A letter went out to a Japanese woman at Asian Counseling and Referral Service regarding how angry I am that UW organized crime got away with chemically castrating me with an unwarranted agent that also led to diabetes.  It was sent after I learned of Donnie Chin’s murder in case I could open eyes to the war game Trump and the buccolic Peter Gabriel have played supposedly applying Jungian collective consciousness to a story being used to smother the truth about their collusion in the AIDS attack abomination, putting markets before warning and lives, a storyline that Zappa rather monotonously fired up on cue way back when:  Operation: Feel Better Now?    

      The chemical attack promoted the holding company probably belonging to Tive and KDP announces in a conveyance subscribing to a secret mentality, that brothers and hookers get to poison innocent people, in my case to feel better about someone’s white status.   Working through Vince Eirene in his camouflaged Fed-Ex truck from the West Wing they put on a cyber-hypnotic slander show promoting traumatic shunts from brutalized coma-traumatic amnesia as, get this for a Frippian snicker, date rape phobia, how’s that for a Japanese pornographer’s revenge pigeonhole.   Perfect Jimmy lost more than face.

         X-slurs impinged on stupified rejection and hideous injury as the NAACP schmooshed compensatory coding on the queerbait’s face for Reagan.   Let it get around, they nudged in Nyagunagalese, that Jimmuh got Donnie Chin executed by his whining. To see the bacon you need to be trained in UW sacred syphilosophy but it never does any good to tell on Bugliosi’s brood.

Whiplash

Trucking, I guess the bases load, flight height

The sound of it shoots

Skip the date.

     Sloe gin, the acid flows,

Like you’ve never heard this

Before it comes, strikes, touches home.

Ransom it’s gotten common

Torture made your name

Death and destruction something we don’t say

In Poe Light Society.

Gimme a synonym for underground

Fleshing out the obscure

Look at the performer shout it’s me

With the untouchable bug

Ultrahigh up in the sky.

Said that’s the point

Asked what’s the message

Turned in the state

To secret society

Out to crash the waves.
Mr. Fingers always pointing

Putting on his tin foil noodle

Make it legit.

Rainy sizzler indiscrete

Called his lover mama meat

I’m a biker

Sold St. Louis in Europe

Did ya?  Well, good.

Buck tooth at the radio farm

Found God in a cathode ray tube

Shouted whiplash that’s murder.

Olive oil

Olive bug

Found a critter

While chewing the rug

House pet.

What do you say now dogeyes?

Wow, that’s really weird, Jim.