The hardest thing to explain in this whole caseload is the failure of detection. Denial is easy to understand. The case is hot, despite being cold. The assassins road high with the help of compliant people now still and frozen in their legacy of accomplice. Among the accomplices casually mingle those pretending that they are merely collaborations, hiding true authorship. For disinterested, or concerned people to miss the evidence is absolutely incredible.
The assassins loved their literature and wrote all about it in advance. Taking advantage of fascination and the will to control property they used copyright as their blackout medium. In other words, the publishers in New York City excused themselves for failure to warn by saying that the winner would be allowed to make a brilliant movie. The totality they claim to be unanswerable, and as a result they have enjoyed a public willing to completely ignore cold-blooded lies.
They erected arguments like a fleet of underwater vessels, horrifying U-boats of jibberish meant to soothsay public attention by arguing a great justification and horrific meaning. Yet we are supposed to admire them when rather than detect and solve the crime they actively sought to make it more mysterious, destroy evidence, empower the killers, investing in dramatic representation of their reasons for voiding the Constitution in favor of a sickening storyline, while adopting the attackers as stars. Calling what was done to me under cover of a psychotic break imaginary is a charming and droll cover claim for torture and mutilation of a witness.
The authors of the narrative held control for their song and dance as authors of the Federal Emergency Management Agency at Pitt, making no attempt whatsoever to cover up their snickers when snarling, “don’t laugh!” We’ll handle this discretely, they yammered, over human or civil rights. As investigation arrived at the facts in the crime, they were shrugged off as meaningless even when it was proven that they make perfect sense when pulled together into a web-like pattern. Hallucination doesn’t cover such premeditation and design.
It constitutes a semiotic brimstone.
Where was Harpers Magazine and Lewis Lapham? Where should they have been? What came to light in the early days of the AIDS attack is that the child of a visible academic leader of humanism had washed up insensible, broken, crawling, frightened, deaf and horribly concerned about dishonest government. Instead of immediately moving in to declare a fight over the fact that they had also found a script about AIDS planted on my house, they swiftly took charge to advocate for the child mutilationists, and this can only be understood as a tawdry tale told by Pitt in the name of Leslie Katz, valedictorian of the Ellis Girls School, named in the assassination screed. Every lie took shape from this diabolical lie idea. She was the ringleader of the cheer that those who started AIDS were top sacredly the only and true victims.
I did nothing whatsoever wrong to her. How I was molested, castrated, my loved one raped to cover for what the Army did in her name is a long story that does little to shed light on the actual arguments of the ringleaders, so I will move along without rehearsing all of that personal tragedy, but I do want to mention in passing that the Union in Pittsburgh who hotly contest and brutally punish the idea that mutilation and torture make me a victim is insane. To be that hostile to the idea of social independence is extremely abnormal. However, the hidden investment in film rights makes this a little more constant as a criminal function.
An example of failure to detect comes right out of the page on which it is noted. Elizabeth Blumenfeld was the girl whose interest in me led to the introductions among barristers and Judges of Bryn Mawr’s favorite Gail Burstyn, author of the murder papers which I repeat include the death of Roberto Clemente and the plan to use his name advocating for Katz later. Blumenfeld is a sonar and homophone for Blue Men Felled. Before you say that is reaching, consider, in the text of the many, many examples of the same style, that Blumenfeld’s mother was friends with Braunstein’s mother and that Braunstein was a friend of and visitor to the place of Don Ostro, whose friend Space Ape did the stained glass for the Bloomfield Church that hosts a shrine to the martyrs of Pittsburgh Police. I won’t recite the magnitude of the crimes inflicted on me by Burstyn and Ostro.
Rock stars of course are in battle stations right now, because they are behind the sleight of hand that gave the killers film rights. The trick was to position masqueraders playing victim and mingling with the victims while allowing those same members of the assassin group, conspicuously Dolly Meieran, to lead from the front saying that they were taking revenge. Peter Gabriel was such a ringleader, his voices spouting: why did we do that? After 911, to prove we would never do that. Imperial logic, beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Gabriel had authored the alibi for Will Zell on Mt. Desert Island, covering for a gang of murderers from the most racist lobby in Pennsylvania by saying they were doing the will of Africa. Behind this idea was Federal sex tribute from Hollywood and the NEVA Corporation, a pussyball dibs claim on Midori Goto as a symbol of East/West reconciliation, made by those Lewis Lapham called first, at WQED.
Africologists were schmoozing with the Catholic Dioceses in Pittsburgh in the name of rituals for a long time before this brilliant idea of tribal war from the klans arrived from Hollywood. Nyguna Kabugi was coming to tell you how to get rid of your teacher today how long? Not long before my papi died. Most of the confederates were veterans who grumbled that they would never forgive old Crary for the suicide of a babykiller. They’ll give you babykiller.
Nyguna or Gunna will Myrdal you all with a ka-bug. Such is the legacy of Mer and Ehrlen, magic fingers Merlin when Heinz arranged rejection of nutrition studies in favor of my father’s sudden, fatal loss of appetite. Funny thing about all these jingos is that they form a nursery rhymers riddle game surrounding the faction of liberty or death that brokers death. One look at me and you can see what happened to my pap.