The history of Police brutality and corruption contains folklore stereotypes that border on comical despite the tragedy they designate. Who could think of an innocent black man shattered beyond repair by prison labor and thrashing in Mississippi’s Parchman Penitentiary when laughing at the foiled and angry cigar chomping bigot exasperated by James Bond in the film: Diamonds are Forever? Such men need one another to laugh off the crying shame of human sacrifice. Police brutality and Her Majesty’s Secret Service by point of history have long been Hitler’s Fifth Column in America. The possibility of escape lies not in justice but in privilege and selection.
Had Hitler had a concept about the Jews analogous to W.E.B. Dubois’ concept in black sociology of the talented tenth we would have had in Nazi Germany a situation much like in America with the Obama travesty. The A-1 Jews as Goebbels put it might have even managed Treblinka.
The sort of people who care about torture or regard it as uncivilized or un-American (terms that unfortunately do no complement each other well) are gone. Instead we have a situation of fetish and proclivity in which America is a Nazi paradise, AIDS a cold-blooded extermination program thoroughly explained, extolled and exonerated by the political machine to blame. From the craven pursuit of street credibility to the management of penal harm by Gestapo Wardens and their mafia, the license to abuse is regarded tacitly as universal. Political murder is so common that the only amazement it provokes is the lack of judgmental commentary in the self-muzzled press.
Should your taste be, as Reagan’s was, child mutilation, I might be able to interest you in British advances achieved in the Tuskegee backwater known as the City of Pittsburgh, which served as the still for King Crimson’s fascist moonshine, a script of gloating in the AIDS Onslaught. The maneuvers of the assassin group, operating out of the Carnegie, are truly shocking. They have used AIDS as a license to create a whole new field of terrible, cruel and depraved, degrading acts of violence, prolonging their sport into a lifelong ordeal of suffocation and surreal brutality. The Beatles smuggled into Pittsburgh the horrid Japanese militarists, and crones of Unit 731, while they made the idea of their viciousness into James Bond’s laugh over a frustrated Southern Sheriff.
Symbolism, of course, was everything and meaning meant nothing. They threw away ever relevant issue: from apprehension of the guilty to public warning in favor of a lottery ticket scam for versions written by the assassins for sale, some as tithes to a group known as Queer Sabbath. A deaf girl they raped was deemed not a victim but rather a deaf white suck. The hemorrhage of the evil that fumed from the vile cloak of Midori Goto was indefatigable.
James Dubya Child of Bowling Green, who was obviously set upon me by joint perversion of Wesley Posvar at Pitt and Washington Ethical Society’s cut throat Robert Fripp, a beefeater with mad cows and a guitar. Child had a resume 30 pages long from his career in warfare plotting. He loved to write his own rulebooks as theories of experimental law, and quoted Abby Hoffman before the HUAC hearings for his bluster is saying of whether he was a subversive, “yeah f.u. so what?”
They gave a child they violently and purposefully developmentally disabled clues that adults could deny in order to later blame and punish as a tattle. The idea that illegal homework was permitted and that the flow of a child’s understanding was a crime went beyond corporal punishment in the toxic severity of the savagery and slaughtering blows. They forced me to devour something deadly to make a fortune by using my name in their enormity which they then denied and sold by saying it would help the other victims to unleash the pornography of their resentment on an innocent dummy, which they likened to giving a dog cow hooves to gnaw on because otherwise it might get pent up and bite someone. This illustrative commentary because an odious operation of guerilla war by the enemy occupiers.
The way this horrid cult go about stalking with intent to kill, cyber cuing by online intimidation, leaving a woman slashered outside, the ravenous abuse they superwaved through major metropolitan media with the help of Peter Gabriel, the syphilis of their black rage puppets, is the weirdest thing you could ever imagine. They justify it by having tortured and kidnapped a child into a known film-maker’s studio control stage setting of libels about delinquency, voiding representation or even the most primitive child psychology, with the pervert Bowie back in the saddle like the grandfather in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, pumping pedophile blackmail into the broth, vowing to humiliate the queerbait to the grave and beyond.
They couldn’t get enough of it. The very presence of the name Robert Fripp screams: BACKSTAB!