This letter is knowledgeable about how America went from Kennedy to Trump, in my lifetime which began under Eisenhower, a saga that bears passing resemblance the the myth of the Sabine women who made peace by sleeping with their enemies.
University of Washington has no intent of abandoning its occupation as a cruel mission of Hitlerian organized crime. They feel they have won the day by fulfilling the schlock of miscarriage come around tragically for a done deal. Words are pointless no matter how reasonable and reassuring the intelligence in that academic bastion. There is nothing you can say to the loaded luger except the bullet is worth more than the Jew, if that doesn’t dumbfound their mysterian groping, it’s over.
There is a fable in letters that free speech does not permit a bomb scare being misused by UW twice. First, to say that not shouting FIRE in a crowded theater allows not telling anyone the building is on fire so it can burn down on the heads of the crowd without panic. Second, by calling a bomb squad over nothing more than calm, historic discourse. This plot of sadism and endless injury, now including serious elder abuse, occurs from two safe fire zones for the foreign assassins and walled city aggressor: First, the production team for a Liars Club which creates a miraculous paradox of anything goes and nothing is real, before which all must bow, second by avoiding the responsibility of addressing the need for language skill defining liberal political responsibility, beyond those categories: Liars Club charades and political violence, it’s just a stick up.
The situation in class at school works brilliantly. The Cold War foundations of the 20th century created a CO2 prison as a forcer for a fait accompli in the AIDS attack. The issue of school ethics has already been acted out at Pitt who tortured me horribly after inviting me to a law school meeting and arresting me for trespassing when I came politely to cancel. Not my topic, I’m told.
The persistence of crime is easily described. It is illegal to sign someone’s name to a Federal offense which they did. It is illegal to suppress and destroy evidence of the wrongdoing, which they did. It is illegal to draft a disabled person secretly to an illegal war game, which they did. The picket of denial is heavily premeditated. They say you can’t fight City Hall. Is that what Ringo Starr is? Murdering our students in cold blood?
They laugh about it in the style of good ole boys, depicting their bullying ringleader Fripp as a glowering Disney douchebag of peril, impossible to escape or defy. Before following that thread into the deranged world of digital disconnect that is their command post, permit a brief reality check.
Under Kennedy liberalism, who was a man with language skills, and backbone, responsible and responsive American government was articulated as seeking a coalition of likewise humane, enlightened foreign arrangements. He called this A Strategy of Peace and appealed to voters to rise to A Time For Greatness. This sort of talk became targeted for death in the era known as the Kennedy Curse decades. UW and the Green Party are the political movement of the Kennedy Curse. They organized their violence against our society from High Command, from prison gangs, from foreign authorities and from snipers’ nests and they get their rhetoric from UW sociologists.
Duplicity now is in place to also void school ethics. For UW it is like putting on a play with real kills on stage. Look briefly again at some of the program notes for the script production, as well as some of the off-color figures from Warhol.
We just went through the biggest bomb scare in human history with Trump and his fellow voyayas on high. What if I told you I’ve been there before, and not just because I lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis. Braunstein in Donald Ostro’s house told me, “you are all connected up.” Other people have said I am, “wired.” To what and to who and why? Scott Riback showed me nuclear secrets. Pitt’s FEMA team had me working for the Reykjavik Nuclear Debate Team working for Ronald Reagan. Donald Ostro used to blast Todd Rundgren’s song, “Hiroshima, Nagasaki, don’t you ever fucking forget!” And shout at me, who he gave 14 stitches in the lip while I was in my pajamas, “If I had one you think I wouldn’t? You think I wouldn’t?” He knew Riback. He went to Three Rivers Arts Festival and chanted on stage, “International Terrorism will take the place of human rights.” Yet Warhol tortured and raped us for reporting that he had held the son of Pitt’s Chair for Philosophy of Education hostage. Supporting this, Santorum’s machine forbid sex education in schools, but allow child bondage and brutal indoctrination in a slave pit.
At some point you have to dive back into the deranged world of these maniacs, but like you I would prefer to do it by way of reality check, so let me start with Robert Kennedy. RFK was up against a messy group of cynical people, but, ignoring them, he united his voting bloc by remaining dignified, legitimate, brave, earnest and idealistic. However, faced with the truly bizarre is it safe to be super-dignified about them? Does it not grant them a mask of legitimacy? Does it make you look more dignified or does it make you look squishy? It is not impolite to discuss that we were betrayed and under attack. RFK did not want to look sour about what happened to his brother. The notebooks of Sirhan Sirhan are conspicuously contrived.
What happened to his brother comes to light with Larry Buchanan, a schlock shock cinema operator from Dallas. Marshall McLuhan said that the medium was the message meaning that the act of watching television can be more significant that the program on the channel. The messiness of the schlock genre was the message, these fiends made a mess of everything. That’s what they are good at, and Bobby Kennedy had no right to dignify them. He needed to stand up to them for all of us. At the time it seemed reasonable to hope that intellectual giants like Kennedy could regain mastery of the government system and keep people informed, on the civilized path, educating themselves and contributing, so he didn’t force a light into the shadows. Now, by contrast, we have a man posing as Dennis the Menace, and it is no joke that one of the contaminator ultimatum war gamers on Mt. Desert Island went by Don Denis, who says as Tyrannosaurus Rex of the AIDS-ozoic Era, that it is all Vietnam out there now. What Liberal Authority should be is capable of defending us as well as inspiring us.
This does not mean that America or any one American should shoulder the burdens of the world. The heavy expectations channeled our way by socialist enthusiasts saying we are best positioned to help and therefore most responsible to help, neither want our idealism nor expect it, instead they want us to crack, so they can further their ends of destroying our civilization. The heavy expectations are not sincere. Repulsing them however does not require become fascist and hateful. The Filipino Veterans who push a walled city argument that voids the civil rights of American victims of torture because of some inferred Socratic promise behind the Kennedy ride into Dallas is more hypocritical than amnesty for illegal immigrants. What they want is to drown the American Bill of Rights over a discussion concerning realistic priorities. I have a record of support for Filipino Veterans, I don’t have a record of support for foreign invaders using their military values to scare up support for walled cities.
I do however, see a mandate in refusing to enlist, or subscribe to mandatory submission to non-identity as a person simply because I have read JFK. The Socratic ride into Dallas is a foul, foreign English misread. This cynical group of murderers holds forth that they have made a landstake on a right to create a new narrative of totality from a script they pilfered after stashing. In the runes of the machine intelligence are telltale signifiers. For example, Robert Astori examined me after I was brutally tortured and asked me if I had enough. Astori isn’t just like a story, or Astoria where my father was born, it is like Tori, the Japanese word for bird. The script is called story of the bird. There are indicators like Ian Wattenmaker getting me to shoot at a bird with a be be gun after being dumped by Beth Blumenfeld (BB) and the pernicious presence of Wade Beebe, like Henry Wade. Further the initial shape JL of John Lennon are pronounced RU in Japanese, and the fact is that Reagan’s Secret Service man the day he waved to me was named Unrue. The person who foreign English conspired with to terrorize and lie about me was named Rudy.
The parochial chastisement, the power of authority, rides high in men like I. King Jordan and Mister Rogers, who stood by credulous while child molesters ruined me. They don’t care about the truth. They don’t like a street poet trying to get married. UW has stringers named Amanda and Bear for Amanda Harcourt and Teddy Bear Penis Gabriel overbearing on my right to comment. The Liars Club produced the horrific injury of a neuroplasm to molest my perception of reality and bomb the truth from within. They did this for a Bronsonesque from Joe D’dallasandro’s Lawrenceville named Kasper. The villainy announces its puncraft as James Bondage for a partnership in name, slavery in reality, inflicting two heart poison Emergency Room ordeals, mouth poison, deafness, chemical castration, rape of my deaf advocate, sacrificial homicide, for nothing will they stop, they have no shame, they know nothing of shame. Shame is their concept art.
The rabid want to end on the horrible trauma that left the queerbait biting his nails, because, in fact, for Penis Sinfield, his pun craepft dwarves public safety in personal titillation value and his smooths us down about his Jonestown refrain concerning the price of nails. Bull guarded by lawyers refusing to address the issues, higherness unto to von vizdum yet unable to comprehend bulbar, the death and rape of the Chins who acknowledged ethics and the science of the injuries, they keep wrangling street criminal mentalities to prevent anyone from catching on to how sick and despicable Sir Penis McCartney really are, but I’m sure he’s Dave Stave’s Fave Rave, myuh, myuh, MYAWK!
