At the University of Pittsburgh, there was always some dispute about what it meant to be taken seriously.   Intellectuals tended towards espousing the game-man-ship of a pirate junta whereby the power of public opinion was a weapon that sophists could use to embark on destructive acts against learning.   Tacoma Community College Street Scholars cannot be taken seriously, unless you mean that ways, the magnitude of their elder abuse tendencies is clear. Everybody knows how badly Aaron Dixon takes it to see a satellite school UW take for one of their bastions of secret rage to be providing a forum to address how he colluded in the abomination of the AIDS attack, and the services he provides even now for Reagan, as well the cast of giants like Peltier put together to proclaim the will of Oliver Stone.   Ironically what I am doing wouldn’t even be about them if they weren’t obsessively weaseling upon my name in the matter. In the United States of America a descendant of Pilgrims had all of his life’s work up until he was 35 totally destroyed, and you trust these weasels? I can’t toss in the rhetorical question: “What gives?” I have to save for it later.

        This letter I am sharing is primarily intended as a response to Tim Kaine’s article in the recent issue of Foreign Policy saying in sum that the Democratic Party is united in feeling that what the world needs now more than anything else is a New Red Scare, which he dumbs down by calling it Truman Doctrine.   He should obviously step down, he lacks imagination and that is his qualification but he represents enough people that he means it and they say so, too. My split screen purpose is to also mail it to some Starbucks or similar environments in Haight-Asbury. I figure there may be someone there at risk who needs to know, but doesn’t, about some of the finer points in the AIDS Combine’s tactics.

       The claim of self-inflicted injuries enters a peculiar tumbler process where editorial writers and Administrators do in fact know that political recognition of a grievance can motivate the justice system.  Invisibilization is attended by justification for torture, mutilation and cheat. This involves a sociology concerning hostility towards victim status. The State of Washington regard what they did as resourceful Alternative Conflict Resolution with a pre-written Dead End concerning dissent.  Jim Morrison’s tee-shirt adage: No One Gets Outta Here Alive (blase but so much the better) certainly directly pertains.  Trump’s bomb scare was flexing the power of all who he, Putin and Stone have enlisted to line up compliance.  That’s why I’m leafleting, to spell out some flunky schoolwork in a school where the Headmaster wants most of us to fail.

      The text of the war crime has been presented by accomplices in the NAACP and former Civil Rights Movement as spelling out and conscripting the persona into a doctrine of understanding its position as described by criminals authoring insane felony hate crimes as justified to manufacture years and years of deranged unpaid labors catering to their surreal, dishonest and always explicit approach to life resulting in mayhem and murder that they are counting on the unaffected to ignore and about which to be unconcerned.    Acting out a witch hunt, we are told, can only be a campus joke, and you believe that, as usual? Despite all this, no one outspoken, other than the persona, announced that something strange is going on which in turn extends the surrealism to a dimension of cooperation and grapevine control. This is where it begins to get really interesting.

        If you look at the evidence, you will find that the terrorism committed by the British was always very, very disturbing.   The school never reported me missing after I pleaded with bleeding fingernails in tears at the office about men trying to kill me, and then disappeared for months.   After we moved to get away the murderers downtown pulled police strings to have me arrested on armed robbery charges shortly after I returned from the Governor’s School in a case where the cashier who was robbed immediately protested that it wasn’t me, but not before they kept me up all night trying to get me to confess that a mug shot, she hadn’t chosen, of Ronnie Zsinski, who tormented me as a child, looked just like me, but these existentialist nightmares had no effect on Allegheny County when people started violating my privacy in the name of weird smut guerrillas.

        As I said before this gruesome legacy of a life destroyed by perverts works its way through a berserker’s ledger of counter-allegations based on the claim that I am whoever they chose to say I am because a man has no right to his own identity.  They claim that a 12 year old girl told me things that cudda saved John Lennon and so now they have AIDS. It doesn’t really have to make sense to them. Penis Gabriel goes around destroying so much evidence that he might as well be the book burners that Plato hired long ago to get rid of his rivals or whatever happened.   Naturally they wail I inspire so much hatred and the girls side with Matt Marcus and Robert Fripp about the queerbait and his refusal to pledge Allegiance to their secret illegal cult of drug worshipping never touch the stuff good cop/bad cop minute men circling Xiu-Xiu the sent down girl with the smiles of false assurance and a bullet planned for when they’re through.

        Coincidentally, to Oliver Stone’s strange scene of a phone being given to Warhol in The Doors, Amilda Tuttle, friend of my mother, gave me Warhol’s phone number as a child and I called it, but was by then too deaf to understand what whoever answered tried to say.    I only hear a teenie now. The rabid, ever a bumpersticker head, came up with a crock of shit about collecting understanding as emotional intelligence that was really a figured out brochure for hostility management by geniuses of academic espionage like Chomsky and Frankl, privately loyal to Bush in the attack, all that Artificial Intelligence stuff that the effete barbarians used to turn out historic legacy into a base and despicable snuff film.   Ugh, puke Obama.

        Sean Ono, of course, was named the Sol Beneficiary of the caper.   Small wonder that mutual exoneration comes over as benevolence and mercy.   The cult of impingements hailing from secret Oxford like Giles and Karl, announce their agency first as authors and now solvers of Reagan’s various sexual fictions imposed upon the persona.   Harassment from faculty tends to come from the George Wallace direction reiterating the dogma at work send ‘em a message style. Respect shouldn’t be and isn’t even a consideration towards the Green Party.   Promoting a doctrine of just desserts over the former dynamics of college life in Pittsburgh, they are cleverly ingratiating themselves into those who are re-Norming things by living with the enormity. We donKnoWhue is really behind it, they laugh, and announce me, in cruel caricature that gives way to episodes of truly vicious mutilationism, as just having to get used to my position, which explains the old laugh of Schugar Bear’s pal and his indexed name:  Sherlock.