Past Dark Carmen Park

Our world is built on memory. All of our relationships, even life itself, relies on remembering. It is how we learn, how we trust, how we work, how we create. In moving through each other’s lives, we depend on our friends and family to notice our absence. We depend on being remembered.

But sometimes it doesn’t happen that way. Christine Denise James, a little girl whose age can only be estimated as 11 or 12, is just such a case. No one is even sure when she vanished from her home in Coleman, Florida, whether it be 1979 or 1980. Her life had been complicated, abusive, and she had planned on running away because, according to a story told by a friend, she was pregnant. She disappeared, yet she was never reported missing.

Kenna Quinet, professor emiritus, author and a noted researcher of homicide, calls these victims “the missing missing”. She extrapolates that an estimated 1.5 million people have disappeared who, for one reason or another, fell through the cracks: foster children and wards of the state, transients, sex workers and the trafficked, addicts, thrownaways, illegal immigrants, seniors whose families have evaporated- a underground of the marginalized whose later connection to a body washed ashore or a skeleton found along the roadside can be impossible to draw, if no one knows- or cares- that you are gone.

And it isn’t only the number of missing that is far greater than previously supposed. Recent studies indicate that the number of serial killers at large has also been vastly underestimated, with two researchers claiming at least 2000 active serial killers in the US today, opposed to the FBI’s official statistic of a mere 50. And while much has been made about a supposed decline in serial killing, the nationwide solve rate of homicide cases in the US has dropped as well, to a pitiful 6o percent, one of the very worst clearance rates in the world, leaving plenty of room for predators and killers to operate unimpeded.

How can so many people vanish without conclusion or notice? How can statistical analysis of homicide data fill in the blanks? Why are so many homicides going unsolved? How can the most vulnerable be protected? How can the lost be found?

This is a story of the less dead and the those that prey upon them, of killer truckers and the coldest trails of all. This is the story of the Missing Missing. And its Past Dark.

An estimated 10,000 people in America believe they are are being gangstalked. Psychologists call it a persecutory delusion, and its victims call it targeted harassment. Bolstering their claims by pointing out past surveilance campaigns by the German Stasi, the FBI, and present Patriot Act, self identified TI’s or targeted individuals believe that a vast shadowy cabal are watching their every move, and in some cases, have even taken over their entire families. Victims report being followed by SUVs, helicopters that appear out of nowhere, microwaves beamed from passing cars that scramble or direct their thoughts, psychodramas staged continuously throughout the day masquerading as normal life- a constant parade of ephemeral events with sinister motives. The subtlety of the harassment is designed to wear the victim down, a campaign of torture by a thousand tiny cuts, whose ultimate goal is to drive the victim mad, to suicide, or, sometimes, to murder. A number of online forums catering to TI’s have exploded in the past decade, echo chambers where even the most unlikely claims are embraced with warmth and credulity, while the outside world simply calls them crazy.

But are they? Do any of their claims have substance? How and why do governments conduct domestic surveillance? Is there indeed a cabal whose sole aim in life is to drive its enemies mad over a period of decades? Who could benefit from such a scenario? Are targeted individuals merely mentally ill? Can social media trigger hysteria? Is paranoia contagious?

This is a story of Zersetzung and roving Joe Does, v2ks and psychotronic warfare. This is the story of gangstalking. And its Past Dark.


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"Oh Phnom Penh
During the three years we were apart,
I missed you and my heart suffered each and every day
Because the enemy cut off the affection between you and me.

When I was forced to leave you, anger burned in my heart
And compelled me to avenge the sufferings you bore
To show my faithfulness to you.

Phnom Penh, our beloved city
In spite of 3 years of hardship, you managed to preserve our nation’s
Bright history of courage and represent the soul of Kampuchea,
Which was once one of the world’s glorious empires.

You prevented the disappearance of Cambodia, the descendent
Of the majestic Angkor empire.

Oh, the soul of the Khmer nation lives on and oh, is inspired by
The majestic Angkor Empire.
Oh, Phnom Penh, now we are reunited and you are relieved
From bereavement.
Oh, Phnom Penh, our nation’s heart and soul. "

written by a former Culture and Information Minister and Phnom Penh Governor, Keo Chenda, in 1979.

អូ…

I. អូ! ភ្នំពេញក្នុងរយៈពេលបីឆ្នាំដែលយើងបែកគ្នាខ្ញុំនឹកអ្នកនិងបេះដូងខ្ញុំឈឺចាប់រាល់ថ្ងៃព្រោះសត្រូវកាត់ផ្តាច់ការស្រលាញ់រវាងអ្នកនិងខ្ញុំ។


នៅពេលដែលខ្ញុំត្រូវបានគេបង្ខំឱ្យចាកចេញពីអ្នក, កំហឹងបានឆេះនៅក្នុងបេះដូងរបស់ខ្ញុំហើយបានបង្ខំឱ្យខ្ញុំសងសឹក [ការរងទុក្ខដែលអ្នកបានធ្វើ] ដើម្បីបង្ហាញភាពស្មោះត្រង់របស់ខ្ញុំចំពោះអ្នក។



រាជធានីភ្នំពេញដែលជាទីក្រុងជាទីស្រឡាញ់របស់យើងទោះបីស្ថិតក្នុងភាពលំបាករយៈពេល ៣ ឆ្នាំក៏ដោយអ្នកបានគ្រប់គ្រងដើម្បីរក្សានូវភាពក្លាហាននិងប្រវត្តិសាស្ត្រដ៏ភ្លឺស្វាងរបស់ប្រជាជាតិយើងដែលជាអតីតចក្រភពមួយដ៏អស្ចារ្យរបស់ពិភពលោក។


អ្នករារាំងការបាត់ខ្លួនរបស់ប្រទេសកម្ពុជាដែលជាកូនចៅនៃចក្រភពអង្គរដ៏អស្ចារ្យ។


អូព្រលឹងនៃប្រជាជាតិខ្មែររស់នៅហើយអូត្រូវបានបំផុសគំនិតដោយចក្រភពអង្គរដ៏អស្ចារ្យ។

អូភ្នំពេញឥឡូវនេះយើងបានជួបជុំគ្នាហើយអ្នកបានធូរស្បើយពីការបាត់បង់។

អូភ្នំពេញដួងចិត្តនិងព្រលឹងជាតិរបស់យើង។

While so much of the country was living in a time of relative peace and prosperity, Pol Pot was plotting in the mountains to end it all.

In the years since his return from France, he had become ever more radicalized, building a cadre of likeminded Communists numbering only about 250 at its inception, but exceptional in its zeal. The KR would base their renunciation of the modern world on the example set by Buddhist monks, where everything you owned, even your identity, was abandoned. Pol Pot’s ideal was a class he called “Old People”, a simple peasant race cleansed of all occidental influence, religion, and education. Only by draining the blood out of the nation could new blood- new ideas- HIS ideas- permanently reshape society.

April 17th, 1975. Phomh Penh, known as the “Pearl of Asia”, considered at one time one of the world’s loveliest cities with its grand boulevards, striking modernist architecture and thriving nightlife, the bustling and now bursting-at-the-seams capitol of the nation of Cambodia, is about to disappear.

It will happen within 72 hours.

Cambodia was still a developing nation with an immense history. The Khmer Empire, which had encompassed most of Southeast Asia, had flourished for six centuries, and left behind a highly developed culture epitomized in the Buddhist temple complex of Angor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world. In the 20th century, the nation saw a Golden Age under the reign of King Sianouk, a saxophone-playing ladies man who starred in his own films , championed the arts and spoke three languages. A thriving pop scene fed by influences from Booker T and the MGS to Afro-Cuban pop to French yeye gave birth to a number of stars, such as Sinn Sisamouth, known as the Elvis of Cambodia, and Ros Sereysotea,, “the Queen with the Golden Voice”.

But Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge would draw a black veil over the country for the next four years. They ground down the nation of 7 million to a pre-industrial year zero, forcing the population into agrarian collectives that were little more than prison camps, where stone age methods of cultivation led to crop failure and mass starvation. Doctors and engineers, intellectuals, writers, artists of every kind, ethnic and religious minorities and Cambodians who complained- or wore glasses, or showed emotion, or talked too often, among other infractions-were herded into the torture chamber, or a mass grave. 25 percent of the nation would be lost in just four years, in what has been called one of the fastest genocides in human history.

What drives a man to send so many of his own countrymen to their deaths? How do nations all around the world blithely turn away from the horror? How do you survive a life under gunpoint? How do you heal an atrocity?

This is a story of genocide and smiling dictators, pop stars and killing fields, new people and year zero. This is the story of the Khmer Rouge. And its Past Dark.

On January 6, 1965, a young medical student in Amsterdam, just shy of his PHd, squatted down before a mirror. Beside him, there lay a syringe loaded with a local anesthetic, a surgical knife, and an electric drill. He administred the anesthetic, made a careful incision with the knife, and began boring a hole into the front of his own skull.

For two years Bart Huges had been attempting to convince a number of doctors to perform this operation, and it is without surprise that all of them refused. After a mescaline trip in November of 1962, he had become obsessed with the idea that manipulating the ratio of brain blood to cerebro-spinal fluid was the key to the expansion of consciousness- and would eventually become convinced that the act of making a hole in one’s head altered this ratio. Naturally, to prove this would require funding and research, but Huges own countercultural activities, such as advocating for the use of LSD, his involvement with the student radicals the Provos, and the minor scandal caused by naming his daughter Maria Juana- among other incidents- probably did not endear him to the sober minded-medicos at University. Having been rejected by the establishment, Huges decided to take matters into his own hands.

This is a story of freakouts and artifacts, LSD and gravity’s drag. This is the story of Trepanation. And its Past Dark.