This letter is about why Barack Obama will never replace JFK in the hearts of those true to the American Republic, and his actual legacy, Donald Trump. To understand this is both simple and complicated. The simple issue is that his faction put tactics before character, the more nightmarish complexity is in the impact of 1984-style on the Black mind and body politic. In 1984, a man was broken. Dr. Proctor at school in Pittsburgh talks with some sensitivity on the breaking of a slave. He understands the humiliation and trauma. In 1984, the soul murdered individual finally screams, do it to the woman I love instead of me. It is much much easier for the American black. All he has to do is hiss, “do it to the white!”
Everyone knows how pointless it is to argue with hirelings. For so long as Yoko Ono has Warhol headhunter money on the mania of her contraption there will be bloodthirst, bloodshed and murder of a sort that rather than being tired of for its senselessness and egomania, Seattle has acquired a savor. So, first, I will tell you what happened and move from their to what it teaches us about Kennedy and Obama.
The root principle also came from Dr. Proctor who said, “I think that his being black was good enough reason to vote for Obama.” You could vote for Idi Amin on that basis and don’t think the people who promoted Obama don’t know it. As for what happened, it’s perfectly chilling and clear, how it puts Obama into perspective will be obvious, too, even without knowing the evidence that Proctor was in it for a bribe from a psychotic Japanese New York high financer, which I do.
The murderers in Allegheny County insisted for decades of criminal charade and sadism that nobody tortured me that I simply lacked guts and street credibility. Chin was raped for defying them by teaching me sign language. The photograph my sister found after I was kidnapped and tortured, the scientific investigation of nerve and optic damage, all prove that I am struggling with the criminally insane. This doesn’t stop them from calling themselves my friends and insisting that I am a runaway property.
Now for what happened on the job. I was in love. I believed in my fiance and the Union co-workers masqueraded as supportive. They plied me with notes as a deaf employer which they collected for blackmail. I hoped they could be trusted because I had taken a stand against Apartheid and was battling for my life against the Ku Klux Klan. Instead of saying, you have a brain injury we know about from secret records at Pitt, you need counseling, all of us want to help you get well, they had hired the woman, Rosa, as a political action defending the murderers who impacted it. They knew I didn’t know it was there. They knew I was playing the fool and looking foolish to entertain murderers who would kill me if I were believed. Then, when they rubbed my face in gang betrayal, they grafitti’d the elevator with the words: The Joke’s On You. I ended up in seizures and homelessness.
Exactly who this chain gang is was also very revealing, but before showing the specifications that make clear they killed JFK and are in fact using me for an archaeological hostage in terror sacrifice and sadism, behold the promised claque in Dallas from the records of the Police Department, because it is there that Lee Marvin and the Star Trek/Hollywood crowd who defended Jack Ruby and became Pentagon-Disney tipped their hats in old stock black and white footage with Dan Rather arriving impressed. The pack animal style of wolf whistles and catcalls is all over the police arrival to the scummiest rub out on record. While modern observers laugh about idealists making JFK an icon, they fail to explain their scorn for due process. The wolfpack style is perfectly obvious in the way the NAACP made me a sex object in a secret film extravaganza clocked by murder script to the AIDS attack.
The State of Washington invited me here and promptly poisoned me in the mouth. The antibiotics do not seem to be helping. Understanding the situation at Tacoma Community College and Mercy Hospital in Pittsburgh brings you face to face with The Laughing Baalrog that is Obama’s real legacy: Donald Trump. The State Governments of our society are operating a human trafficking switchboard with snarling dacoits from the Postal Service Union and NAACP covered for by Jesse Jackson, who cut the deal with Reagan. Although they are Confederate and brazenly two-tongued, their tricks are tedious. From one side of the British cleft nostril they lisp in aquiline tonsilings of being gangsta street rapper honor society supporting Bush and Reagan, while from the other side of their ripper hatter slandering wormtongues they play the old Army man game of undercover operations accusing a target of betraying them as communists peers which was seen very clearly in Dallas. The crime guild is so brazen in this they call themselves The Green Party openly on campus. In other words, encouraged by old doughboys in wheelchairs, the government authorities sought to lead to this level of depravity and depredation by practice of Palace dacoits. They call it a food fight, throwing a crumb to armed hatters in a pack of boat people. This was connived and convened by a structural analysis of crowd control by hunger rage. Dignity and civil law in Our Commonwealth isn’t even a consideration when it comes to the logistics of maniacal syphillitics working the ledgers of their taliban code.
To see the connection between MK-Ultra (Mein Kampf Ultra-Secret) whose poisons the Beatles put on the menu in the 60’s, and The Graham Foundation takes no effort at all. In Pittsburgh it plays out smoothly on the human trafficking dimension of partnership between Shawn Brooks and Mike Seate. Administration at Sound Mental Health and Mercy Hospital, directed by Duquesne University Police Department, cover for their hostage taking by squalling about secrecy and confidences. The legacy of improper investigations of the NAACP have done more than caused bad blood towards our police society functions. It has rendered them presumptive goons all their own.
Jay Inslee, the I in CID, which means CIA, is a Goodfella type. He thought it was an absolute riot to chemically castrate me while his forces made off with my fiance as she cuckolded me with the riddler words, “You do not tlust me!” The arrogance and malpractice is not exactly Tacoma City Light, but it may save some daughters of the American Republic from the switchblade of black panther pimpery. The underlying matrix of the criminal operation that did this to me and Kennedy, between which there is an emphasis on incomparability that masks how we were forcibly joined in symbolism by the occultists directing the killers from London, is the concept in Norwegian Wood, “she once had me.” This is disallowed by wolfpack jackals. You once had her! They leer, snivel and rant, putting forth an Asian Gestapo priestess from the Ayn Rand beastiary, licky chops that she is the unattainable majesty of idealism in conquest, and that Greg Karl’s X-motive is valid as BF Skinner “sexual access,” the usual hooligan sociology from those who get paid to loath our schools, privacy and dignity. How convenient that it all works to a tea.
I own no guns and have no friends, but I know the Bowies did this. Their anthem crusade piped with German bellicosity, “Maybe we’re lying then you’d better not stay,” which just means that if you have the backbone to call them for the liars they are, you better head for the hills. Exactly why the recovery system would labor in murder and hate from our schools to promote their most virulent enemies is a mystery of Allah, or did mean Lou Reed? Bush’s man in Havana.
