Dear Roberto Clemente Museum,
I live a few blocks from the Roberto Clemente Museum. As a person, I am certainly real enough, which doesn’t change the invisibility I live with as a deaf person. Not only was I born Oct. 20, 1960, one week after my father Ryland Wesley saw Maz’s homer fly over the left field wall from his office in the Cathedral of Learning but he became Chair for Philosophy of Education at Pitt. Having been given a royal name: James MacRyland Crary (and such gifts as seeing Roberto wave to my sister as a kid) I take pride in having won a Governors School Scholarship for my Poetry. It is arguable that the foundation for the view that my letters should be banned is an injury from those who are contemptuous of my attempt to defend Roberto. In other words, I am making a point not to have to write this letter twice. Instead, this will be my Summer of 2016 letter to the Roberto Clemente Museum. While is is for you, its fate is not entirely in your hands. Out of fear you will not read it, I am sending it to a few related agencies, including the dugout of the Seattle Mariners, under the title under which it can be found blogged: Is Edgar Martinez an Orc? I doubt anyone but those concerned for the safety of Roberto’s name will be found to care, and fear greatly that those who do not will hold sway simply by saying they do. The content of what happened is anything but shallow.
I have been hated for saying less.
There is a loud tribune about Roberto which is anything but personal. His genius has aided Pittsburgh over the years despite our worst elements but there was a radical Roberto lost to time. The squelch button that shrieks against what the city claims is subversion of our public reputation in my call to knowledge about his life and evidence concerning his death is very police state oriented and commercial. I expect you to read this. I am not asking the impossible. My work in this letter to the Roberto Clemente Museum is cut out for me ~ to navigate a painful subject so that you aren’t overly burdened by the trivial, while satisfying the hope you will not be left in the dark.
Psychiatrists have said that I am not up against what I imagine myself to be, some of them concede that my experiences are dark and twisted by violent crime, but assure those they convince that it is not a dishonorable society, or horrible city, that a mind abused can become a mind unsound, so I should be clear enough for you to choose sides as they insist. If you do not know the name Josef Goebbels, he was propaganda minister for Nazi Germany, a government that was the hope for all who hate creative freedom, as did Somoza’s Nicaragua, to where Roberto died on a mission of mercy. It is shrewd to say that comparing disagreement to Nazis is a rhetorical fad that anyone can use. Bear me out and see if I am so remiss. Goebbels authored lies and barked the question: what was that I just said? The people hailed back: it was the truth! If they called it a lie they were shot dead. All I am doing is calling the storyline about Roberto’s death a lie, because of the evidence I was nearly killed securing and it is secure. I have seen to it that the evidence is secure. He was assassinated, a Nazi style act. Because I can prove it, my life has been a grueling nightmare. I have been subject to no end of criminal insanity. I was literally brutally tortured and my life taken from me for the simple act of reporting child mutilation and evidence of homicide. I will downplay all that, because I want to make clear in this letter how this affects Roberto’s honor. This letter is not about me, exactly, but what befell me is a shadow from what befell him, and denial of that fact is what has created an abyss whereby a simple letter like this can have deadly consequences for me as simply a writer. Psychiatrists are entitled to their opinion like anyone else. It’s what they do when they are crossed that scares me.
It is not just any kind of fear.
The strongcard of those who say it is not true claim I am trying to use Roberto, because part of the evidence for such is the nerve agent that ruined my facial nerve, leaving me unsightly, blind spots from deadly assaults, deafness, and terrifying state of siege surrounding my penmanship, a prison of surveillance, that allowed them to poison me in the heart, causing no end of irreversible misery. You would think I would just be silent, but the case is what I say, and I was, after all, one of those children who truly loved the man. That you even have this letter to choose whether or not to read it is indisputably a miracle. In an Ayn Rand story a hard person to defeat ended up nearly killing another man in fury of humiliation whose culture made him say please. It’s a hard world in the Major Leagues. I’m not, to be honest, particularly trying to measure up. I’m disabled, let’s be honest about that, shall we?
By formulating this sort of tiresome argument, looking for attention, etc., the assassins who tortured me and left me mutilated for life are saying that my testimony demeans and degrades Roberto because I have been so humiliated. This is the problem I am trying to remedy because such an organized attack for which so many people have demonstrated so much enthusiasm needs the truth to supply contrast and remedy and I know the truth that is clear from this civil limitation and that is that you are failing in your duty to trace what happened. My letter isn’t to help myself, which is virtually impossible at this point, due to the ravenous nature of the opposition, it is to help you trace what happened, and is happening, because they were never properly answered, meaning his killers.
To understand why I am so sure he was killed, you have to understand some vicious paradoxes. For one, the killers didn’t hide it. They wanted it made known. The fact that they are brutally punishing me for speaking out is nonetheless part of their clairvoyant understanding that the message of manhood is moral and that freedom of speech is something to fight for. They didn’t hide it and just because they are brutally punishing talking doesn’t mean that they hid it or don’t want it known. Sadism of this sort is their absolute character, so don’t just let them hide behind the existence of paradox. You also need to understand that I was brutally, brutally tortured by the University of Pittsburgh for asking them to do something I am now asking you: just look at the evidence, thank you. This evidence, because of Pitt, is now controlled by those who did the killing. That was how the crime was designed, its nature in part and disturbing outcome. Posvar obviously managed to convince Roberto’s family that their estate franchise was at risk if they made the moral decision to deal honestly and fairly with the text of his murder and the manner in which I am being assassinated, when what his killers did to me was far more evil than simple police brutality, virtually an attempt to show that death before dishonor would render a life unspeakable were it not observed, a theme they evoked when they spoke of Simplicimus, an ancient story of that theme. If they feel so inclined they will make this snitching lethal. Already they poisoned me so that I look like a piece of shit. Who wants to hear from such a rejected lover? Believe me the parochial women in league with all this are laughing. No matter whether you fight the good fight, when it comes to women if you take it in the nuts you are a loser, not a hero. I’m sorry that has to be said, but the killers are very macho, and have behaved with chivalry at turns when it plays into their hands.
Chivalry was a tirade they clocked alongside a brutal pornographic narrative arrived at through molesting a scapegoat.
I have more to say about the truth, about the truth you are hiding, driving the truth into submission by method and coercion, but my goal is also to reach you, not belabor you. Indeed, John Stockwell of the CIA who followed me to Allentown on my birthday said that the most terrible thing he learned is that a victim of torture will keep reaching out, acting as though the monsters responsible are human and can be changed by tears, pleas and words. Turn then to the evidence and then derive a little grasp of what surrounds me.
The letters correlate the shooting of Martin Luther King to Deanna Mancine’s birthday by a factor of six years and call attention to coincidence. Then six years later on the birthday of Gail Burstyn, the Israeli who sent them to me when I was blindsided and kidnapped, John Lennon is said to have been killed. The envelope reads “I am the Walrus” and the letter ends, “Is there music when we die?” Just on its own terms, the fact that I stepped forward to Pitt and asked for investigation was just being a responsible citizen. The fact that the authors called me to announce Roberto’s death and made a note of it, in this context, is very scary. So what’s all this jazz about that doesn’t mean anything? Unfortunately for those who ran this scam, there is a lot more and as a result they didn’t want the first word of appreciation for my efforts to be revealed or acknowledged. So injury after injury was added to injury, insult upon insult was added to poisonous spitball, until the wreckage of the reputation of those who authored this is doomed unless they cut out my tongue, not because I meant to wrong anybody.
The children of Jewish holocaust survivors used to say with great dismay at times, “How could it be?” The language idioms of this cult of creepiness and power are critical to identifying the cultural signature of British trench warriors setting the stage in America from long experience ranging from slavery and trafficking to opium war. The script of “I am the Walrus” trounces the reasoning of the Lennon Estate suggesting that Roberto would have sided with them. These issues are still being settled in MesoAmerica often on behalf of the narcofascists. So why did the United States refuse to unite around exposing the British piracy? How did our failure signify the abuse of Clemente’s name as a public relations boondoggle? What we find in the language idiom can be very dreadful. For example, I searched for the name: Starkey in elementary encryption: Key/star, and there was indeed, a Gister named Carrie Gister. No less a party than Martha Gellhorn for whom Ernest Hemingway dedicated: For Whom the Bells Tolls, addressed the fact that my investigation knew nothing about Roberto or Lennon but rather was into an AIDS war game on Mt. Desert Island I detected in 1984 as a Medical Library Clerk, resigning to investigate. Crary kissed her or Crary gassed her are the implications of Carrie Gister. What is more I found that Ringo Starr covered knowingly for Greg Karl, who co-authored the murder script, with a man named Greg Starsinic, like cynic and arsenic. The involvement of these controllers who used the Beatles in a classic colonial bid for world domination, knew all along about the plan to attack. Positioning themselves to play our salvation, our commonsense, they lay in wait.
Cyril Wecht’s writing demonstrates the way that criminal theory enters the marketplace with the general attribute of collectibles. By limiting intelligence gathering to a protected speech status the truth is dis-empowered allowing confiscation and production rights to be yielded to the assassins. John Rawls’ closest continuer theory is used by perverts involved in this system like Martin Sheen who came here on a personal mission to meet me, as nothing less than a bridge allowing those who killed Roberto to decide who gets to star as him in the film. This cynicism of war poison is what was allowed and what Pittsburgh/Seattle/CCAC and media generally are really saying by claiming Reagan should be exonerated as a dummy. The evidence shows that this disturbing cultural assemblage was an entire theory of behavioral government. It can be chewn and dissected from many angles for years. These were professionals and they still hold dominion. My research shows that Reagan knew. That is the terror that lent Roberto’s name to his killers. Somoza, who Reagan defended, is who Roberto crossed by his flight to his death.
What children of Holocaust survivors have been allowed to do at the University of Pittsburgh is darker and more violent to the mind than any ordinary police brutality, but while lethal when they want it to be, it is also true that they have enlisted local popular culture to help them as jack off entertainment hawkers. The reason my questions about Dr. Proctor, which I have raised at CCAC matter is that his disposition suggests accomplice in the AIDS attack. He was at the center of everything that happened. He was at Pitt with Posvar, at WQED with Matt Marcus, Marcus was a ringleader of those who tortured me, and he was in sufficient prominence to reach world leaders. I was in fact looking for someone who matched his description when he beamed up into my radar and greeted me as a friendly peer, leaning on my mother as a point of lenience and love, in a word forgiveness. I have a right to ask what is real.
When my heart seized up painfully and I got dizzy this morning I realized that the treachery of overwork inflicted by a mentality that dictates (if/then) if you want the truth about Roberto then you must be taking him for Che Guevera. It just happened at the same time. This false analytical format, based on the rude idea of me as a hippy or pinko, has allowed police administration to assault me again and again in the core of a brutally impacted neurological injury until I was stricken, and this is where women were enlisted, because the injury made me deaf, traumatized and under the weather psychologically, meaning I could be made use of for sport and then subject to their cruelty. The script refers repeatedly to: “forces impinging on the persona’s experience” and “x-ample” reasons for rejection. They were contracting on me. Furthermore, the school allowed psychiatric manipulators to use psychiatric manipulation, and neuropsychiatry for the blood thirsty purpose of monitoring and manufacturing behavior for pornographic purposes, beginning in child bondage. Psychiatry as a field to mastermind child pornography punished by death for whistleblowing. How lovely.
This is the case where the Black community refuses to allow understanding to take place. If you try to understand the facts you will be disobeying them and I predict severely punished.
Chemical castration was effectuated without grounds, knowing it was laughable, and the women did laugh, by an agency answering to the Seattle dugout where that horrible Puerto Rican orc Edgar Martinez plays fife for the dirty as though Clemente himself would cheer his own killers. The cold showers of the seductress in the Mt. Desert Island war crime were not only telltale but chill me to the marrow over the license they imply to use Clemente’s mystique. England planned this and stepped in decades ago to halt public agitation in its tracks, admitting to me privately that they were “unconcerned and unaffected by AIDS” that they wanted it to spread. Their allies created horrible films like, “Elmo” and “Kids” to depict as somehow admirable the rotten callousness of New York city teens spreading AIDS. Fully aware that silence was murder it led to both stigma-caused backlash, suicide vows and shaming, they hid the truth which would have ended shame, and that they knew about a script behind the attack, jeering that a nuclear winter of snow then (Snowden) would come with Luke the Snuke (secret nuke) for BurstNy. In fact, the very men who framed me for armed robbery after I went to the Governors School showed me state secrets to give the demented aura of respectability to their asinine code of silence. One of them took the name Nava for the girl who dated the man who shot Rabin.
England formally allied themselves decades ago with the men who brutally, brutally kidnapped and tortured me in armed blindside attacks, a fact that needs to be updated to comprehend the guild of narcofascist elements that Lennon positioned with his drug slave takeover of the peace movement. At least in baseball rules are seen as creative limitations.
There is only one thing that can possibly be organized to answer this: and that is to arrest King Crimson and put them in prison where they belong. They networked this abomination for their lies. They were behind the attack.
The attackers, working with King Crimson, have put me through an unspeakable array of terrible, Papillon ordeals beginning with child mutilation and have convinced Seattle’s dugout that those who raped a retarded deaf girl represented the will of Roberto Clemente????? They have made it out to be a array of morbid misadventures from the perilous and psychotic attentions of Ringo Starr. Just because I’m white? That’s too much ingenuity to pretend you don’t see it or understand. They won’t allow a child psychologist. You might understand. They won’t allow a neurological evaluation, although you can see the neuroprompter in my facial nerve. They won’t admit to deranged neurobedient experimentation. The black gate closes at Safeco where they blame traumatized children who are forced in coma to receive forbidden substances by armed adults. My mother’s screams at me as a child were almost certainly part of the plan to induce paralysis and shattering trauma. Meanwhile, Dr. Proctor, whose head is absolutely filled to the breaking point with chimeras of imaginings about slave rape from yesteryear, is now reasonable suspect in a plan that involved reverse slavery, from a school receiving state funding no less.
A free pass was issued the killers. The rape of Jeannie was the criminal genius of fulfillment by men who monstrously created an evil pornographical dialogue, just making things up. They used the name Evangelia Karmas.
Elements of Pittsburgh have depicted this as a Black-Jewish alliance. The idea is dismal because the historic Black-Jewish alliance they mean got its start in New York City beating up Puerto Ricans together. The violence of Black gangs here and now indicate a predisposition to engage in the terrible acts associated with government repression and narcofascism that took root in places like Somoza’s Nicaragua and now finds our doorsteps with drug lords in our schools. They have money downtown and barristers. It’s all a phenomenon that Hollywood just loves. So we need to be concerned that students from CMU under their own admission being used and directed by Fripp of King Crimson and his close friend Colin Powell were involved in a ripper attack that killed a girl to brag openly of being anger management. There is concrete evidence from the hand of Roberto’s killers that the NEVA Corporation (Japanese pornographers who killed MLK and tortured me, who used JK the initials of an attacker for its meaning in JAV) have Jewish advisors in such psychological strategies as using the more Japanese looking actresses for the most morbid pornographic action footage. They used the c in a Star of David as their symbol after gassing me at Kings Estate. The abusive choice of a Fire Department for Roberto’s museum by the same era of architects as Kings Estate to convey support for Mt. Desert Island is grisly slander on his name. Status symbols, particularly me, because of my father’s wartime valor are erected as a multiplex of museum mafia intrigue about which Yoko Ono knew and positioned herself to molest me again by. If they said it about me they declared it was therefore true.
Pitt engineered conspiracy and racketeering between the King Family and Ku Klux Klan by entrapping me in a Christian military action involving seduction by a woman from India, and that allowed Proctor’s faction to lewdly claim that I was the race aggressor. Sure enough, Midori Goto, who masterminded this evil gossip, showed up with Rosa the rejecting lover and Rosa Clemente’s team. Midori, a race token of age, was the spoil named in the script on whom the Black men in the Army were calling dibs. They wanted to crucify me on heartbreak using Science Fiction methods. This is how they justified the AIDS attack and failure to apprehend this travesty is simple refusal and accomplice. By allowing Rosa Clemente and the terrible turncoats behind the attacks on me to co-opt Roberto’s name as though an endorsement of the AIDS attack is the shattering folly to which I bear witness.
This government crime team have a media of judge and jury deciding if innocent people should be inhumanly sacrificed because they serve the myth of Yoko Ono, who has used John Lennon’s name to gobble up Roberto’s. They are an old school brand of intimidater despite their science fiction methods. They resolve that if their trumped up allegations are sufficiently communicated the slave must answer or be punished by secret means. They constructed a libelous profile of me to consume years without pay through fraudulent demand. They should be called a Taliban and indeed, the author of the ISIS Papers is the black racist who Edgar Martinez evoked in using Roberto’s name in a frightening doublecross favoring the KKK. For them, I am an infidel, all they need do is poison my reputation with women. They have it that if I have a lover again they get to cut my throat, how’s that for government? Their communication artistry can involve very deep considerations based on the warped ideas of Cornell West and other wicked and insular pirates in the Clinton machine intelligensia. Their notions can be super-obscure but they have followed my education down to my anecdotes and have challenged my right to live because of my utility to their film-making.
Pittsburgh and Seattle are not only like Auschwitz and Treblinka but they are also like Sabra and Shantilla. While whining about Rachel Corrie who was killed by the Israelis, Seattle Queers helped slasher Shannon Harps to death in bloodslave alliance to those who killed Corrie. That’s how warped you’ve allowed yourselves to become.
Don’t think I expect you to stop just because the words are in place to try to reason with or evaluate you. While accept the responsibility for addressing this as villainy, I think you should be able to see why I just want out.
James M. Crary