The United States of America welched on the whole deal. The Bill of Rights was targeted for the trash can. They used the Bill of the Rod. To understand what the Government of the State of Washington did you don’t have to see much more than the Paratex Exterminator billboard that decorates the entrance to the City of Seattle. It’s clear, Axis America is riding high in the name of a thorny, malicious sociology department at the military secret University of Washington. They have a game they play, dragging their victims screaming with terror, even innocent children, called The Victim Slam. The victims are forced to face off before jeering, sniveling, ravenous celebrity volunteers, hissing uncouth oaths of devastating hatreds, and sell their tears. The one who wins gets a respite, the other one gets sent to the gas chamber. Black grievance is worth a full boodle of higherness over white nerve damage from an internationally banned poison. They call it collaring because it makes a priest outta you.
The Liars Club were far, far too conspicuously ready. The murderers who don’t have a care in the world poisoned me in the mouth and stalked me with a gaunt queer. The are innocenticizing their partnership with Will Zell whose photograph, sent to me by him, I knew would cause problems when I lost trying to get away with the evidence of what they’d done on Mt. Desert Island, but there is evidence that Elton John was in on the hit and that he huddled with Franklin Graham who sent in Queer agents to sell Gay Honor to die as brethren illustrated by the Cirque de Soleil secret assembly in the Seattle Slipperman Riots promoting the rise of Geffen and Obama.
Innocenticizing Leslie Katz in the name of King Crimson has always been the source of The Victim Slam. Her peers at Swarthmore were a lot more generous and realistic. One of her Jewish girlfriends, not Tami Simon, heard the story and privately told me she thought my restraint was frankly unbelievably commendable. Katz would say things like, I appreciate what you did. Her first lover Ken, a friend of Teddy Rockefeller in her class, well, it hurt, big deal, that gave them the right to exterminate me?
That the murderers lay in wait was perfectly clear. Walker Percy wrote me to beware the delectations of despair. They knew. The Me Too Movement was signified 1212 for 11/22. It was a plan to elevate the value of Venerated Ones, and to hell with public education, humanism and the right to know. We now have an American Mao. The killers are too cute, putting a plastic mushroom cloud sculpture, a feather and a box of medicine at the bus stop shattered by a stone. They took me to the CLARK factory and extolled the Clark who I only saw once, whose only notable comment was, Cameo imprisons disaster. You have these sociologists holding sway, telling Peltier he can trust Stone and Clark. That they would nebber ebber just choose him for his name. But that’s the whole point, they obviously would if I needed or wanted him for decoration or adornment as a liner note on the program of poetry for extermination episodes of the zany in Masterpiece Theater.
