Acceptance of hypocrisy among the fabled elite is a trophy of agreed upon privilege-ranking structured into American culture. It is usually seen as affirmation of the good life and mostly wanted because it is there, not in jealousy but in the sense of a communal sharing concerning dreams come true. Once this heavenly estate becomes jealously guarded however the sneaky hypocrisy grew cruel, deranged and dangerous, so it is the duty of the fourth estate's remaining ink devil to abolish worship and credit, pursue truth, and attempt to rescue the endangered in Our Commonwealth.
The problem was raised among star attorneys for Reagan's FEMA from PITT working with Peter Gabriel's Pentagon Disney in their cover story for events I will describe from Mt. Desert Island. They raised the issue in room 711 of Thurston Hall at George Washington University the day that Reagan waved to me and the night before the shooting of James Brady. An Attilla from GWU showed me a beautiful picture of Robert Fripp and said he was a rich hippy who liked to playact being Charles Dickens. I told him that Fripp was a hero, doing very dangerous things trying to protect the rights of street poets and that it was absolutely impossible for me to understand why anyone would run down such a wonderful man.
How I came to understand and provide a testimonial about Ringo Starr's Theory of War is complicated by the lack of attention span given to history. Before their fame, the Beatles got to meet my father Ryland, who knew both Bush and Eisenhower, was a War Hero, Peace Corps leader and whose highest text of learning was dedicated to Martin Luther King. This positioned me to be born into a role to be burned in effigy for American victory in World War Two which King Edward hated. I was given the birthday six months from Hitler's, documented as such by the FBI agent Gail Burstyn working illegal homework for Bryn Mawr with Harris Wofford (HW) and also a Social Security number beginning 1984 when the FEMA group at PITT had me stationed at the Medical Library for the arrival of the atrocity.
More to the point I was attacked and brainwashed by King Crimson who implanted a love slave nerve agent after deafening me. I no more knew it was there than that it had been them. Also my name was organized for a pitiful sound in childhood Jimmy Crary, which became the nobleman's James MacRyland Crary, to bring derision to the lips of Pittsburgh's mafia and train fetish in Seattle's queer wards. Not knowing it was them I hitchhiked, then half-deaf, from Pittsburgh to St. Louis in 1979 just to hear this friend of Ringo Starr's (Robert Fripp from King Crimson, although I did not realize they were friends at the time) play guitar promoting E.F. Schumacher's Small is Beautiful in a streetside record shop. There were about 20 other people.
I ended up a guest at a Gurdiev kluk in West Virginia while followed by John Stockwell of the CIA on my birthday to Allentown where Hoderewski of Robert Fripp's kluk lured me.
The conflict of materialism comes up in our society in a variety of ways. University of Washington for example subordinates due process and the Bill of Rights through a sociology idea that uses bully unionism called The Green Party, implicated in such murders as my father and Donnie Chin, a volunteer, heroic, security guard and antique preservationist in Chinatown of Seattle which for that small, but beautiful community was like the day the earth caught fire.
The guru of the kluk in West Virginia used to hum that "the world is only real when I am," as a credo. This is a clue to Ringo Starr because no matter how real the world may be to you, you are not real to him. He figures people die for them anyway why not kill them while blessing their path to heaven with song, like the fiddler Jews commanded to meet the cargo at the gates of Sobibor.
On Mt. Desert Island where Stockwell's Society for Human Ecology dwells, they lured me to a sex and death chamber in 1988, a tattooed death nest with Lisa Cassidy and her needle tracks. There was a Jonestown church nearby. They are snappish to the deaf, insisting, "if you die right now will you go to heaven?" Zell of the Gurdiev kluk was talking about the AIDS attack at Tyler Art School before it happened. He lured me to Mt. Desert Island.
Lisa Cassidy worked for Richard Borden of Kent State who told me the CIA had cut him back. She sent me a card after a tryst with Hillary Logan reading, "I don't remember how you looked when you cum or when you cry, but it is comforting. You won the last battle but I won the war." It had the U-2 epigram, "I don't believe in the Uzi, it just went off in my hand." That is Ringo Starr's Theory of War, the unaccountable firebolts by which he makes his will known and in which you will never believe. It is the very thing that should have so obviously vindicated me from his phony baloney, not only was Leslie Katz still a virgin after naked nights with me for a year, but Lennon was also unreachable, untouchable, and the travesty of Ringo Starr's Disneyland war allegation is hollow. He makes his enigma felt anyways, without trial, by a new system of evil, waking me up to voices saying, "Richard wishes he didn't have to do this to somebody."
Ringo Starr also lives and does battle by the notion that the more damage he does to the leadership and the brain physiology of his non-provocative, unarmed target the more servile they, particularly their women, will become. Shooting JFK in the brain made Ringo's music seem like rescue and although South African white police decided it was too low to poison Nelson Mandela in the brain, which they considered, to humiliate the African National Congress, Ringo Starr had no problem at all finding Pittsburgh Blacks from the NAACP to do that very thing to me with a vengeance.
The murder of Donnie Chin in Chinatown may be organized around Ringo Starr's Theory of War, one in which it is common for the victims to look for a motive and come up empty. Why? Because motive isn't the real medium. The real problem isn't motive, it is pretext. This Reagan gang has killed just to spread hate. Ringo Starr is a classic comic book villain, playing a game of warmer/colder, catch me if you can, who lives to unmask in the end and laugh in the victims' faces. Why such a terrible crime was done in other words only unveils a pretext, not a motive.
The way the families of Kennedy and King have sided with Ringo Starr in spreading Reagan's fantasies and Penis Gabriel's lies throughout the Obama Era in defense of Mt. Desert Island and Gail Burstyn, sees the 60's as a lost epiphany. Facebook, at least in my present assessment, has been gold in making clear both the prevalence of child trafficking in America and the unbelievable callousness of the British Government. The condition of human rights in the world going in to climate change forced by the Cold War nutters, is slavery and nobody wants that. The idea that dreams come true may leave us wanting an island of pleasure and privilege for the celebrities but it tilts a bit when the money hungry Dexter King promotes slavery as spiritual uplift.
Gurdiev tried to reconcile the contraction between hard work and selfishness. Ayn Rand made some brilliant observations, but the friction between her and those who promote slavery is a major source of mutual hatred in the world and many liberals and sociologists end up siding with slavers because they refuse to credit her contributions. Gurdiev held that hard work was selfish because it redeemed itself through spiritual enlightenment and release from the bondage of this world's trivial fears. They called his egoism mysticism and this gratified the syphilitic Ringo Starr in his eerie celebration of the AIDS attack by catastrophic production and refusal to warn, claiming the perpetrators are victims and rigging up suicide bombers for guru, demanding forgiveness at the point of a gun.
The problem of our destruction by a man like Trump fills the FBI with a terrible sigh of ennui, best expressed by Pentagon official Jim Hagerman who I met through Fripp's Gurdiev klukker, Hoderewski, a friend of Zell. Hagerman sighed, "it is widely believed in the Pentagon that the earth just isn't going to make it but who cares I've lived a good life." Hoderewski pointed out that the real guru of Fripp wasn't Gurdiev but Krishnamurti's draconian mugging the doctrine: that is the way it is becuzz it just is.
The more brazen the stories, being from Draxinger (Drac singer)'s fake death report to cause tears to laugh at, over to Kirshner's blurb, the attorney who had me in D.C. when Reagan said he was shot and then worked for Reagan covering up what Zell was doing, "there is no such thing as objective reality only what the jury believes," says the brochure of this maniac, a man who was noted not only for running drugs in high school, but for zeroing in on people who had ideals and dreams in contempt, yet Ringo Starr is the power behind him, writing the false witness alibi, lie after cowardly lie. This situation allowed Trump's man Jim Child, who lived in the Sellers house mentioned by Gail Burstyn in the script, next door to Bannon carpets, and gives me pause when I learn that the word for dislike in Japanese sounds so much like my last name. All my father or I ever did subordinated us to the puncraft of Oliver Jewboy's friendship with Dubya in film-maker intrigues. McCartney sits up higher than high like the German war criminals put up by Allen Dulles in Swiss chateaus after World War Two's Armistice Day, clucking the cerebral verdict, "Good game." And the black man calls dibs.