government bodies and B.B. kats have been tracking them over the decades. Global Secret Services all want IN, to get a look at each one of us. The Electro Magnetic Wars fuelled by Apple, Microsoft, Nokia, Sony, Virgin to name a few churn out disposable consumer electronics under the guise of fun and leisure, feeding the troll mentality and their base desire to have a just affordable in first instant gratification.

Jane Gang Part 3
Aka The Electro Wars.

‘Tiny cracks appear in the living.’

These are the Electro Magnetic Wars.

The main casualties of this war are the elderly and the very young. Questions, questions: Alzheimer’s, Dementia, Autism all on the rise. Expansive amounts of experimentation in electric shock levels accompany massive amounts of airwave interference, so many memories to be wiped out. Akin to the wet brain of the alcoholic, stay unconscious. ‘Tiny cracks appear in the living.’

Resident Aliens who have achieved some degree of invisibility and Teleport status use perfumed and chemically derived soaps, face and body creams to confuse the Traksters; A game called Highlighting is leaving a part of their physical body covered in these ‘block’ creams like one limb or just an ear. Fluoride toothpaste can leave only the teeth visible, always a classic around Halloween. The Cleaners also have to suffer going backwards to stay undetected. Eating toxic food like ‘boil in the bag’ rice and battery farmed chicken (a bag of nerves). Throw in some alcohol and the odd prescription pill to detract, distract and dampen down. Decreasing high frequencies means moving more easily out of sight and out of range. This price tag causes total havoc on the digestive system not to mention dignity: Gas passed like a horse and shit stink like a dog. This is not a glamorous job.

On hearing a certain tone, at a continuous pitch, the Resident Aliens know that Traksters are tuning into their wavelength, looking for clues. They can feel the surging burning currents on and through their skin as they sit near laptops or near people using the updated smart phone, Traksters moving in, fucking with them.

“There are clues left everywhere.” She said to Dice as they left the theater. They had been to see ‘Home.’ People who knew them were part of this writing team league.

‘Particle the Past and leave it now besides the table.’

Dice and Merry-Jade were back together in New York City. It was 7.45 on a warm Friday night, they were about to enter Arlene’s Grocery and Merry-Jade pulled herself in close wrapping her arms in his: “I saw Jeff Buckley here about nine months before he died. That voice, here, in this tiny space. It was a moment of privilege. His Hallelujah stays the best for me and Grace shows up consistently, unexpectedly ever since, Weird. Don’t know what that’s about. I feel an intimacy every time I hear it play.”

The surround sound grew louder as the Super 8 rattled & rolled:

“I am an acousticophiliac,” she said.

“I know.”

“And I dislike being fucked by a piece of paper.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Come on,” says Merry-Jade “After all these years we’re going to Bed Sty, to my uncle’s house, you know he’s in town?

“He’s been playing at the Apollo all week.”

“Well, let’s go to the after-after party this time. That house can tell a few tales for sure, my uncle, closing IN on the Edge. Like he’s wound alive inside the notes after a show. He’s even more wired at home… buzzing for hours.”

“That’s pretty normal I’d say.”

“True, but wait till you see this, things appear and disappear in that house. It’s ragged. Sometimes he breaks through dimensions so forcibly that others can see phenomena too. Passed on spirits show up and sit on his chairs. I guess his frequencies have drawn them into a past presence existence. Kitty says Francis shows up on the same green armchair multiple nights, after his concerts, no one dares sit on that chair now. Let’s go see if this is one of those nights.” Back out on the street they hail a cab.

Merry-Jade hugs and kisses her sister, Lula as friends and family pass through the hallway to say hi to her uncle.

They hear Kell talking up a storm in the kitchen: “…All I can say is, no one died from eating a peanut butter sandwich when I was a kid”

Meanwhile, over in Hell’s Kitchen, Vard and Archie are back at work slouched over monitors. Archie reads aloud: “When Cleaners reach their highest frequency they can at times, achieve invisibility status. A few can teleport.” There was a pause “Do we have a name for this yet?”

Einstein said: ‘We better believe that this is a friendly universe’.


Look for the Book, on its way:  ‘Pianos from Heaven.’ (Working title)

By Jane Gang