The idea that perhaps notorious abuser of hypnosis-and-therefore-human-beings David Jacobs is part of a covert MK Ultra-style operation has come up a number of times in the past, and again recently in private with some friends. Here’s my feeling on it….
I can’t think of a reason that any agency would still be doing experiments with hypnosis. It’s been around forever. You’d think they’d have figured out its uses and limitations by now, or at least figured out a way to do clinical experiments like normal scientists without having to go all evilly rogue. Plus, now that psychotronic “nonlethal” weapons exist, the notion of seeing if you can control people through hypnosis seems quaint.
I think it’s more likely that Jacobs and all his troubling, delusional colleagues have just made themselves a little bubble in which they thought they were untouchable. If you write protocols for proper hypnosis techniques in a book and challenge naysayers to debate the usefulness of hypnosis, then you seem like you’re on the up and up–and like there are two sides to the debate. Perhaps there were two sides decades ago, but in 2014 the results are in and… hypnosis is unreliable as a memory retrieval tool. There’s not another side to that. Anyone who tells you differently is either uninformed or lying to you.
But, this is ufology, so facts be damned. If you’re in the bubble and such a narcissist that you forget you’re completely full of shit, then you start to believe your own press and you slip up. You give the recordings of your hypnosis sessions to your subjects–because what are they going to do to harm you? They’re your friends. You’re their hero. You’ve helped them fight alien invaders. They’ve cried in front of you, been at their most vulnerable with you. They look up to you. They jockey for position as your favorite. And if they behave otherwise–if they snap out of it or grow up–you’ll call them crazy and everyone will believe you because you wrote the protocols, after all, and you’re great pals with anyone they’d complain to in the industry.
Ignore the Emma Woods of the world and they’ll go away or be silenced by your colleague-friends who won’t give real whistle blowers the time of day. David Jacobs had that luxury until podcasting happened. Just like Billy Meier never had the internet or photoshop to contend with when he put models on string, Jacobs never had podcasting to contend with, where uncontrollable elements outside his circle of friends could get a hold of his audio and expose it to the world.
The bubble has popped, folks. He can’t cover anything up anymore because we fall out of the jurisdiction of his cottage industry buddies. And I don’t just mean Jeff Ritzmann and I–I mean podcasters and internet radio hosts in general. There will always be those podcasters who carry his torch in the hopes of being validated by him and his friends in the field–but that’s not the point. The point is, his audio is out there now. He’s exposed. And he can’t undo it. Ever.
The fact that his friends are still covering for him and he’s still lecturing tells me he’s not part of any government or military conspiracy. If he were his handlers would have done something more sensible–like withdraw him after the operation had been compromised.
No, this asshole is O.J. Simpson writing a book called If I Did It and smirking his way through 20/20 and 60 Minutes interviews. He’s part of the internal ufological conspiracy to keep what should be an important study of the unknown a ridiculous means to becoming D-List famous, having a social life, and traveling on someone else’s dime. 2014 ufology is a paid vacation with friends. Even so, there’s an antidote and we’re it. All of us on the outskirts of the bubble with pins.
David Jacobs is over whether he remains visible or not. I know he keeps threatening to publish a new book; I can all but guarantee you that no major publishing house will ever touch his hybrid fiction again. If he publishes it, it’ll be through some small publisher, maybe one step up from self-publishing, and struggle to find its way into stores. Take it from me, who does self-publish: he ain’t getting rich doing that.
He may never go away but he has already shriveled to irrelevancy. That’s what happens when pin meets bubble: pop goes the weasel. Psy op over. Abort mission.