The Author of Emptiness

“What would you think of a scheme to transform the human race by injecting the blood with semen?” ~ Will Zell Broome, agent of Mt. Desert Island’s AIDS war game entrapment operation, Poconos Cafe, 1981.

“I didn’t want to take it because my face would get red and blotchy,” ~ Gail Carolyn Burstyn, author of the Lennon murder/blackblood letters, 1974.

“I don’t care about any of that,” ~ Dr. Ralph Proctor, 2016

The British were extravagantly crass in their role as leaders of a mass murder, long forgotten in advance known as the AIDS Onslaught. It was an ugly, evil, malicious adventure, which fit into a long incubated public voodoo story about overpopulation, clocked to a hue and cry about sexual morality. 1974 was halfway art between the 1968 murder of King and 1980 vanishing act of someone Lennon. A great emptiness spread its wings and engulfed a throng of the unlucky in the Caliphate of a New World Order.

Look a snide, sniveling, imitative moment at the hack poet Pener Sinfield who loped his way into the annals of unspeakable treachery by purple flutings meant to set up the backstab of mellow yellow Aquarians in the dark dawn of King Crimson. Like the arrival of the sicko, women beaters, and their songs of women running for their lives from odious, jealous men, who jetted into Hollywood Bowl while the smoke cleared in Dealey Plaza, King Crimson arrived on the pool of Martin Luther King’s blood, a Delphic Oracle of the Beatle syphilitics who eventually regressed into dittyland at the hacking of Adrian Belew’s vicious arrival, but not before authoring the most horrible emptiness in human history, an emptiness more ghastly than the dirt which covered the Polish Army in the woods of Katyn. It is the emptiness of Katz/Burstyn.

Foriegn rabid are unspeakable. Mick Jagger made his horrible reputation sleazing down any peasant daughter who glued her way to him braless, passing off his rejects to code named Brown 25, otherwise known as David Bowie, crooning rotten love songs to each other’s throwaway wives. Meanwhile, the clinic bombing King Crimson hissed of Karn Evil Revolution against the riff raff mice in a constricted environment, their claquists braying loudly in books of Iran to join the Ark swiftly before the waters of overpopulation rose to engulf them.

Of course they had a foil, the oh so innocent yearning of the Black man for fair play.

The Federal Government of the United States of America is criminally insane. They know what they have done. They have authored, I kid you not, A DEATH SENTENCE AGAINST INNOCENT CHILDREN. Literally. This is not an evil twist from the mangling mind of Yoko Ono about abortion being used to buttress the AIDS Combine for Franklin Graham’s Jesus mind games. This is not a pussyball orchestra claiming higher morality from the Sisters of Mercy Hospital, intending to jeopardize the liberty of a deaf poet they viciously, viciously mauled. This is a cold-blooded, proto-judicial, thoroughly thought out, planned, rubber stamped, DECREE by The White House to obstruct, prevent and punish any attempt to escape the boa constrictor of the plan to make good and sure that the AIDS Onslaught is never questioned in a court of law. Any attempt to achieve AIDS Nuremberg will result in the murder of innocent children in retaliation by forces created full-knowing by the Federal Government counting on the street crimes services of evil, eccentric, lunatic Beatles loyal mercenaries.

How this happened is slippery fish, and it was clever. The murderers who tortured me and authored AIDS wrote a script that they then grabbed back. Don Denis, speaking for the production team of Peter Gabriel, sent me a letter, “I pour this on you steaming, I hope it’s enough,” the night they gave me scabies. It wasn’t enough. Paul McCartney’s syphilis-addled mind is never fully sanctified. They raped Jeannie, they bombed buildings, they slasher-rippered Shannon Harps, all because their Queer Sabbath have it impacted into their psychopathic craw by the Zappa klan that Jimmuh Queebait cudda saved John Lennon but was hasslin’ Leslie Katz. Auh, auh, auh.

This means that The Beatles got Queer Sabbath to back those who started AIDS. They didn’t even hide this disgraceful and cheap comedy. They lied about the incident at Kelly School for Ming Na Wen’s smokescreen of the letters they wrote, sent to me and stealer’d when they had me in circles as a deaf man completely at sea about what was going on. Not in my worst nightmares could I have imagined the Federal Bureau of Investigation authoring the murder of John Lennon in the name of James MacRyland Crary and then punishing me because I didn’t know. Yet there it is. They had a girl stabbed and left the encryption: ABULAFIA.

Don’t know what that means? ABU Mumia Jamal is on Death Row. La are the first initials of my sister’s name. FIA means daughter in Italian and is said by De De Mancine to be the meaning of Ma’fia.

The Green Party were in place with complicit Black leaders to demand tribute to their evil concept of victim on victim chicken fighting, a food fight of pretzel grievance, as the stunning decision by rock stars of Britain to refuse to warn what they knew in 1984 when Amanda Harcourt told me, “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” and whined like a spoiled Prince that Hero cudda met Archimedes and averted the population explosion, while the Fripp klang held crying, screaming little Jimmy down for a vicious reaming, gurgling at me, “Squeal like a pig! Squeal! Squeal! Squeal like a pig!”