Heil Jesus!


This essay is the only chance the United States of America has not to lose The Revolutionary War, in which my family served, so listen well. I am writing to you about the perverts who murdered Roberto Clemente and how their intelligence system has unfolded in the City of Pittsburgh as representative of deranged individuals who have operated from The White House since the assassination also of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. In understanding this tragedy, without abandoning your critical right to think doubtfully of all that is presented, you will be asked to become cluebusters and to recognize the magnitude, the source and the venom of what has taken place and been unleashed by Great Britain. They are deliberately and purposefully masquerading as our friend while surrounding us with enemies. They want us, in the end, destroyed by their macabre masterpiece theater, to witlessly cling to them, defeated, as they nurse us to death while laughing at the knife in our backs. The magical, mysterious attack that they have authored was done with Adolf Hitler in Argentina to pave the world for future Royalism. As the mysterious river of dead fish in Arkansas, which sent a shudder through our newspapers for a day made clear, by demonstration of their satellite death ray, developed at Carnegie Mellon University made clear, the AIDS Onslaught was just the beginning. For now, their English terror society, calling themselves poets, have once against presented as a truce of deliverance, the right to present copy at which they will take the solemn vow of urine upon with maniacal gaiety. They have underestimated me. What they call madness is what they want least: effective descriptive efforts to keep up with them.

It is of course not only a testimonial about Carnegie Mellon. They have satellites in Seattle, where I was forced to run, screaming in the throes of the neurological poison they administered on me back in the days of Kent State, when I was a child, for the purpose of lifelong torment and injury, bulwarked by the criminally insane Federal Bureau of Investigation. When I told my police civics professor about what I had learned at Carnegie Mellon while Pitt cornered me into an office assistant job with James W. Child of Bowling Green, the magnitude of the evil and hostility going on there, she said it was our of her league. Seattle chemically castrated me. If you look at the script from 4/4/74 it mentions De De Mancine in connection with the murder of Dr. King. Ideological processes were at work justifying what was done to me by the Federal Education Bill line between 12 and 13. She seduced me but I was four months older. To those who tortured me, this meant that my adult political views were captured and I was guilty of statutory rape and under the jurisdiction of their Taliban a fucking asshole at Harborview was told to deceive me about my blood pressure and give me a poison that would cut off my sexual productivity and this was a mean-spirited act by the political powers in that vicious, deranged and despicable city. The empty bottle of the expensive drug Viagara in my medicine cabinet, my deafness and the rape of my sign language advocate are all part of the same quasi-Federal police state action that State of Pennsylvania legal society put together as a function of HitlerReagan’s plan in the AIDS Onslaught preparing for the near future rise of a new King of England. I will explain and present some of the assembled evidence currently available showing what happened and how we have been manuvoeured into a Vichy America ignobly by the assassins of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. This operation has failsafe aspects and is considered a fait accompli on both sides of the Congressional bi-partisan aisle.

Britain castrated me as a symbolic sacrifice of the servitude they are demanding and expect from the United States of America. Reagan was the master of the machine that allowed Peter Gabriel to deny my symbolic importance. Cleverly they mutilated me young, making no secret of their alliance to Hitler, in order to make me a laugh before peers, an expertise that Pink Floyd have advertised in the sinister and morbid music of peer insinuation. The estate of the Beatles, as a function of our super-structural architecture, are more a legend of Hollywood than a tawdry little ego shop of horrors from the history of music. They were created to empower the de-humanization of other people. Throughout the AIDS abomination, something terribly serious about them has come to light. They were never really men. They were half-god, half-mice acting barbarically in a fluted whimsy that was considered hip. The Beatles, whose chronic theme was being cruel to women, beating them and forcing them to run for their lives from deadly threats were ideally situated for a diabolical backstab against the human race. If you believe that ordinary Germans had no obligation to stop the persecution of the Jews, or that we do not owe the truth to the historic record about what was done to the AIDS victims, read no further. AIDS victims are brainwashed puppets of the Beatles, which is exactly what Hitler knew they would be and helped them plan. You cannot understand any of this without understand that the devastation wrought upon the house of Ryland Wesley Crary and James MacRyland Crary, Unit 731-styled mutilation and vivisection authored by King Crimson, would not have been possible without the help of John Lennon as an evil special agent whose disappearance was a Houdini magic show, just as much as Reagan’s staged incident with John Hinckley, as the script and situation in Pittsburgh proved, was planned. John Lennon is one of the masterminds of the AIDS Onslaught. He is wanted for mass murder.

If you share my concern about what forces had Ward and Marie Moore’s grandson, my grandparents were voted Distinguished Citizens of Poplar Bluff, Missouri, after he retired from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, hiding with fingernails bitten bloody on the top shelf of his towel closest on Winterton Street in Pittsburgh, a pawn in a violent lifelong crime by Warhol’s sect in Lawrenceville, led by Yoko Ono and signed in letters with the name of a Israeli named Gail Burstyn, your mind and your conscience are a good deal like Anne Frank, hiding in a closet amidst a great swirl of media misinformation, a barrage of sound, light, confusion of deed, mind and purpose. I am not offering you a cross to carry. I realize that part of the crime was to promote a faith-based mission upon the poor to engage in a food fight and victim-on-victim squabble and to foist on the shoulders of the wretched the woes of other wretched. Nor can I exonerate you your denials and evasion. All I am doing is explaining who did this and how I was used, what my experience and evidence teaches, and to suggest where there is to go from here, if anywhere, that can restore our dignity as a heritage and legacy of people.

The murder of Shannon Harps was an Executive Action based on consecration of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s proclaimed right to do illusion-craft. When I think of how empty my life has been because I fell for it, because I trusted them, because I believed in them, I am in so much pain that there’s nothing tears can do. Martha Gellhorn, using Israeli grudge about the Holocaust as her touchstone, is a signatory of the syphilis behind this rancid, criminal act by Peter Gabriel, sniveling that he is the Master of Ceremonies in a cathartic rage most exquisite designed by Brother Eno to soothsay the symbolic thirst of Africa, in which they have invested musically, for tribute to their pain. This essay may not make sense to you at first. It is a bulletin you should return to again and again to focus on in your own assessment to clarify for yourself the decision that was made for you by Clinton and Bush: to surrender to Hitler’s revenge, and never lift the burden of being ruled by Kennedy’s assassins, for their goals are you own, whether you know it or are just unwilling to hear it said. Indeed, the most effective form of suppression isn’t censorship, it is the unwillingness to hear what has to be said. Denial silences the screams. You are only being compared to Nazis because you refuse to read on. You are afraid of my words, afraid enough to shoot me and shut them down. That’s how craven you are.

I was scheduled to fall in love with Midori Goto and see her as a symbol of love and hope who could help me save our generation from tears of ruin. My father Ry had insulted the Beatles when he met them in a little English pub before their rise, and Lennon hissed when summoning the quarrymen to hire the Pitmans to kidnapped, gas and torture me, “He thinks he’s better than us,” setting upon a little boy from the fleet who dropped the Little Boy bomb, as all the evidence shows. Lennon screamed my father’s name in the song “Revolution No. 9.” Yoko Ono’s cohorts at Nikkatsu Studios who followed him as the voice in the radio room on the Little Queen or USS San Jacinto, who was blamed in a vendetta by Bush for the loss of his plane, as their Tokyo Rose, their voice of the enemy, and you can see them in their HitlerReagan semiotic films stalking him and me as humanist educators for exampling in a great trafficking and sneering, “Ah SO, Pittsburgh!” The archetypes that Queen Elizabeth chose, particularly of Gail Burstyn, for the post-deluge Ark of Colors is put into the semiotics of cinema history with a de-cipherable moral message about why the others were exterminated, to bring health, prosperity and ecstasy to the royal elite allowed to survive, including elite black tokens who Obama was installationed as Mr. President to enthrall. Burstyn’s archetype appears in the Seattle Space Needle playing violin, on the cover of Under Heavy Manners by Robert Fripp, in the film about Unit 731 from Japan called Devil Behind Sun, gassed with a little boy and a dove, and in Ayn Rand’s film “We The Living” above the caption of Lennon’s famous advertisement for the game, “Just Like Starting Over” when you forget and forgive, kowtow to Yoko Ono and open your box of treasure for the human trafficking revolution of English Opium Warriors behind MK-Ultra.

The Noah Virus plan occurred in Casino Royale starring Woody Allen. His film, “What’s Up Tiger Lily” was a clue game into the farce of how the Hollywood establishment has ruled and encrypted their scummy authorship into the web of their cinema history. A Shot in the Dark and The Killers were timed to the Kennedy Assassination, and everyone in command at Capitol Records knew that Reagan and the Beatles were doing it to grab the future for Hitler’s Revenge. Reagan was behind 911, a symbolic finishing off of the war fought backwards, a Pearl Harbor final touch on their victory, as Midori Goto spat in my face and Yoko Ono had me castrated as a libelous Durrenmatt widow. Read on.

When Hollywood is involved, rules change. The power structure entrenched around management of delusion arises from the dawn of Hollywood. The power elite, who act big, con openly and deny everything, derive their power and popularity from the false heartbeat of faith that they inspire, but Lennon wasn’t about the people, he said, “I’ll take the young and healthy.” He was about his horror crone from Unit 731 and their NEVA Mancine child trafficking pornography ring in Pittsburgh, denying the evil of Greg Karl’s manuscripts and nerve injury of the Golem. Israel allied with Franco and made us into Vichy America, ruled by a weird, simpering, French-speaking Idi Amin named Obama. The facelie and ruthlessness of backstabblery is all over the viciousness towards me authored by King Crimson. They will never escape the history of what they have done, and who they lost when they burned a friend alive. No dissembling by the reich of Martha Gellhorn will ever undo that the aptitude for satirizing absurdity in the art of Woody Allen masked a sneaky anger about what happened to the Jews seconded Oliver Stone hired some child-molesting riflemen to cover their dirty with tears of horror and shame. Profiling the character of our prominent Jewish Charlies is always discouraged, of course, and you court lobotomy for it.

I don’t mean to abuse your ladylike ears, but all the evidence from Carnegie Mellon confirms that Lennon was here first and authored a Two Virgins Pussyball game clocked to the AIDS Onslaught, while Ming Na Wen carried on about Leslie Katz to justify the rape of deaf Jeannie over foreign English carrion bird rivalries for Midori Goto’s virginity. Goto of Unit 731 was no more raped, and endangered as she claimed, laughing through it all in victory, as the victims themselves fell to lick her feet, than Marie McDonald of Hollywood was really kidnapped. The Paul is Dead clue game was a testing of the waters for the AIDS Onslaught. Think of that next time you eat at the Golden Arches.