I am a student whose murder was authorized semi-formally by a pair of major universities, Pitt and UW. They have smothered it in a schizophrenia diagnosis that was rendered to dispute the scientific findings of severe torture leading to deafness, a ruptured facial nerve and glaucoma. The sadism has been surreal, but the politics are not in my favor. The situation is too mysterious and the intellectuals too macabre to credit escape. Murder outlines my dungeon. They expect to be allowed to work me to the bone without pay to prove my values. Behind it their names cannot even be said. The names automatically convey a tone of complete impunity. 2019, United States of America, James MacRyland Crary.
To find any sort of reader in this epoch is nearly impossible. Burning the brain cells to privilege anything with a little attention takes work. The people who do read me, read me ravenously with intent to inflict suffering. No there has been no trial. Yes, I am innocent of wrongdoing. This condition is Federal sorcery. It comes from the era of super-privitization of capabilities and to the degree that what is being done to me is possible in cold blood and broad daylight you should equally be skeptical that the truth is known about foreign collusion of a hostile nature between the Trump power syndicate and lands afar. I am an Honors student in global affairs in a Community College. My father was at Teachers College with Dwight Eisenhower after serving on the San Jacinto with Bush in WW2. He was a Peace Corps leader and human rights authority who Chaired the Philosophy of Education Department at the University of Pittsburgh. He, too, was murdered for sport. I am a Kennedy kid, born in the last months of Eisenhower who believes that the Suez Crisis is the one foreign policy imbroglio that is as significant for what it portended as Iran-Contra during the Reagan nightmare.
One reason no one will hear my story is that I worked in Falk Medical Library under the FEMA at Pitt in 1984 when AIDS happened. They had used a nerve agent on me which led to seizures later and set up a ghoulish entrapment operation as a military joke about testing. Martha Gellhorn, an important woman who knew Eleanor Roosevelt, broke ranks to write to me. Pitt was so angry I fled to Iowa where the authorities impounded the letter, the last possession I let go of under cruel constraints. They put me in jail for my refusal. In seizures, I finally allowed it to be taken from me. Obama just wasn’t a hero. You don’t win friends for mutterings like that.
The assassins managed to hotwire a counter-narrative into the script they ran through the grapevines that had no merit, never measured up, was as mysterious to authorities as it was to me, and yet I couldn’t escape it because of that super-privitization that is so pernicious and so new that my computer spell check doesn’t even recognize it for a word. Ironically, many of the obscure words that UW work with to sell this terrible crime, the endless suffering involved, are recognized by the computer, while having to be carefully defined for the reader. I don’t think I need to define super-privitization, though.
Honest readers do not grudge my take on current affairs. They are polite about it, take it in and politely decline to agree if they are not in agreement. People who lie to themselves spit nails at me. It doesn’t make me feel wrong. It just makes me afraid sometimes. If you are like me you may sometimes wish that people with some sense penetrated more deeply into the mystique of the wonderland of news media that both protects The White House Confederacy and yet mysteriously earns from them in return no end of scorn. In offering you my take on the Mueller probe I also present to you that it was always meaningless on the terms being pursued. Intellectuals on the level of international affairs are very deep into specialization concerning transactions in corporate law and very scientific understanding of computer society. You can’t translate what they are doing to a layman public that is triggered to disbelieve automatically what they don’t understand, a cloak over things that are suspicious about which you either make sense or face hostility and some of the reasons are fair and wise, you can’t just sell paranoia and maintain any self-respect.
If you have gotten this far, you realize I face a heavy burden. I have to delve into channels of information that are deep, esoteric, difficult and maintain a layman’s prose. I can’t promise that everything I have to say will ring true or sound completely thought through, only that I am doing my level best. In the end you may dispute my conclusions, but you would be completely false to think that I wrote this under heavy strain as a practical joke. Hostile readers familiar with me will merely laugh again. They are like monks, the layman’s world doesn’t concern them, they communicated to me long ago, long before I could sort things through, and made clear by severe injury and trauma that I understood. The legal system enjoys my plight, and for them, indeed, it is like a prank. In what they like to call an adversarial system you have to speak up, and yet that makes me a slave to the ridiculous. It is an object lesson in slavery as self-preservation.
The Mayor’s Office in Pittsburgh enjoyed my Honors Contract special report on the Syrian Refugee and Mexican Immigrant Crisis that a demagogue misused to high office. They see the American commonwealth’s issues everyday and enjoyed a supporting view for persons who would, despite our drawbacks, rather be here than where they are. A veteran from the area offered to help me with postage mailing it around or completing my research. I declined, because I am pacing myself. I’ve had official visitors who bitched at me for saying things they hotly believed I was doing for attention. The letters I was sent when taken hostage as a child, from Israel, contain a poem reading, “They tell me I am wrong.” Even with the hot button comments all over these letters, police have arrested me for bringing them to their attention. For many years I just stared into space. Pittsburgh let me come home finally from faraway Seattle and go to school. Area advocates for the city’s freedoms of speech encouraged me to try again at school after a deaf girl taught me sign language. Her name is Chin i. She has Downs Syndrome, she didn’t go to Bryn Mawr like the girl from Israel, and she doesn’t have the power of the Executive. She just took pity on me. Obviously, neither of us are a match for University of Washington where Jay Inslee is being protected in their bid to continue in The White House.
That may be the first controversial comment whereby I lose readers, but it focuses what we mean by dissent, why for many bitter years the only places that had access to my writings are places like The City of Asylum on the Northside of Pittsburgh. Once you have an opinion, being tortured doesn’t matter. It’s something they should teach when they lionize freedom of speech, that it exists until the day you have something controversial to say. My poetry won a contest at school, which sort of puts me in a different bind, why don’t you just do that, I am advised. Poetry can give energy to language. I love poetry, but it isn’t very nice to be consigned to poetry in the ways that Helen Keller was consigned to being deaf and dumb. She had other things to say.
If you haven’t taken philosophy at school, as I just did, you may not have heard of Thomas Hobbes and his dream for social power structured around a Leviathan, a great fish on high, capable of might and control deemed necessary to eliminate danger to ourselves built into our ravenous condition. His opponent, for lack of a better word, was John Locke, the basis of our Constitution and Bill of Rights. We are sinking conspicuously into a Leviathan condition. It has been going on a long time and Trump was always the slated beneficiary. He operated behind the scenes and there was considerable collusion. The brilliant who helped him here from State of Washington, under the rubes of science fiction, Frank Herbert, had a word for the dispersion of evidence from the crime scene, he called it minutae, in other words, what Greg Karl, also a partner of the Israeli in question, called, “a bewildering myriad of surface details that arrive at a fundamental theme.”
To take on UW you have to understand the mastermind that managed to create a lure for the Leftist types that pronounce terrible oaths of doctrine around bogeymonsters like Neoliberalism. To them Neoliberalism is the Leviathan. Once they have arrived at this nostrum all is well. They gear up to seize positions of learning and estate offered them sportingly by the Neoliberalist establishment from which they can act, as Gramsci advised, in capacity as custodian in a War of Position. To break the point they are making you might want to see how I was regarded by Cathy Hoog of the Abused Deaf Woman’s Advocacy Service (ADWAS) before I got into Honors Society at school. She considered me an underachiever for having only investigated what no one else would, for having only been written to by Martha Gellhorn, for having only lived in homelessness for two years in episodes of severe convulsive arrest, for having only had 40,000 pages of writing taken from me and destroyed, for having only gone coast to coast in search for protection from abuse.
However, once the Neoliberals confer the honorary benefit of position, the Left in their student loan War of Position, wax eternally credulous. Now they can slay the Neoliberal Leviathan. How will they do that? By sacrifice of a street urchin who thought he was better than us! The truth about all this is that the Green Party were designed by the Trump mission as a Left Wing Venus Fly trap, they are an antidisestablishmentarianist movement who created HAIR so they could laugh at the naked people, point their fingers and say see why they have to go?
In penetrating somewhat easily the nature of the cosmic perplex at work, we begin to understand why Andrew Cho at my school could so shockingly and openly advertise his involvement in the decision to mouth poison me as a statement of group solidarity. It brings us to something those who released AIDS are extremely catty about, mortification of the flesh and what they call the necrology of neoliberalism. Necrology isn’t really Neoliberalism, but because of the Godwin Law you can’t say what it is. Necrology is the power that set up the Country Doctor Clinic and put the signifier of a skyscraper injection needle at the end of the film “Superfly” with the words: Ron Priest. Necrology is the biracial still sequence in the movie done by Gordon Parks. The attackers assigned me the role of crying white demon, to be pulled from the stage screaming in mortal pain accusing me of being Johnny Rotten, the neuroplasia a klieg light upon the enemy within. Exquisitely they called it inoculation against HIV by significant mutilation and torture, therapy for the horde. This vomitbag ridiculousness come down through Mellon Bank to UW through the Warhol Syndicate where Pener Gabriel announced his agency as the New Caligula of Trump Mission house. He calls his mortification of the flesh movement: Amnesty International.
Gail Burstyn, the Israeli who penned the script for Trump’s mission house insisted on my going with her to the films, “Prick Up Your Ears,” and “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” the latter of which has a drive-by ending.
The Leviathan is being called by these ingenues by the name of a Hidden Walrus. We have embraced, as The Golden Path, the estate magnificence of those who executed Kennedy and brought to us the storybook by which to see the light. In its contempt is the unctuousness of rhetoricians who have indentured us so severely and tragically to a fraud that they can all but come out about it, knowing that they can never be caught without getting the last laugh. Yevgheny Yvetushenko called this, “the face behind the face,” and signed it, “Ivan Ilych.”
