Join this man in his lonely struggle against psychic oppression. He can be found picketing outside the federal building on Camp Street in the Central Business District of New Orleans.

No one has ever breathed one syllable to me about the facts of my own life. Instead, I have been pressured, my life long, to join in the universal pretense that what is real is not real and what is not real is real. Here is my best guess about this history:

I cannot read anyone's mind. But everyone is always involuntarily reading mine. I seem to have begun life as an "ordinary" telepath, a person whose mind can be read by anyone who chooses. Later, however, apparently during my Army Service in World War II, my mental contents suddenly were always present in the mind of everyone else.

How did this "eruption" of thought transference happen? It seems that, in my teens, when it became clear that I was homosexual, a project was formed to attempt, utilizing my thought transparency, to "cure" my sexual orientation. In the Army, sensing that such a project was afoot, I became disturbed, and this unique telepathic condition emerged. Apparently, this fluke was seen as a symptom of paranoid schizophrenia.

Nothing like this phenomenon had ever been heard of before. The world was fascinated and alarmed. A U.S. government entity was organized to try to cure the schizophrenia, to stamp out the transference of my thoughts and emotions to everyone everywhere, and to "put me back together" as a well-adjusted, stable homosexual. I was confined (and, at age 78, remain confined) in an invisible bubble -- a weird, artificial world where my existence is "scripted" for therapeutic purposes, controlled by a directory who is constantly communicating with me and manipulating me by telepathy. This project has focused for half a century upon my presumed "problems" as a lover of young men in late adolescence, problems deemed to be the key to my schizophrenia and to the involuntary telepathic transference of my mental processes to the world at large.

That fluke remains. Otherwise, however, there are no longer any such problems. I am no longer even slightly mentally disturbed; I no longer suffer from the minutest trace of paranoia or schizophrenia; I am thoroughly adapted to my erotic orientation and to my telepathic condition. Only one problem remains: to obtain a real-world conclusion of this project, which no longer has a reason for being.

For a person can have no peace of mind while captive in a bell jar, paralyzed, alienated, forced to guess at the basic facts about himself that everyone everywhere knows except him. The federal entity conducting this project must reveal itself, demystify its operations, and terminate them, rescinding whatever legal instrument authorizes them. I am entitled to know, and must know, everything about this project, in exhaustive detail. Until then, I will remain a sane, rational, responsible citizen trapped in an invisible bubble, perpetually "handled" like an animal without language, perpetually trying to claw my way out -- relegated to a science-fictional limbo no human being ever yet was in.

My faceless keepers must meet with me, conclude their obsolete project, and talk to me about reality. That is why I am picketing here today.

This information kindly provided by our psychic friends and confidants at classified¹.