The use of Cultural Relativism by UW to license themselves the right to use deranged acts of torture and mayhem in quasi-governmental Federal operations is slick and eerie for revealing the hand of fascism seeking to target the United States under the mask of our own liberal arguments. Trump, hating immigration, went shopping for the world’s worst psychos of international intrigue and hustled them in through liberalism’s Open Door Policy, now what you the do say dogeyes style. It’s unfortunate but we have a hell odyssey on our hands and a steering committee behind it that no one has the power to get the better of. The problem with the way some individuals protest looking like the enemy, meaning being associated with a stereotype that is meaninglessly grouped with, for example, martial Japan of old, is that they can end up resembling and representing hostility in other ways for scoping a bad guy from their own frame. This then can provide a real mask. Many of us from the generation behind the Civil Rights Movement, confused by the free speech extremism of the rock industry, noticed that Political Correctness covered for the brutality of the New Order. The lesson, in other words, on how to behave and what could be said came from the attackers. Of course, they are know it all, and very libertine in their way, Shermy old Lee even talks hoops with Kim.
I am not saying we do not need to raise 4 trillion dollars immediately to address climate change, and I am prepared to do my part as a combative voice in education, however, it does not lessen the burden of documenting how my generation were betrayed. I’m just hoping it may still be possible to rescue the world for the children, some of whom are speaking out early, for they realize they, too, are being betrayed. It should be noted the 30 years I petitioned mainstream egomaniacs in media to get started on the problems of globalism and earth care, they answered by sexual violence.
Nor am I against networking to prevent the trafficking in evil stereotypes but I don’t appreciate people who followed my name after Hiroshima presenting me the butcher bill for their revenge. What happened to me was a really stank thing to do, and since I can see through the Clintons’ cover story, I am trying to get through to anyone who still imagines we have a legal system capable of remorse. Committing insane, ravenous and unholy acts, the attackers also excelled at victim psychology. It is here the utility of The Great Titillator play King British hand. Recall the oracle of early Aquarianism, the ruse: cold hearted orb, they croaked that they decide what is right and what is illusion. Nothing is real! What a windfall for fake news. Small wonder Dia gloated at seeing them with me at one of their slippery seances onstage. Philadelphia, no less. Like the Burstyn letters, she gloated that I would be famous someday and that I had smashing mood swings.
Despite how obvious the manipulation of the victims by the attackers became they had acidhats padding their syndicate with guru insurance. How their garbled tongues lavished the miasma. Waiting for papa Reagan to sniffle they were induced to side with someone who did nothing to help them. Lewis Lapham bragged openly of a cautionary fantasy, as he callously grinned of hiring wailing women for the chorus line. Knowledge of the Asian warfare by the platoon of the Platt-toon made of Oswald’s carrot and little Jimmy is to a degree a priori. What that means can either be grokked or subject the impermanent preservation of dissertation, but listen up. In the jungle the subjected a child to such murderous disfigurement and suffering while keeping it alive in terrible throes of agent orange style pain, they straddled it from a tree enraging the Viet Cong, setting up a sniper’s practice of whoever man, woman or old maid came to try and free him. When a guerilla in despair put him out of his misery, they came back next day to find two, this time girls, being so tormented. The Cong got the idea and the ensuing trauma was terrible. 12 snipers enjoyed the recreation of slaughtering thousands before finally being engulfed. Like the baby toy bombs, high command put out the love child, wovey rove child of little Jimmy to play all innocent and shit, immiserated by state secrets and crying to mommy, for the glory of the Truman dildos as ashed Hiroshima. Play all special now, dogeyes.
UW sociology wanted me invisibilized, but they chose me for what I symbolized, yet despite selecting me for being political offspring, they refuse to allow me to associate my claims with the wondrous enigmas whose names they used to shadow me for cult abstraction and cultural obsession. In the evil crime of the plague the naturalism of the frame made the whole crime there to be done like Mt. Everest, theirs for the taking and they pouted that naming it by its name was colorizing, it was that black and white an Orwell job, but never tell. Get me the scissors, Sgt. Rock, we got we some censoring to do, while we haunt little Jimmy with phobias. The face behind the face is smiling.
To build a partnership between Law Enforcement and the criminal underworld in the abomination, the rabid needed a drama club narrative, one that seemed like horsesense, chivalry, mind you, bout virginity and that. The hidden hand of course were the usual perverts in priesthood scholarship, Gurdjieff clubs and the Catholic Synod. The malice just poured from Michael Reagan. Wanting to use me for what I symbolize and yet not wanting to allow me to lay claim to what I was used for, Reagan compromised, he said there’s your little twee liberal, watch him spout and chase the cheese.
The enemy’s aggression in Dealey Plaza was not the fluke they claimed. This claim of flukery was camouflage to allow the secret statement being made to morph into a ghost story, a shadow that always scares children, the Kennedy curse. In other words, the killers are going to be watching you, not just like Big Brother, but like Selwyn and Hollywood. Keep that in mind but we don’t talk bout that. Well, I do, but I’m the one waiting for the schizo raid.
Notice this important passage collapsing down the labyrinths like as though rendered by Borges and Nabokov, the Tacoma Mystery of Johnson Candy, because I cracked my open on a radiator visiting cousin Candy (who ended up in Texas) as a child, but then things are just bout bound to fall together one in a while, like roulette, that’s Rule A, but when the entire malltopia is brazenly indexed, Camazotz gets conspicuous. I call your attention to the whoosh gallery in storychecksout.org. The semiotic literature alludes here to a cargo cult about the jest the shared kinship of LER in Wrangler and you know who. The compositional elements were laid carefully by loyalists to DeMille, Bullitt, Woods and Selwyn, laid out like James and Terri at Cherry Street in Seattle, Klondike country, at Cheney, where Kennedy made one of his last jaunts, down Seattle where Pearl St. meets Warren at Lane. We see this reminds of 45 Champ 63, and hear the ranting and fulminating: That Doesn’t Mean! That Doesn’t Mean! Ah yes, ah, yes, so it isn’t D and D crypto-tagging. The mesmers of Lee and Toshiro as boy scouts and another sweet film from Japan, also sporting that Chaplinesque, for the little Eleanor Rose, obscure as the musing of a Blue Oyster koot.
The key word is Sprague. It comes up in the House Select Committee on Assassinations like a Twink defense on Jonestown Day.
The same poachers of Jesus Christ, whooping it up with glee, who stalked JFK in Dealey Plaza and published the booklet, The Prophetic Significance in the Life and Death of JFK, part of the Texas Schoolbook, also worked with Brooks and DiBarno on the case that Ian Wattenmaker told me many times in many ways was coming to the end by a bullet. The poacher committee at CMU were noblizing the crime back in the days of Len Young when Billy Graham put up the headline: God Tapes Our Souls or something, clearly E. Howard Hunt was wearing the collar of Jesus.
The album Diamond Dogs is filled with treachery. How perfect to wrap it up so beautifully and simply by psychological prediction. Leading the band, the call went out for heroes, in the tide of mass shaming, Bowie hollered the shame is on the other side, and then tapped his sceptre, and Reagan didn’t know. The troops whooped it up, all’s well in fool’s mate. When the script was found the real mold puddy came forth to shape how it was gonna go. Obama and Jimmy were chosen brothers in a British puppet duel, the joke’s on you, Jimmy Strangelove. For all that, I busted your cherry, Thornburg.
Prophesying the queerbait’s fantasies, the snicker emitted from Central Catholic with the affected lisp of an English, subjected the persona to successive degradations of the X-motive as the Race Rage Movement made psychiatric pornography for a laugh. This is where the Asians of Operation: Paperclip really came in handy. Pamela’s Restaurant has a trick they like to play, you order something, they bring you the wrong thing, you feel ashamed to say anything, and after you start eating it they freak out and have a tantrum. This is Dibarno’s shed. Colucci liked it there, he used to snatch purses, and so did Obama.
They had the queerbait in an inescapable matrix. Wattenmaker added to WQED was a mattmaker, and Jimmy had to follow the break up instructions to prove he was a man. Like the night someone jumped out of a car with a gun at Meieren, who cried out I’m not him, the man shouted you know him, and Meieren hollered, yeah but I don’t like him, okay they said. Queerbait you wanted some. It was the potential behind the suspicion that brought out the cameras and the hive. Don’t laugh, because the doctrine of unacceptable mirth separates the attackers from the loser. The Truman dildos chose me for what I symbolize but though I am one of that I am not one of them, cackles on Broadway infinity.
Dr. Ralph Proctor made revealing comments. He said he didn’t care about the letters. He quoted the villain from a Few Good Men, he pouted that white won’t change until they are afraid of the black, and this was apparently the signal to spread the contagion. I remember attending Letsche and in football a man shouted to the girl hiking, “spread bitch, what’s the matter can’t you spread?” In the age of Colin Colin it makes me profoundly wonder what I really heard. Oh, and by the way, swastikas are an ancient African symbol, just ask Leni Leni and don’t laugh.
