Great ruthlessness was visited upon me in an environment that hyped the betrayers in King Crimson as an Honors Society. To give you an idea of their concept of honor, visit a place called Claymont with me where the unnameable rabid held sway. In this terrifying, demented and truly evil, sadistic cult, where I was lured, the rabid, posing as a teacher, got up and walked moved when after volunteer working all day I tried to sit closer because of hearing loss, and he didn’t stop there, he publicly derided me with the words, we all could see who didn’t fit in, because of my confusion and inability to follow behavioral orders during a clapping ceremony of the sort that led to everybody involuntarily and caught by surprise, clapping him, after he sped them up. Nobody bothered to mention, when they pulled this crime of hate, that I was deaf. They never will. I have never known a teacher who could get away with that by the laws of the school, but this wasn’t just any school, this was a war game maniac’s school drafting disabled individuals illegally. They can’t stop themselves either. It’s like a bloodthirst.
The parochial is clever. It is clear how the rabid animal talked behind my back, with a snicker it sniveled, “What is Creary gonna do arrest Reagan?” who gave it his bless and his shark Colin Powell with a hoot about that commie Jimmy Curarie. He called Hillary Clinton who said how satisfied she was that he was not irresponsibly anti-Reagan and connected them with New People of the Thos. Merton Center, Nativist traffickers who spot children in the playground and ward against newcomers, all while claiming to be spiritual guideposts, and friends of Martin Sheen. Meanwhile they had it all set up. They used a pussy whiplash claim upon an impacted nerve injury they invented a strategic poison to cause seizures when interrogating. Cruel, but very simple. From there the race benefits flowed like the many benefits of Allah.
They set things up with Hollywood mass behavior, falsely and cleverly praising me at turns after extremely brutal acts of torture in homelessness suffering seizures, to promote the myth of my exaggerated self-importance. Even before I knew how they were plotting it was always as if by appreciating the beautiful I was thus proving I was a piece of shit. Thos. O’Connor of Flynn Construction, a bigot and wrestler, used to drag me to ground laughing, shouting things into my head like, “You like Peter Gabriel? HE DON’T LIKE YOU!!!” Creepy Seattle encrypted the name of the advocates for deaf women who lured me here for their heartbreaker Rosa’s new boyfriend Chris’s gang to chemically castrate me ADWAS for W, the win, for AD Aaron Dixon, using AS, Andrea Swimmer, a white call girl from the Neva Corporation making smut tapes for Granger Morgan, the real leader of the Green Party of a traumatized victim of child mutilation, white, child, forgot, forgot. Dixon would probably take issue with the occult praise of O’Connor, “You work like a nigger, Crary,” while slapping five with him at the pussyball arena.
Using neurology and mind traps the rabid committed so many crimes of true evil that he was sure that the prey would have no power to describe and be forced to capitulate. Meanwhile, they interrogated, promising Michael Reagan his favorite scene. I don’t have to mention the sex tapes, because they will. These morally diseased, bacteriology free, cannibalistic headhunters from Hollywood were embarked on a dream production of sexual tragedy for the glory of their mean guitars.
They were of course targeting the prize of the philosophy chair at Pitt, it had nothing personally to do with me, they even admitted it, I was what one of them called a convenient thing to hate, a symbol of the glorious reasons justifying their grand scheme. It was in the role of such things that I fell prey to the neuroplasm. They claimed they would settle the grievance quotient between the races by making a spectacle of humiliating slavery out of me, this was black psychology on the agenda. They claimed the bizarre way I bragged was not escape behavior, secretly crying for help, but rather failure to engage in the necessary self-abnegation to prevent what they said in print at CMU was experimental disease transmission getting their weird police like Sgt. Reece to giggle, while fuming that I played saxophone where I always played saxophone growing up, saying a woman had been raped there for god’s sakes, as though that was my deafness’s doing and secretly divined by my playing in an echoey area.
It’s hard to believe.
They don’t like to say what this had to do with the murders of Tupac Shakur and Alina Sheykhet which spun the bottle of race feuding that served to cover the fact that it was a double homicide by the same gangsters behind the AIDS attack. See, the old hangovers from gangs like The National Review look at political differences as an opportunity to promote trashy ideas like the food weapon, and what with areas like Yemen being swept under the carpet and up for grabs in a topical sentence showing that some campus debate club genius knows the country exists somewhere on a map, they can weight these ideas for usefulness to the new way. The new way was the concept from Yoko Ono that the killers of JFK were to be forgiven because they killed John Lennon, too, and were top sacredly defending Neva Corporation internal affairs as Hitler arisen in the costume of friendly fascism known as Caspar the Friendly Ghost who includes the good kind of black people in the Ark, again very clear and simple.
WQED who made the secret tapes, has an alliance from under the arm-burning girls gangrenous wings of MisterRogers (literally) whose church hired the kidnappers of little Jimmy as gardeners, between Dr. Proctor and Thos. Ammons of Artek who brought me into a house locked from the inside with Salk Labor and Kasper who gassed me in Kings Estate for the Pitman, Quarrymen, Rubin and King Edward the Crimson. Ark/Artek worked with liquid crystal who gave me the Tony Acid, Tacid for short, of UW plotting, a spectro chemical, their leader Tony Dechischis repeating the Alice Cooper phrase used by Tony Cervi, I gotta get outta here, when he wowed me with hedge clippers, a rock tumbler and the news that Kennedy was killed by a hollow tip.
Meanwhile U Wa’s Wattenmaker was schooling me about the Venus Fly Trap and Yoko Ono made a fluxus film called the Fly for Neva representation of the plot. Proctor probably made good money selling tears over Warhol contract abortion to Penis Sinfield hidden in camera in the virgin punchline. They brought in Jack Morales from New York to give the air of scruples to the dirty miscreancy of Wilma Coon and Terri Ledbetter at the school, providing Elizabeth Keckley services lording over the queerbait. How it looked to me and Proctor were different. To me, resisting the KKK, trying to learn about the Velvet Revolution, and demonstrating in editorials against Apartheid, I threw in my lot with Black culture thinking that if I showed my support they would help me recover from torture and start a small family based on the principles of recovery. Proctor’s agents saw me as the perfect mockery for a kill, a white suck thinking itself all big. It’s beyond horrible. They invaded my home with such viciousness and cruelty my mind is shattered. Then, after a long ordeal, they let me come to school and tutored me that the photo of the little white boy on Proctor’s wall was top sacredly an honorary African, and that his wife’s Japanese art wasn’t animism, blush, blush, and that swastikas were a sacred symbol after all, promoting with derision and hoots all the justifications for Ark and the war game on Mt. Desert Island, nah, nothing to do with no Burstyn letters, now.
But that’s teamwork, British labor style, plying a gang wheel for deception, promoting decoy feuding as symbolic to promote the AIDS attack by diversion. Some of it can be put up to Pittsburgh just being brilliant at not being very bright, but the edge of real ruthlessness is covered by their special plaintive brand of parochial melodrama and they have a knack for predicting how the AIDS attack would play in Hollywood race narrative, sort of coaxing it to go the way they wanted. Chris Arnberg may have known Randy Tantliger, I’m not sure, but he was above me when Tupac was killed and went by Brandy, or Brandon or something. So was a black man named Green. What I know is that Sean Lennon had informant in the Postal Union that worked with the Black Panthers on the murder of Shannon Harps. They definitely want the script, they definitely are working with the Clintons in targeting me, and are running a sweepstakes wheel of fortune from organized crime in the Executive. Sex bait and extermination was the name of the game and it was brazen.
George Lucas and 20th Century Fox, who had an agent David Lucarelli in my home, are big stakeholders in the success of colonizing the American mind to accept this rubbish as an accomplish act of tyranny in the service of the good kind. I don’t know who all of them are, but UW delights in their connect to someone named Michael Jordan. Does he play squash?
