The University of Pittsburgh loudly proclaimed for decades that a synergy existed between what I said TO Leslie Katz freshman year in college and what I said ABOUT Ronald Reagan at the Pitt News, and the message climate they put together for the British Army operating at UW Medical Center when they deliberately and with malice chemically castrated me is a rhetorical structure that is very serious in underwriting the Neva Pornographic field work they authorized, which included murder, and war games, and showing that AIDS was an attack targeting me as a special object lesson. One of the loudest proofs of this terrible crime is that my castration was designed to serve as a terrible metaphor for X-termination. This will be evaluated with some gravity in a few pages.
There are certain names in Kennedy history that are notorious for being deeply suspected by those who see through the frame-up of Oswald. First of these names is Allen Dulles, a notorious joker, close to power, who all but met his match in the disciple of his British Intelligence game in Robert Fripp who named his guitar student workshop after the book by Dulles. When I hitchhiked from Pittsburgh to St. Louis in 1979 to hear him crow he scrawled off the name of Robert Summers to me, a special psychological warfare expert who served in former decades with the like of Wm. Blaaty, Exorcist author, before his Hollywood crawling. Burstyn is a name associated with Blaaty, the name on the script.
In the history of America, it can be said this English from King Crimson pulled off the AIDS attack in part by his alliance with those in Cold War industry toxifying the environment as a scorched earth ultimatum underwritten by Trump’s Inaugural Bomb Scare. It was apparently easy to scare up some African American nabobs in Seattle and Pittsburgh to bellow that for the good of the world a white should be castrated. The strategy used by foreign England is a gutted dimension of our attempts as a society to win back self-respect. The relative strength of their nightmare narrative leaves reality little to defend itself with. The function of an English is that you input truth and you get as output slander at greatly increased volumes.
The real synergy between the protests I leveled at Katz and Reagan were decidedly being used at Pitt for a rhetorical structure, you believe in peace they laughed, you will lose the war, your property and we will get the pussy, that was their real message, that real men wear antlers, and that those who justify restraint are themselves comedy. Now they didn’t frame it that way, of course, although that was the message, I was castrated and Jeannie was raped because of my passive performance as a lover, which Katz ridiculed when I left her virginity intact despite many consensual and naked opportunities over the year we dated. So the reality conflicts with their blusterous calumny that they were being chivalrous and teaching the queerbait a klan lesson in the woods, which was widely and roundly seconded by sophomoric peers. This led to a creepy malpractice misdiagnosis of the injury that the maniacs responsible used to intense purpose in their war, the terrible nerve agent injury. More of which I will clarify regarding in a few pages.
The alliance behind this arrangement was social and ethnic. Midori Goto working with Squirrel Hill magnates attacking a child from the Navy fleet as a cosmic idea of settlement for sex behind the new arrangements of upward mobility in New York State. Martin Andelman set up the rhetorical field of play at East-West Circuit Road where I was introduced to the agent Tom Gordon of the infamous Harvard Advisory Board letter that was used to voice-over more acid about date rape, while Andelman drove me around hollering in the voice of Leslie, “Don’t… Stop oh, DON’T STOP, don’t...stop, oh DON’T STOP,” and lionizing his puns on things like J.A.P. for Jewish American Princess. All that would be very high schoolish if it wasn’t justifying mass murder, torture, mutilation, nerve agent poison, the rape of a girl who is legally a child and brutal, psychopathic child pornography by Warhol and the most insidious school system in America. Never has a student been subjected to an ordeal as horrible as this and no one spoke up for their defense. It is criminally insane.
The persons who profiled me were men for whom money was no object whatsoever and the intensity of their infamous portrait and raid on my psyche came from adept and expensive cult figures found in places that study Ouspensky so-called in search of the miraculous, but they had agent names that confirmed their hostile premeditation, like Don Kahler for don’t call her, and Don Timmerman, from Catholic Worker for Don’t I’m Her Man, all wired up to movies, like Anna and the King. Quite a world war.
The murderers in psychiatry operated a longitudinal, lifelong observation of the queerbait, and they played a blood tree game, using the nerve agent as the excuse for rejection, they engaged in Chinese abortion torture and disloyalty outcome having women two-time me for men close to me and created such a reaction formation that they got it working that I suspected this was in the making before it started and they purred it in play as a self-fulfilling prophecy so they could jab the psychology of the impacted neurotrauma for their performance art alibi in what they called an imaginary war. Music however, isn’t holy. This was a scam.
The rabid of course stacked the deck. They earmarked a prey and hid that they had poisoned me with a nerve agent, even from me. So they created story of the bird, a wave on paper, a birdlike bounce in handwriting detection and sneered that there was a spasm that proved self-doubt and thus sin. They jabbed the nerve plasm and I flinched with suffering, allowing them to jump down hold pee-pee, “SEE!?? SEE!??”
