I realize that democracy in America isn’t what it should be. Even the First Amendment, practiced cautiously and being civil, is often regarded as reckless endangerment but being held in lifelong vivisection, totally absent wrongdoing, by a secret, illegal authority, requires statement, particularly noting that my grandparents Ward and Marie Moore were Distinguished Citizens of Poplar Bluff, Mo by vote of City Council, and my father Ryland Wesley Crary, a Naval Lieutenant of CVL-30, WW2, Chair for Philosophy of Education at University of Pittsburgh and a Peace Corps leader in Africa. I am a victim of serial mutilation that has left me deaf, subject to terroristic home invasion, and have been used for two holocaust simulation experiments in which a nerve agent was deployed leaving me in chronic, seizure like misery of the facial nerve, and there have been both heart and stomach poison incidents. Only 58 years old, I now suffer from debilitating diabetes and debts necessarily incurred by returning to Community College for my own protection. I achieved my first Associates Degree, was welcome to the Honors Department and Phi Theta Kappa, until my first failure at Japanese.
In 1973, I was attacked blindside, it was like being shot. The attackers were named Ronnie and Kasper. They tortured me. I was also set upon by other, also armed men, name Pitman, who kidnapped me repeatedly and also tortured me. They gassed me in a place called Kings Estate and subjected me to serial humiliation so brutal I was shattered and took to hiding on the top shelf of my closet at home. When I tried to speak to my school about it, they shouted at me, “Don’t say like Anne Frank!” Meanwhile, I was inundated from Bryn Mawr with bizarre letters from a kibbutz girl of the holocaust survivor community named Gail Carolyn Burstyn.
After we moved due to severe trauma, I attended the Pennsylvania Governor’s School for the Arts on a poetry contract. In fact, many years later, in the months my teacher that fine summer of 1978, Peter Balakian, won the Pulitzer for his book, I won the Honors Award for my poem at the college. He was so good as to congratulate me. After that summer, I took an amazing hitchhiking adventure from Pittsburgh to Kansas to see my grandparents. However, I am deaf and my first attempt at college was ill-rewarded.
While working at Falk Medical Library at Pitt, the incident now forbidden to discuss began and I received a peculiar call to Mt. Desert Island. Sure this was an illegal process that had to be uncovered I followed them to their war game. They brutalized me sexually and set up a follow up attack through the rock industry with a campaign from the Warhol Museum and a woman from Italy brought in for the occasion to endear me while targeting something I didn’t realize was there, an impacted head trauma from a nerve agent given me in secret when I was tortured as a child. Rosa gave the letters of Gail Burstyn to Warhol behind my back in which they had encrypted claim to a secret murder. I went into seizures where I was subject to extortion and poison in homelessness. Some of the acts were extremely vile.
The script team pretended to find their own crime, but kept silent to allow the germ to spread so they could make a collective market statement. Failure to warn impinged on the rights of others. The attackers operated a controlling international switchboard, and were shrieking with laughter and hatred when I bought their claim of Amnesty International and turned to them for help. Their crime has been done in brinkmanship of a global suicide direction, as illustrated by the fusion of their lore World of Ash to the Green Movement escape opportunity by such index names as Ash Green (PTK Tacoma) and Carbonell (Neva narrative specialist CMU). One of their most important cut-throats, Jay Inslee, is offering the clause to escape in an efforts to prioritize addressing their jugular scorched earth packaging with desperate climate change measures.
As soon as the international switchboard of the British implied I had something to do with the script they planted on me after knocking me out in a disabling trauma as a child which left me ruined for life, you knew it was all fake. The only question then is how did they do it and when did they get it going. They left me alive to systematically mutilate because they said their arguments had already won.
To capitulate their view, it means that the bullet has already killed JFK, therefore nothing could be gained by the bank in warning people that a more total war attack was underway. That I was three years old at the time only made me more to blame. They waited until we were comfortable, organizing from Liverpool under the brainstorm of Oswald Mosley. Killing JFK for them was just evening the deal. Their trump was operating towards the day of revelation invisibly while leaving their calling cards around. They expect us to believe John Lennon had nothing to do with this, because it allows them their crimes.
The transfer of blame from their authorship to my name and back into their hands by home invasion grab on the script which was “spirited” back to their switchboard was acquainted to the appeasement crowd by the theoretical built-in possibility of trying to stop them early in which the deadline date set by Lennon for his Pentagon-Disney Houdini escape, which is proven by the details the Secret Service refuses to allow into print, such as my being in D.C. with his Federal Emergency Management Agency attorneys the night before Hinckley shot James Brady, Reagan coming out to wave to me, and the same attorneys defending Yoko Ono steal from Warhol in Pittsburgh, taking custody of horrible crimes by violent pedophiles and kidnappers there. A namesake of Dia who was behind the 911 and anthrax attack, custodian of Warhol’s victim crowd, called me for their script-writing team on Dec. 8, 1980, having told me I was going to be famous someday. Yet this fallacy about Lennon is also attended by a curious set of arguments preaching advocacy for Lennon himself, and sneering that no one has the right to escape drug bondage or the implications, death penalty. This creates their taliban or codex for a scrim theory of justice.
Justice however isn’t even a consideration. Isolating me was a war game to make sure that no United States Court would have jurisdiction over an unprovoked terrorist attack with violent, total control purpose and escalation dominance due to their international bomb scare. Allowing me to be serially and lethally subject vivisection and mutilation by ripper murderers is paying the ransom. You shouldn’t have to prove you are innocent of grounds for a revenge attack that predate your birth, or that you were held hostage by insane criminals when there is no end of evidence in the script itself. Imagine a child being broken by trauma like a slave, forced to sacrifice its morality like a finally beaten soul in 1984, a number they used on my Social Security card for the play after doing exactly that to me in the hostage of Officer Ford’s sons Larry and Michael, who signed me up for the card. Their ringleader, Richard Karl, believed that abortion was cannibalism, which is the basis of their script and war game. Being held in sexual slavery, abortion was mandatory and part of their joke. Greg Karl’s wording of the Neva Corporation’s playhouse material arrives at what he calls, “the final accounting,” in “the world of ash.”
So they have it all play acted in advance to kill me as an act of quasi-government. Having authored this Draft and Conscription by a crime team they call Gale Force, their bogus and sinister reasoning never dares speak its name. The NAACP and Postal Union joined forces in the abomination George Wallace style, they send messages by totalitarian sensurround media, play acting little skits to communicate: They Care! (About something else). A rhetorical question used to go around about Hitler’s Germany, a development my mother remembers, in her lifetime: Can it happen here? It did. The script itself was brokered in truly shocking sadism by a former member of the Concentration Camp Special Detail, made up of Jews who gassed other Jews, and then escaped to Squirrel Hill of Pittsburgh where I was birthed in the war package for immolation.
This, however, is about the good kind of blacks, Wallace blacks, willing to engage in domestic espionage and terroristic harassment of a white, deaf victim of serial hate crime. The NAACP are antic, implying justification for unsanitized acts of intimidation, like the mouth poison used by Sound Mental Health to welcome me back; once targeted, forever abused. The Federal Hate Crimes lobby would never allow one of the many acts of deranged cruelty if I were a Jewish Virgin who had only committed atrocity. It’s perfectly clear from the index in Tacoma between James Center, North and Lux, having been sent an insurance agent for the small inheritance Green County agents extorted from me after feeding my father’s cashmere coat to their dog (an insurer named Rick Lux ~ sic. Ric Klux) who was behind both the death and Obama’s cruel sticker: The Joke’s On You. The idea that Trump was too young to have been in the military circle that put a nail in JFK is belied by the ages of Gail Burstyn and the agents from Neva when they attacked me and mailed the script, with the help of the Postal Union, watching me from every Pittsburgh doorstep.
The attacker war game model was used by Obama and Bush to make the United States into their play station for deranged acts, all whipped up by mammies hollering, “Woo! Woo!” at the shower curtain of tears in romantic rejection, saying poison was a special risk indenture, while Obama shuttles around Media City on his golden conveyor belt. While they subhumanized me for being math shy, they set up a House of Representatives inquiry into JFK led by someone named Sprague, indexed for the exterminator group.
