It’s a safe bet when the Establishment tells you that you have scored a victory that the truth is that you have been soundly defeated. A lot of money surrounds the script written by Yoko Ono and Great Britain justifying failure to warn as an exercise in top sacred media indoctrination. One of their cold acts was to sabotage the hope for timely warning by a play about testing for the virus. If you wash they’ll be offended, wiping boogers on the homeless trauma victim in seizures, if you test yourself we’ll escalate. How did that get started? Because when AIDS started they knew that if they warned and suggested abstention until there were tests and that Gays were victims of Gail Burstyn’s attack that the Gays would calm down, support those who were to be disappointed, and the virus could have been curbed. The foreign English didn’t want that, it lisped, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” It attacked the Shi/ts in their conduct unbecoming, degraded and derided them, forcing them to shriek, “No! We won’t cooperate!” driving them into the burning barn, spreading the virus in protest, demanding death vows and blood oaths and bringing in the Unit 731 I.S. of Ichiro Suzuki and German-Iraq mercenaries seething with Patricia Fripp that defsukke must have no children.
Yes, this is real. It happened at Pitt and CMU.
Psychological trauma in a child who has been tortured, subject to terror from blackmail by pedophile police forces watching him intimately after vivisection and mutilation was mocked by the British who sneered that the child was a penitent and that his appeal to Amnesty International masked an attempt to evade justice, that the relief it sought from torture was top secretly an appeal for mercy in delinquency, and the rabid used this tactic to molest horrifically and brutally defeat a bid for the right to bear witness to deranged human trafficking and livestock slaughter. My testimony is the horror of a living dead person who has seen his loved one raped for calling Peter Gabriel for the liar that he is, a deaf victim of serial mutilation who was castrated by those who wanted to school by medium of sacrificial slasher homicide.
The senseless, absurd cruelty of Robert Fripp and King Crimson are evidence of the darkest fears, that the Beatles, who arrived on the heels of Kennedy’s death, were behind the assassination as part of a plan to write America back into the will of Britain in their European Royalist secret treaty with post-war Germany, Italy and Japan. The case is clear. After the murder of Martin Luther King, Laurel Canyon and British occultists drenched the peace movement with the narco-fascism of drugs. The sexual liberation was tuned the purposes of pornography and blackmail. The CIA co-authored the lyrics of HAIR to make the Left out to be Shi/ts in a state of conduct unbecoming.
The script planted on my house was never found, it was confiscated by those who authored it. The staged and phony intercept arrived with Duquesne smoogies like a young man named Davey Jones and his side kick Jocelyn. Jocelyn Elders soon arrived as the syphilitics in the Buffalo, N.Y. white racist crowd, their loyal blacks, New Age Buffalo soldiers, crowded in around Peter Shell, Matt Marcus, Dennis Brutus and Ralph Proctor to gloat over their secret carrot tape and declare, “Let’s have a barbecue,” with Bobby Seale as they launched a white racist plan with Will Zell on Mt. Desert Island, subtitled: Sexual Self-Destruct, the Conscience of the West. Bernie S-lobodniak was a likely Federal postman agent behind the fact that junk mail kept coming to Jimmy CREARY as did the letters from Zell. Don’t say that a white man killing Shannon Harps proves Aaron Dixon wasn’t involved, because Barry and Barack’s politics at Sound Mental Health were the deceptive but simple politics of the ARK. I have no evidence that Dr. Ralph Proctor was involved in the murder of Shannon Harps, but I do know the Seattle Post Office in Chinatown had a black man who was, and that Aaron Dixon was, and that Black Panthers and the Post Office Union appear side by side in his book, that his colleague Sylvia Green works with McVeigh and they produced Rosa for the Two Virgins Pussyball game of Rosa Clemente advancing Dr. King’s killers in the name of Black trophy spoils. Proctor doesn’t come across as a man that easily bribed, but Midori was feisty, never know, with the pro-Nam War haters at the NAACP.
ARK/Artek were in fact the company from Salk Labor who built the India Parliament Building, their office neighbors of the Alpana tryst that New Age Buffalo soldiers for the Confederacy built for Midori Goto’s vivisection pedophilia of Pussyball war gaming, and they locked me in a house from the inside with the monsters who brutally blindsided and tortured me as a child. The coward Fripp, forever simpering his brutality, prancing to dance upon the tables of American High Command, lisped, “we have a responsibility to go for that!” meaning backstab the AIDS Generation and curry favor with a military elite as determined as London to suppress American history and dignity.
The assassination of Harvey Milk came on the heels of the Jonestown Massacre. Like every particular in the symbolic mosaic, the assassination had its symbols. Many factions of cop vigilante and old boys network knew the secret weapon was coming, its child pornography pretexts, its liberal targets. De De Mancine who was the agent from the Sisters of NEVA credited for the death of Martin Luther King used to say in British leer, “don’t cry over spilt milk.” The cop who shot Harvey got off lightly for staying up all night eating twinkies. Milk, after all, was a twink.
Wallace had his boy and Proctor has his Jimmy, currying the flights of stairs for his Honors Department midterm grade of B. In Understanding Violence we are to understand that when the Black Man covers for AIDS being manmade by hiring attack prostitution with Rosa Rosa in the name of Roberto Clemente to dignify his killers by slurring the sacrificial deaf white suck that torture and mutilation is nothing new. It happened to slaves. The liberal white was the convenient thing to hate. The Beatles took the precaution of announcing that Yoko Ono wanted the golem diseased and that if he washes she’ll be offended.
Jews who went the Hitler road and Blacks who became New Age Buffalo soldiers convened on the AIDS script with the yammers of Boko Harem. Youssou N’dour made no secret in his silk shanks of his loping behind the youth movement as an insurrectionist for ISIS. The British rock industry didn’t just aid the revenge of Hitler we now know to have been John Lennon’s real purpose in authoring his executioner’s songs, they spat upon the young and hopeful in Arabia for the Swords of the Caliphate. For all intents and purposes the massacres at Eagles of Death Metal in Paris was friendly fire, just like 911 and the rape of deaf Jeannie. It was the gnashing of the ogre raven McCartney’s teeth for infinite satisfy.
Frank Herbert knew. He must have. He not only manipulated the symbols of Islam in his acid book Dune, but he conceived of the blond white boy implacably taken hostage and sacrificially murdered by a nabob of meditation on satisfy calling himself Katzuk. Katzuk loved his little Jimmy, treated him gracefully, fed him well, and sat rocking and singing with his dead boy on his lap when discovered. Soul Catcher high mindedness was behind the slay of JFK for the calming of the Jews from Dachau who, led by Logo-therapist Victor Frankl caressed Pener Gabriel’s foul head as he bellowed he was the priest the doctor who could handle the 911s of cowhooves gnawing with Duduraq.
After Gerstbrein had E. Slagle, the SL Eagle of Snively (Sny evil) Road fun ask me if I ever played Royalty and Princess Di was convenience, the Tive/Stockwells lured me with the usual promises of sanctuary to Seattle, which was all set up with the Masters of the AIDS Combine. M. Stahl and Les Stahl circled the roads with Mutual Fish and Handy Andy, a tribute to Handy Andrea, Leni Reifenstahl, mom’s delays and denials, and the queer sympathizers at Gaspar, while Jimmy cowered, having been forced on Atenolol by Death Row Powell and My Lai Fripp, in an apartment outside Lick Her and Whine (Liquor and Wine was across the street from the Police Precinct HQ that didn’t bother investigating Blue House and Shannon Harps’ ripper murder after I was banned from the Community College for trying to get help and warning to the Commonwealth.
On the road to Seattle by way of Maine, I found myself not far from Zell again in a deaf church from Guyana as Franklin Graham’s white flock asked me with accelerated voices of insistence, “If you died right now would you go to heaven? If you died right now would you go to heaven? If you died right now would you go to heaven?”
The murderers denied me education by deafening me and then withholding sign language. Carefully ingenious in their duplicity they snuck me atenolol, incapacitating my love life, and taught me sign language to return me to school, as an Honors student, to say, here now he can learn again, we’re finished schooling him.