a reply to:
ATSGUY
I'm trying to find information on the build and seed mindsoldier experiments project in Provo, Utah, at Provo Canyon School, at least between the
year 2007 and 2010, funded and ran by a man named Kevin Raff who used to work with the Department of Defense in spying and surveilance before becoming
so interested in "helping bad kids". They ruined my life, I'm going to bring them down. And everyone like them and the WWASPS. If you know anything
I'd sure as hell appreciate it. Here's the following intel from a couple contacts of mine in an interaction between me and my old "therapist". The
whole thing was just a front though. I wasn't even sure how to begin; he was weird back then. The whole place was weird. I wasn't sure if he was
foe, but I felt a need to confront him about everything they did to us. What I discovered blew my mind.
John: "Hey Dave. Long time no see. How's life?"
Dave: "John, This was sitting in my file for a long time so i never saw it until today. I'm great! Where are you? How are you doing?"
John: "I'm in Alaska. I wasn't doing too good for a while, but I'm better now........I think I should talk to you about something. This is pretty
serious for me, and you should know that I don't blame you. Provo Canyon School messed me up; a lot of horrible things happened there, and after I
left it affected me quite a bit. I have a few good memories, but by and large what I remember is the yelling and screaming, the hours spent sitting
criss cross applesauce in a concrete room, the way kids would pretend to go insane in hopes of finally being sent somewhere else. And I remember my
number, 204, from the notes and attendance lists and my clothes and books, some of which I still have. I hate the reminder every time I see it. It was
a frightening and oppressive environment, and maybe you didn't know this. You just worked there and so I can see how that's a different experience
than living there 24/7 for years. But I was too naive/innocent back then to know any better; to know that when you strip a child of any control of
their surroundings thousands of miles away from their loved ones, that they can get kinda messed up.
Before I arrived, I was at the Springville facility. Before Springville, I was in FYF Detention Facility. Before FYF I was in North Star. Before North
Star I was at Fahrenkamp. After Provo I was at the Boys and Girls Home, and after that I was in foster care, and after that, I was sixteen and I was
finally able to go home and found out my parents hadn't received the SOS letters I sent from Utah.
Before all of it, when I was twelve years old, I threw a temper tantrum after being bullied one too many times at middle school, and in my fit I
blurted I wanted to kill everyone. It was just a tantrum, but I was expelled and facing charges of terroristic threats.
Something horrible has happened to the world, Dave. And it started all those years ago, even before December 19th, 2007; the day I was first taken
from my family. It's kind of an anniversary now. It's so strange looking back on ones life and seeing how everything lead to what it has become.
Things weren't so great, but I'm better now, because I know what I have to do. I learned to take the pain, the anger; all those horrible memories,
and channel it into a force for good, and make sure that what happened to me doesn't happen to any other kid ever again. Kids need to be allowed to #
up and make mistakes. In this day and age though, a school yard tussel will get a kid jail time, and wearing dark clothing is a sure fire red flag
that a child is becoming junkie and will be dead in the streets within a year without the generous help of people like Provo Canyon School. If the
price is right of course. Today, kids aren't allowed to explore for themselves and aren't allowed enough room to make mistakes and are too often
nowadays shipped off for someone else to parent.
I've done my homework on the WWASPS, and I believe they must be stopped. Here's a great book you should read: "Help At Any Cost: How The Troubled
Teen Industry Cons Parents and Hurts Kids" by Maia Szalavitz.
I bought 25 hardcover copies because I'm flying to the Capital in February of 2015 to expose the WWASPS to various senators and policy makers as a
representative of the Alaska Youth Policy Summit (YPS).
I did it once before but they must not have received the message or I didn't make a big enough impression, so I plan to make sure neither happen this
time by doing it as 204, and supplying all the resources they need to get them started.
After I finally came home, things were a bit of a shock for me. My friends from before had moved away, some had died, the ones that remained looked
all grown up, their voices weird. I could touch the ceiling in my house whereas the last time I had been there I couldn't even brush it when I
jumped. The small farm town wasn't so small anymore due to increased activities on the missile defense base; it was more of a military town now.
I tried highschool but I dropped out after about five days due to the immaturity levels, got my GED, got a job, quit my job, and became a firefighter
because I finally realized what was missing: I needed danger and chaos to feel normal again. I'd grown used to it in Utah; having to look over my
shoulder and sleep with one eye open on the occasions I was able to sleep at all without a flashlight being shined in my face every fifteen minutes. I
took to fighting wildfires with the DOF like # on velcro.
In some ways it helped, but in a different way it sort of triggered a posttraumatic stress response in me where I started getting obsessed with
training for any eventuality I could think of because I was scared to death of ever being hurt again, of ever being a victim.
I did wildland firefighting, volunteer firefighting, even a brief stint in fire forensics and Hazmat/WMD (Weapons of Mass Destruction) response.
Eventually it wasn't enough though. Sure there was danger, but things were too controlled, we were too professional and so the risks were in reality
very minimal as they should be.
I started running away and hitchiking to the city approximately 100 miles north; South Cushman. I heard it's a rough place around one in the morning.
Off and on for a few months I'd walk the streets; telling myself that I'm watching out for people but really I was just trying to prove to myself
that I was "enough". I took down a lot of nasty people of varying classes of society; mostly drunks, the rare occasion that something big was going
down with the Russian mafia or a drug trafficking semi truck. But even that didn't really do it for me; I had too much training. These low life punks
weren't enough of a challenge. I still did it though mainly for the relationships I had made; members of the occupy homeless folks in the park,
random strangers that I'd helped out, or drunkards I'd offered to walk back home to make sure no one took advantage of their weakened condition.
All the while digging into the Tough Love/Troubled Teen Industry and counting the dead bodies left in their wake. Making my stomach churn and my blood
boil. (contd next)