A person is entitled to their psyche. I am dealing with the criminally insane. Positioning themselves to accuse anguishing trauma from childhood they interrogated by false direction incidents I could barely recall from alexytemia and amnesia, a rare syndrome known to holocaust survivors that should have triggered academic concern for my welfare, due to the holocaust survivor community around me who, unlike most historians, push guilt at America over what Germany did. However, the atrocity visited upon me by the Sir “The Beast” McCartney proves that for British maximum impunity confers unlimited license to do unprovoked sadistic injury without so much as advising the victim of cause; although we all know now he violently abuses me in the name of John Lennon about whom he has banged on and on was somehow witlessly to blame. The sadistic standard of cruelty and disruption, for example the angling to injure my gastrointestinal system, his friend making two-faced, extreme comments, I love you man, it is no delight for me, and so on to convey his push me, pull you devious mode of terroristic harassment, maximizes humiliation on campus while he struts his pull and influence. When people showed any hesitation to deny the evidence for torture murders began punishing them, murder and rape. Contrary to the right of a psyche, the murderer used a neuroplastic head trauma to violent coerce neurobedience, breaking into the mind forcefully itself, repeat after me style, to trigger a bloodbath of claims to be legitimately investigating, all the while promoting a pornographic narrative by child molesters. It isn’t in doubt. This and worse was all premeditated by the ravager.
The weird police violence in question shows you that you have to be very wary of Police Woman Scholars’ because much of the bucolic support he receives in his murders comes from the preachy prerogative of their poetry without any sort of review. Their calls for professional loyalty are worshipful of the assassins’ wow who confers on their notions their legitimacy as a statement of taste. You are supposed to snicker at gastrointestinal injury as payback for an abortion they contracted to prove the lustfulness of their prey.
They laugh at the creaturely way I imitated, their word for trying to learn from garble, the semi-articulate freak code philosophy in the smokescreen by which British rock stars hid their planning, the desperate attempt to make sense of slaughtering injury and sadism beyond all horror and cruelty, jeering my tears of unspeakable pain, frightened beyond all comprehension, their metaphor for the womb. Yet think I tried to did. Whether the Tenth Victim, the laws of Pennsylvania, or Frank Herbert’s adage about the sustaining of fear in a trap in an attempt to defend others from a trapper, the idea was certainly there, it’s not irrational, it’s not like I didn’t read these books or see these films, it’s not like it didn’t in fact come into my head, what’s next? When the AIDS stuff showed up at the Medical Library. They will force testing, of course. How is it illogical to play into the trap to warn people it was there? They had a simultaneous narrative, but I knew that, I tried to warn Posvar, Lapham and Gabriel about all of it, would that I only could go back and just have printed it in Pitt News, but the murderers were clever, they took my attempts to get help as validating a narrative they themselves were behind drumming up. How perfect to be warned by your own prey, by your own target, by your own vivisection toy.
McCartney’s obsession with British supremacy as a smirking and devious character of pure evil is made all the more vicious and petulant for the tyrant being a mere shadow of King Edward, but there is no question that is what is being forbidden, examine of the lie that I cudda knew justifying his insidious wangle.