Poetry by Jonathan Taylor #W-59662 | Write a Prisoner


Jonathan Taylor #W-59662

The following is an affidavit.


The following is an affidavit.  It is a written statement of facts pertaining to a particular sequence of events, which provides a narrative with a disjointed and sporadic tale.  When we write, we draw from our own experiences, creating a window to our world with our words.  This concept is illustrated in ‘Strewn along a Highway’, which is an account of my experience with suppressed memories that I found myself reliving in the spring of 1989, when the lost images gained buoyancy and appeared at the surface of my consciousness.  As the misplaced scenes from my past flashed on the screen, a story began to unfold, uncovering the answer to a mystery, which I have never revealed until now. 


                                    Strewn Along a Highway


I first learned of the bodies in 1983, through what would be the vaguest reference.  It was sometime during the school year, and I was attending junior high in Mattapoisett.  One morning, while riding the bus to school, my attention was called to a man who was standing on the side of the road along Route six at the beginning of a path, which led into the woods.  The other children were marveling at the man’s appearance.  He was an extremely large individual with an exaggerated muscular build, whose thick dark hair and beard gave him a slight resemblance to a wolf man.  However, my focus was drawn to his strangely piercing blue eyes, which captured me in their gaze.  After freezing me in his beckoning stare, he turned and proceeded toward the path that led into the woods. 

Later that day, I walked away from the school before my second to last period, and headed down Route six toward the path that led into the forest.  Journeying down that path, I encountered the mysterious figure that I had seen that morning.  He was standing by a makeshift tent, which had been fashioned out of a canvas tarp and some rope.  My first instinct was to run, but after just a few short steps, he called to me, and I was stopped dead in my tracks.  Exhibiting some kind of hold over me, I followed him into his tent where we sat on folded legs across from each other and he proceeded to tell me his tale.  He told me that he had hypnotized me years before, as part of what he described as an elaborate test.  His last words that I remember before inky blackness were, “There are going to be bodies.” 

The next day, I was brought before the school administration regarding my early departure.  Having no memory of the event at that time, I was oblivious and dumbfounded by the accusations of me leaving the school early on the previous day.  Suddenly, in the middle of the inquisition, without any explanation, the matter was dropped and I was permitted to leave, free from any repercussions for my derelict behavior.  However, I recall as I left the room, at least one school official remained outraged over the incident, and expressed his discontent before letting the matter go. 

I next heard of the bodies in the summer of 1984.  It was late at night, and I was walking toward the beach after talking at the window of a girl that I knew, when I was surrounded by a group of youths.  Seizing my arms, they told me that their friend wanted to talk to me.  I thought that I was being jumped, and I began to curse at them loudly in the night as I attempted to fight off my perceived attackers.  At that moment, the individual for whom they were holding me approached us.  He told them to release me and I immediately became relaxed.  He then took me for a walk alone down what had once been a road, but was now merely a path through some dense overgrowth. 

He told me that we were brothers, and that our mother had given birth to me when she was fourteen and him when she was thirteen.  He said that she had given us up for adoption and that I would encounter her in the near future when I moved to New Bedford, which I was set to do at the end of the summer.  He explained that I had been hypnotized as a child, to suppress any memories or knowledge of my adoption, and he described the man who I had met up with in the woods as the one who was responsible for this.  Finally, he spoke of the bodies.  His reference was more detailed, than the vague allusion that had been made by the man in the forest.  He elaborated that there would be a string of murders that was going to take place in the not too distant future.  He said that, I would hear about these bodies turning up, and when that happened I would remember our conversation from that night and his telling me about those murders.  As we parted, I once again found my mind submerged in a river of blackness.

The next day, the girl with whom I had been talking to at her window asked me about the previous night’s events.  She had heard the commotion, and wanted to know if I knew anything about it.  I had no memory of the encounter at that time, and therefore had no idea what she was talking about. 

At the end of summer in 1984, I moved to New Bedford and began attending New Bedford High.  The school eventually became a mere meeting place, where I would hook up with my friends before heading for downtown New Bedford. There we would spend our days exploring the city and experiencing the curriculum offered by its streets.  On one of those occasions, I was with two other delinquent teens, when the three of us went into city hall to get birth certificates.  The clerk who was issuing our birth certificates informed us that one of us was adopted, and that our birth mother had us when she was only fourteen years old.  Just as had been suggested it would, the memory of this event was immediately lost to me.  However, it wasn’t lost forever, and years later when the memory of the event resurfaced, my two companions from that day corroborated it.

In 1985, while cutting school in the downtown area; I finally had my encounter with the woman who identified herself as my birth mother.  I was in the New Bedford Public Library, when she confronted me in the stairwell.  She had birth records, which had been stolen from some state or local agency, listed her as my mother, and indicated that she had been fourteen years old at the time of my birth.  She also had birth records showing that she had given birth to another son when she was thirteen.  For the first time, I found that I was able to retain this information without my knowledge or memory of it being suppressed.  I also found myself overwhelmed by unwarranted feelings of hatred toward her.  She explained that these feelings were a side effect of her telling me that she was my mother.  This was all due to posthypnotic suggestions that had been placed in my mind by the man who had hypnotized me.  When we parted ways, she told me that I was to get myself suspended from school for two weeks, and meet up with her again at the New Bedford Public Library, and once again, the memory of our encounter and any knowledge of adoption were lost to me. 

Although I had no memory of our encounter, I did manage to get myself suspended from school for two weeks as she had suggested, and as though operating on some kind of autopilot, I found myself back at the library.  As before, she showed me the birth records that she possessed, and brought me to the point where I was able to retain the information regarding adoption.  And, just as before, I was overwhelmed with uncontrollable feelings of hatred toward her.

Over the next two weeks, she laid out her plans for the future to me, filling my head with the information that she chose to provide.  She told me that my being hypnotized was a form of retaliation for her having revealed to me that I was adopted during a chance meeting between us when I was just five years old.  She described the man whom I had encountered in the woods, and explained that he had brainwashed me as a child, by using hypnosis.  The hypnosis related amnesia that I suffered was a result of my mind being placed in a state where any information regarding adoption would be suppressed, and removed from my awareness.  However, she was given the power to free me from that state, although doing so resulted in feelings of hatred toward her, induced by post hypnotic suggestion. 

Then she told me about ‘the light people’, and this provided a window into what drove and motivated her.  To explain ‘the light people’, requires a brief education on the subject of hypnosis and what happens to people when they are placed in a trance.  Where, most people when placed under hypnosis will recount memories of past lives, there are some people who tell a different story when placed under hypnosis.  They describe themselves as ‘beings of pure energy’ that travel here from another world.  Entering the physical form at birth, just as any other soul, they claim to be sent here by ‘planners’ who in turn answer to ‘master planners’.  These individuals have come to be referred to by some as ‘the light people’. 

She claimed that she was one of these ‘planners’ and that the man who had hypnotized me was the ‘master planner’.  He convinced her that he had set the whole thing up as some kind of test for her.  Her task was to free me from the hypnosis without me hating her as a result.  She said that nothing in this world mattered except this test, and it was clear that she was willing to do anything to succeed.  Unfortunately, for my part, recounting tales of brainwashing, followed by stories about ‘light people’ may only serve to incite skepticism, but as integral parts of the plot, there is no way around those disclosures. 

Finally, she told me about the bodies.  Although, she wasn’t the first to make reference to the imminent murders, she was the only one who actually claimed to be the future killer.  She said that, she was going to commit a string of serial murders.  All of the victims would be women linked to drugs.  Their addictions would make them easily lured and their association with drugs would provide a level of indifference on the part of authorities in solving their murders.  She was confident that no one would ever suspect a woman of committing the killings, including the victims themselves.  Even if they were aware that women were disappearing, they would feel safe and at ease with her.  She also claimed to possess an eidetic memory and a black belt in martial arts, which would serve as vital tools in completing her task. 

She said that, as the bodies were being discovered, I would hear about it through the media, and as the story ran in the news, it would act as a key to unlock a back door that would trigger the release of my suppressed memories.  The man who had hypnotized me planted this key during our encounter in the woods, before providing the information to her.  This back door would allow her indirectly to reveal herself to me, by granting me access to those hidden memories. 

One of those days that we spent together included a meeting with her ex-husband, who identified himself at that time, as my father.  I was stunned by the uncanny resemblance that he bore to the individual who had claimed that we were brothers back in1984.  This meeting provided at least one certainty in a future sea of doubt.  There was no question that my proclaimed brother was the son of these two individuals.  Something else significant occurred during that meeting.  She grew angry with me when I openly inquired, “Does he know about the bodies?”  Apparently, he hadn’t known about them, prior to that moment. 

As our two weeks together drew to a close, there was one final task, which she needed me to perform.  Nestled among the buildings of downtown New Bedford was a small church.  It was within that church, where she sent me to enter the confessional and inform the priest of the impending murders.  With that final seed planted, our time together was done.  However, it wasn’t the last that I would see of her and, as we went our separate ways, my memory of our time together was washed away with the promise that it would one-day return. 

In 1987, I was traveling on the highway from New Bedford to Mattapoisett, when I saw a grey van parked on the shoulder.  Standing beside the van was the individual that had identified himself as my brother in 1984 when he had alerted me to the future discovery of the bodies.  The van’s driver was a man who would later be named as my alleged brother’s unwitting accomplice in a case of attempted murder.  A few days later, I saw the grey van on the side of the highway again.  Only this time, I saw my proclaimed brother running from the woods to the van in a panic. He had the unmistakable look of someone who had just been caught in the act.  He was giving the impression of his involvement in something, which had not yet begun to take place. 

As foretold, the bodies began turning up, and in the spring of 1989 while the story of a serial killer striking the New Bedford area dominated the news, I found myself overwhelmed by the return of memories that were previously lost to me.  All of those haunting images consisted of occasions where my mind had suppressed information regarding adoption.  Laced among those recovered recollections, were the chilling images of those three individuals who spoke of impending murders years before they actually occurred. 

Just as the self-professed killer had calculated, no one ever suspected a woman of committing the crimes.  The authorities were locked into a search for a male suspect, apparently misdirected by DNA evidence, which indicated that the person they sought was a male.  This distressing knowledge accompanied some of the most disturbing memories to trouble me.  In those memories, I saw flashes of myself walking out of my residence in the north end of New Bedford subsequent to some personal recreation.  Walking into the night, I curiously found myself at the head of a path that led into the woods, where I carelessly discarded the remnants of the evening’s aforementioned activities.  On at least one of those occasions, I heard the voice of someone on the path whisper to me from the darkness.  I asked who was there, but there was no answer. 

The memories of mindlessly casting DNA samples into the woods and the mysterious voice in the night weighed  heavily on my thoughts in 2000, when as a prisoner; they collected my DNA, to enter into a database for comparison with unsolved crimes.  My concerns intensified, when after the approximate one month that it would take to process my DNA and enter it into their database, authorities announced that they were reopening the investigation into the serial killings.  I wondered; was the voice in the night, the voice of an unseen killer who lurked in the shadows, acquiring my DNA to dapple on their crime scene canvas?  Although, those fears plagued me for a time, the passage of time would eventually lay them to rest.   

Now, after decades of silence, and a journey that has led me down virtually every path of an insolvable maze, I find myself standing at the threshold of the only remaining path left to travel.  It is the path of revelation.  Pulling its rusty gate free from overgrowth’s relentless grip, I begin the long walk into the unknown, by laying my cards on the table and my soul bare.  As I traveled through my life, individuals planted the seeds of revelations regarding murders set to take place in a future of their own design.  They planted those seeds in suppressed memories with the knowledge that one day those memories would resurface.  These are things that I would never have revealed, were it not presumably the will of those who made the revelations, as they continue to test authority’s resolve to keep its own secrets safe.


The Back Story:

It all began with a broken promise and a lie, which sent the situation into a slow, deliberate spin that, would eventually spiral out of control. On the day that I was born, my fourteen-year-old birth mother gave me to a couple who was in the same hospital after suffering a miscarriage. Her only request was that they promise to raise me with the knowledge that I was adopted. They gave her their word, and she gave them
her son.

Unfortunately, their word was never kept. Instead, they chose to conceal my adoption from me, with the claim that they would reveal the truth when I was sixteen. The first flaw in their plan appeared when I was five, and a neighbor let it slip that I was adopted. This wasn't the first time that the subject had come up, but it was the first time that I actually had some proof. Outraged over being lied to, this led to an angry confrontation between me and my adoptive parents, who quelled the situation with denials and lies, but the distrust and animosity remained, and now they had seen a preview of how I would react to the truth if it ever were revealed.

A solution was presented by a mysterious figure who had befriended them. A psychologist specializing in hypnosis, he explained that the memory of my neighbor's revelation could be suppressed through hypnosis, as though it had never occurred. It was determined that the current situation didn't justify such extreme measures, but a tempting seed had been planted. Later that year, the circumstances changed when I was brought to a small pond where my birth mother could often be found on a Sunday morning fishing with my birth father and her one-year-old son. This was where the truth finally came to light. When I approached them, she introduced me to my younger brother and identified herself as my birth mother. With those words, the plunger was pressed, and the scene exploded. In a sudden change of strategy, my adoptive parents who had always denied that I was adopted, chose this moment to admit it, and for the first time I knew, it was true because I was hearing it from them.

They lashed out at my birth mother for revealing the truth, while I lashed· out at them for lying. My birth mother was under the impression that I knew about my adoption, and she reminded them of their promise to raise me with that knowledge. They fired back by announcing their intention to tell me when I was sixteen and stated with a sense of victory that regardless of any promise, she had no right to tell me.

The next thing I knew, I was extracted from the scene and thrown in the back seat of the car, where I continued to curse them and demand to be returned to my birth family. As we drove away, it appeared that things could not have gone worse for my adoptive parents, when in fact; they could not have gone better. Now they had the perfect scenario to justify their diabolical plans, which I heard them discussing as we headed down the road. What would seem like a lightning strike response to an unexpected development was actually months in the making.

That week, I shared my tale with my friend at school, while some of the other wide-eyed children listened intently. As I recounted my adventure, I explained how my birth mother was only fourteen when she had me and rationalized that now; she was old enough for me to be returned to her. I was unaware that it was socially unacceptable for adopted children to feel this way, or of the lengths that people would go to in order to stop it.

Focused on reuniting with my birth family, I determined that there was only one thing that stood in the way. My adoptive parents showed no intentions of relinquishing me. If the problem was that they wanted to keep me, then I needed them to want to get rid of me. I set out to accomplish this through a barrage of venomous language and vicious insults intended to make them despise me to the point that unloading me back onto my birth mother would become an attractive alternative to keeping me around. This was cruel and insensitive, but it was child's play compared to what they were planning for me. Although I was successful in getting them to despise me, the plan backfired, and rather than get rid of the monster that I now presented to them, they instead sought to destroy it.

A trap was set, baited with the thing that I wanted most at that moment. My adoptive parents finally agreed to return me to my birth family, but explained that first we had to find them, so we were going to see a man who specialized in such tasks. This was my introduction to the mysterious figure who had been skillfully manipulating things as he slid us around like chess pieces on a checkered board. Posing, as someone who specialized in finding people, this man who normally donned the cloak of a psychologist, was actually nothing but a hypnotist, and his specialty was mind control.

Blinded by my excitement over the prospect of being reunited with my birth family, I trusted my adoptive parents despite their history of lies, and followed them foolishly toward a trap door, behind which a spider was waiting. There would be no reunion with my birth family. What they had in store was an unimaginable act of betrayal and the ultimate act of revenge.

When the dust settled, the little monster that I created, who demanded to be returned to his birth family, would be replaced by a monster of their own making. Through a psychological lobotomy, I would become a mindless zombie in a cage, and they would become my captors.

When we entered his office, I was amazed by his remarkable appearance. Although, he was playing the part of a locator of lost individuals, he looked the part of a hypnotist. He was a hulking figure with deceptively angelic features that were shrouded in a head of thick, dark, curly hair and beard, emblazoned by a wisp of white that shot from his widow's peak, and large, icy blue eyes that froze you in their gaze.

As a master of his craft, the task was relatively easy. Having no idea what hypnosis was, and focused on finding my birth family, I followed his instructions to relax, as my eyelids became heavy and the sound of his voice grew hollow and dim. Slipping from consciousness, I floated helplessly into a deep oblivion, and with a snap of his fingers, I was gone.

With my mind in a trance, the Svengali chess master was in complete control of my thoughts and free to wield commands in the form of posthypnotic suggestions that I was compelled to follow. First, he instructed me that when I awoke, I would have no knowledge of being adopted and no memory of any event that concerned my adoption. That information and those memories would remain buried in my subconscious just out of reach, like deleted scenes from a video that could no longer be accessed but stayed etched somewhere on the computer's hard drive.

Additionally, any future information that I was to see or hear, which related to my adoption would be automatically suppressed as well. Now, if anyone tried to tell me that I was adopted, I would be unable to retain the information and it would be forgotten the moment that my mind processed it. He also included a provision wherein I would be overwhelmed with uncontrollable feelings of hatred and anger directed toward any person who revealed that I was adopted, forcing me to lash out at them with expressions of false loathing before the memory of the entire event was suppressed and buried in my subconscious. This was retaliation for telling my adoptive captors that I hated them for lying about my adoption. It allowed them to turn the tables, so that I would now be saying those words to anyone who tried to tell me the truth.

Next, he instructed me to move my eyes all the way to the right, then all the way to the left, and then straight up and down, forming the shape of an iron cross. From that point on, anytime that I was confronted with information that concerned my adoption, my eyes would flash through this sequence repeatedly as the memory of the event was being suppressed. This simulated the rapid eye movement that is experienced during states of deep sleep and would brand the suppressed memories of actual events with the impressions of those that occurred in my dreams, making it difficult to distinguish between the two.

In keeping with the revenge theme, I was shown a mirror, and instructed to see a grotesque and distorted reflection. This was the face, which would stare back at me in any future images that I saw of myself. What amounted to mental disfigurement was further payback for the insults of my campaign to make them despise me. It was the psychological equivalent to pouring acid over my head and served no tactical purpose.

With these posthypnotic suggestions in play, people who knew about my adoption, no longer had the ability to reveal that information to me. Any mention of my adoption would be met with the spectacle of my eyes flashing through their dizzying sequence, followed by my declarations of hatred toward the person, and finally my suppression of the memory as though it had never occurred. This provided a source of amusement to some sadistic individuals who would openly discuss my adoption in front of me to witness the display, creating hundreds of suppressed memories for my subconscious video library.

Because this was being done to me against my will, it meant that my true self, with all of my genuine feelings and memories, was imprisoned somewhere in the back of my mind, struggling to break free. This inner conflict could lead to uprisings by my subconscious, in which my suppressed memories would begin to resurface. If I were to reach this state of awareness, my mind would no longer block out information related to my adoption, making me receptive to the truth.

In order to get me back in my cage, my antagonists would have to lure me into a prearranged situation that involved a ritual of images and phrases designed to reinforce my brainwashing by way of posthypnotic suggestion. These visions and incantations had the power to return me to that state of oblivion where my mind would instantly suppress information related to my adoption. To spring this trap, they would need me to remain in a state of uncertainty about my adoption. Disguising my resurfaced memories as dreams was a clever tactic that would certainly keep me guessing but my nemesis required the cooperation of those who knew the truth in order to subdue me in complete disbelief. Suddenly they had the ability to reveal information to me about my adoption without my mind suppressing it so; he needed to ensure that they didn't. If they refused to remain silent or perpetuate the lie, then they could end up blowing the whole caper.

The ability to bend others to his will when there was nothing in it for them was perhaps the greatest trick that the magician would pull from his sleeve. It was inconceivable to think that anyone would go along with something so immoral, when they would never be okay with it being done to them, but somehow, they saw past their consciences and became twisted servants to an evil master.

The key to making these minions abandon their morals was providing them with a means to justify their wicked actions. This was accomplished masterfully by shifting responsibility for what was being done to me onto my birth mother. The perpetrators made the case that it was her actions that forced them to take such extreme measures. They further elaborated that she was given the ability to free me from my hypnotic prison and therefore could end it at any time, although my brainwashing would cause me to hate her as a result. By casting her as the source of my suffering and the reason that it was allowed to continue, she provided an imaginary blanket of justification to spread out over all the participants, absolving them of their own guilt-ridden roles.

What started out as just a lie had become something far worse and unimaginable. Taking on a life of its own, the juggernaut would swallow everyone in its path, turning decent, honest people into cheap worthless, liars. But anything that is based on a lie has a flaw in its foundation. All lies are threatened by the truth, and like a crack, as the lie grows it produces greater weakness in the structurer making the pressure provided by the truth ever more powerful.

Although it was being sold as an act of retaliation against my birth mother for revealing the truth about my adoption, the main objective of the nefarious plot was restoration and preservation of the lie. Following their latest exploits, my captors' obsession with keeping the truth from me had taken on a whole new meaning. There was no way they could let me find out what they had done now, so they needed to take some extra steps to cover their tracks. Since the threat of me hating her was the only thing that stood in the way of my birth mother revealing the truth and breaking my chains, the puppet master provided some added precautions to keep her in check and prevent her from taking down the house of cards.

When it came to mind games, he was the king and he had something special in store for her. It involved an unusual phenomenon, in which certain people under hypnosis will claim to be traveling entities from another world that were sent here by 'planners' who in turn answer to 'master planners'. His intention was to tell my birth mother that I had revealed myself to be one of these individuals while I was in a trance and that I had identified her as one of the 'planners'.

That set the stage for his next move, which was to present her with a perplexing predicament that was right out of this world. He would spring it on her that he was actually a 'master planner' and explain that he had created this situation as an elaborate test. Her task was to free me from the hypnosis without me hating her as a result. For that to happen, she would need me to learn the truth about my adoption, but it couldn't come from her or from anyone that she told. Nor could it be traced back to anything that she did. As farfetched as it was, with the possibility of this actually being a test looming and the uncertainty of the consequences for failure, it seemed like the smart move was to play by his rules.

Having her hands tied by impossible parameters meant that she could only bring me out of it so far and the rest was up to me. I had to find the truth out for myself, so she would have to take me to a place where I could begin to look for it. To get me there, she would need to trigger the release of my suppressed memories. This would bring me to that level of awareness where my mind was no longer suppressing information about my adoption and I could actively seek the truth.

Once she accomplished this, I would be on my own. She would be forced to turn on me and I would have to find my way through the maze alone, avoiding the perilous traps that threatened to launch me back to oblivion. In my quest for the truth, I would find myself pitted against my birth mother, whose new task would be to close the door on all roads leading back to her. She would be working against me now to ensure that I didn't learn the truth from anyone that she told, or because of anything that she did.

My hope was hanging on the hearts of those individuals who had learned the truth about my adoption through my captors and my fate was resting in their hands. Two armies had emerged on the battlefield. There were those who sought to subdue me in the clutches of evil and those who fought to free me from them. Some were forced to lie by the rules of the game, while others lied by choice. In order to end the horror show, I needed the members of the wind-up infantry who fought and lied for my captors to have a change of heart. If they could snap out of their own trances, then there was a chance that they might abandon treachery and deceit for a final rally with truth and honestly redeeming themselves in the process by rescuing me from their own attack, and applying tourniquets to wounds, which they had inflicted.

It seemed unlikely that my captor's accomplices would suddenly want to save me after working so hard toward my destruction, but not all hope was lost. Beyond the bleakness and amidst the shadows, there was a small group of rebels who had crept across the lines and slipped past the sentries. These forgotten warriors were unique because they had learned the truth about my adoption from me. They were the children at school with whom I had shared my tale and witnessed my transformation into the soulless zombie with spastic eyes. There was a provision that applied to my one friend, but the others were unaccounted for. Because they hadn't learned of my adoption from my birth mother, there was nothing in the parameters to prevent them from revealing what they knew. The only provision was that their decision to reveal the truth couldn't be influenced by her. If they were able to find it in their own hearts to come forward or if I could somehow convince them to speak out, then they could be the key to unlocking everything, including my cage. Armed with the truth, these unstoppable soldiers could take down anyone or anything that stood in their way.



About Jonathan

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10/30/1969 (age 49)
New Bedford, MA
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Jonathan Taylor #W-59662
MCI Norfolk
PO Box 43
Norfolk, MA 02056
United States

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