What the British have done should have convinced you by now that we are dealing with the criminally insane. So-called meta-narrative is as important to Seattle Green Party as it was to Adolf Hitler. They knew from birthing me that in order to lie effectively they would have to be uncompromising and that is their calling card. It is difficult to see how anyone can miss the Federal message: they incubated news of atrocity in broad daylight by cooking it in the brutal, serial mutilation of an intelligent man held hostage behind the curtain of deafness and impacted head trauma. They are incapable of redress, and have reduced the analysis to an ongoing hourglass of circuit hours, sands running out before experimental disease transmission and this criminal syndicate in The State of Washington is why Governor Jay Inslee has a problem in his Presidential aspirations. He wants acceptance of this despicable paradigm to be accepted as the example he offers in saving us from global warming. If it isn’t a return to slavery it is only because slavery never went away.
Under these officers of government you will never be allowed to see reality clearly, no matter what they say. I have seen for too long, up close, that they don’t mean well, not in the least, not even slightly, not for a minute. Their motto is: never bite the hand that feeds you poison.
I don’t know why they subjected me to so much terrorism. I assume that Steve Langer of Princeton was telling the truth in snarling that he wasn’t sorry for anything he did only that it had to be me. They needed an object that served. It wasn’t personal. It has been made personal by convenience and manufacture; meaning that appearing personal served. That’s why it was possible for Dr. Proctor, for example, to teach me, treat me so well as a student and underling, while still using me for their purposes. James Child of Bowling Green called it a utility function, meaning it isn’t me and yet it is, they need to target and use me for a voodoo doll, but it isn’t really important to them that they are telling cold blooded lies for their group project. Inslee, for his part, is perfectly happy to be in Confederacy with those who have tried to doom the earth as part of their statement. That is why they will never let me out. Taking me hostage and holding me prisoner is too effective in being evasive.
Unfortunately for the human race when words stop having meaning the world doesn’t stand much of a chance.
The case against the United States of America being made by the enemy within, notoriously Donald J. Trump, acting current President, but he won’t be forever, is invalidated in some respects by the fact that it is being made by those responsible for the problem selling their ideas of an answer. Jay Inslee is a dacoit of Trump in that ways. They created the identity barrier that Aaron Dixon and Rosa Clemente hold in place. You’re up against me, they like to have their actors intone, as though I want that, as though that’s a god-given part of the bargain. Then, since it’s true, I have to play ball or accept their terrorism.
18 trillion dollars ago, as the crow flies, when the Dulles Brothers set out to rob us, under Eisenhower, but with intent to martyr Kennedy to their god machine, and upload the evil pig Lyndon Johnson, the brilliant who understood that the NAACP grunts to same Hollywood trowel as the KKK, giving us Nixon and Kent State, on the road to Reagan’s war in Central America, and Bush’s scorched earth of Syria, and that mad hatter sadist Obama, was the span of one generation. It is the generation to allowed Hitler to escape as a friend of King Edward and the Beatles to make a raucous Vegas statement of the Burstyn script, like a shot in the dark.
The licky chops in their hooligan swindle grimace online what haven’t you confided yet queerbait? They aren’t going to stop, we all know that now, they are murderers vying for slave rights and they have done too much already. Inslee is offering to smother it in climate emergency. We do, after all, have the children to think about, and if there isn’t some message in showing how hard it is for a parent to accept some injury as part of making the world better for the children, then the death of JFK, the day when the hope making the world better for the children died, has little to redeem it by, but there you have it, though, the insane waited for RFK and knew that the message of eternity was theirs to play.
When Yevgeny Yevtushenko signed his book, Face Behind the Face, Ivan Ilych, he was making an important political statement for Donald J. Trump. This was back in the days of the film Network when Trump made his important political cameo as the man they called God. There were agents of the Combein like Foucault gearing up their metanarrative high and low. Penis Gabriel is an important example, one of the most sinister and cruel of the bards. It’s very grueling to understand them. Selling Mt. Desert Island and Gail Burstyn as a psychotic ploy to organize the Seattle Left for Warhol and the Tojo ronin under Yoko Ono and Shiono through warpo world offices like Thos. Merton Center in Pittsburgh was a hit of slime, the great grandmother of fake news from Liverpool Street in Pittsburgh and 1717 Murdoch, two virgins pussyball. Behind it, a lot of it, was George Romero and his terrible infant of redemption MisterRogers. I still remember how scared of me he was the first time I met him when I was about six years old and he confided mysteriously with my mother Nancy before she delivered me to the lair of Wattenmaker.
Mother tells her version by saying I became obsessed with a band who had an image of a man with a spike through his ears. Interesting because the image actually comes from one of Wattenmaker’s favorite films Berserk. Joan Crawford was with Nixon in Dallas the day the English, Gen. Walker and Oswald Mosley, killed Kennedy. Just cut him down, attaboy, Ringo. Ringo doesn’t take his own name seriously, nobody had more contempt for them I can recall growing up than Miles Kirshner, whose squint of lewd backbites is all over the licky chops of Warhol. They have Mel Gibson on the case. It’s an ugly secret. Wattenmaker liked making bottle explode by gaslighting taps, he invented a game called Bundy, and especially enjoyed the Hawaii Five-O two part PTSD episode that augured Rambo: First Blood, an allusion to De De Mancine, the virginity cheat of Ronnie Zsinki and Kasper, but the real woman in the nest was name Ke, a signifier, and why not, for King Edward, the key, our little region’s Madame Chang.
The face behind the face, or what Stewart Sheppard called the play within the play goes deeper. One reason the criminal genius at work is so hard to combat is because that is what it is, a genuinely awful brand of intellect. Take the way that those, led by Tom Rodd, who was in classic area history books for being the first legal Conscientious Objector to the Vietnam War to turn in his Draft Card and take the prison sentence, worked his imagery for him. His brother told me about spotlighting. It works on hostage children, you go into shock. Those who lived by Richard Wright had in the nectar of poison stews old Special Detail survivors from Auschwitz. That was my neighborhood, remember? The holocaust county where the shooting at the synagogue was this year. So making this province of slavery as Proctor likes to lighten things up by calling it that, a special province, you see, into an episode of Ming Na Wen’s Friends, off-Broadway, you just have to laugh at the way that those spinster Black women played their role. Dr. Proctor has a story of the trembling white confiding his in good black employee while all the while she was reporting his peeing his pants in fear of them to the NAACP. Ain’t that fly? You better hire them. Proctor says you won’t change until you are afraid of them. Meaning, until you are reduced to scream of tears on the streets of homelessness by their deranged, maniacal, criminal terrorism, but oh, you get circuit hours, your brains are still in the skillet.
Dolly Meieren sent me a letter written in blood ink about Guerilla Theater across the street from MisterRogers’ church, in the days before she was working with Sean Strub openly, as a friend of Masako Shiono and Ruth Hammer. It came with a King Crimson pin, and said, “U.S. Out of North America.” In it, she announces as her “next project” getting Mr. Topp the science teacher fired. Really, it wasn’t true. She worked with Mr. Topp. She was his favorite. He is the one who got the lackluster Bob Casey elected as a joke because they had the same name, and offered me fifty bucks to drive a deviant, doom-laden looking car into the depths of Louisiana for him, all in all a stone’s throw from Philadelphia, Mississippi.
I never understood why Baskins and Robbins was so much like Batman and Robin, but I do understand why my teacher flunked me at the spelling bee by telling me to remember it was Arrid, like extra dry. I doubt you do, those fatal allusion from Death Valley Platz.
