The AIDS attack was mongered by a sophisticated consortium of Family Law experts who actually contracted through the NAACP to have me birthed in order to set up the syndicated right of copy by manipulating me into fall guy position. Sympathy for the designation was made widespread by the attackers who used all the arts of corruption. Tolerance for the crime was so deeply institutionalized that players in Administration refused to allow this action reported. Failure to warn was justified by tokens in the lobby of a mentality deviously crafted by Hollywood players, oh, we just need a Queer who is greedy to stand and fingerpoint, they reasoned, while allowing the public no warning or intervention. Then they brayed that the game was tied. By this monstrosity, Britain and Japan uploaded a cruel and maniacal murder sport onto our campuses. Students have been raped, tortured and murdered by agents informed by a sort of syphilitic rulebook you could call a taliban. It involves an idea of infinite grudge law not unlike micro-aggression concepts, unwritten, unstable, untruthful, but always actionable. They have rippered and poisoned at will, under such cloaks as UW Sociology.
I’m tempted to say this is just Pittsburgh and Seattle being deranged and syphilitic sophists, but it’s much more widespread. The rules of engagement in this crime have been orchestrated all over the world. It has been stealthfully and doggedly encrypted into our legacy. Encryption of the sort being used is really just a literary device, they planned this seance society as a storytelling masterwork, coveted by English eccentrics whose openly shot was a demonstration project in that Death Valley known forever as Dealey Plaza, into which they brought the President, as the President to show that their Godlaw forever has the upper hand over the infidel. They sang their songs loudly to capture our attention and the hearts of the women in the land and in the language of submarines.
The fascists banged loudly of poison and death seeds in their twisted Fabian heavy metal. Sonic booms came with the flowers at our tombs they snickered were symbols of love. The victims didn’t care for the truth, they lobbed tomatoes at the news about what really happened. For all their venoms and kills, the rabid in England are scarcely going to allow review of what they hold as support for their conjob. They even managed to neighbors of the fiends they claim to be protecting massacred in a synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh, unwilling to stop even then. It was as though the mockery were fulfillment of their subliminal zeitgeist, a desperate wish to be stopped before they kill again.
Yet no one moves to question them or seek review of their terms, that a rabbit on the run didn’t know is evil. The Union have mocked me to my doorstep and beyond for years. One observer in the Ku Klux Klan style thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard, he laughed and laughed and laughed about the behavior of the NAACP and when he calmed down he said, “If you try to help black people they will only turn on you.” By then he knew all the boss blacks who were on my case and that I didn’t know. He son was working with a member of the set design at MisterRogers’ Neighborhood who was party to giving girls acid disguised as LSD and burning their arms gangrenous. WQED was a center for the most vomitbag politics in the united hades of America. Tom Ammons and Artek, whose ringleader built India’s Parliament Building, ran military programs with Liquid Crystals and Salk Research Labs, a man who locked me into a house from the inside with child kidnappers who brutally gassed me in a place called Kings Estate and then lied about it for Pentagon Disney, who fictionalized in their fantasies a NEVA Pornographic fantasy about me that they sold on campus to cover for an AIDS testing war game developed in Britain, pre-dating the appearance of the virus, confirmed by all their evil publications, and got the women to cheer the killers of Kennedy and King.
The storyline is that they are geniuses, and yet understanding how genius it was for Yoko Ono to plan a revenge attack targeting our society at its core, in its rules for society, and to destroy them entire, while getting her own victims to cheer, is eerie enough that police are terrified and would rather beat their wives than take their medicine.
The publishers of cultural guideposts in the AIDS attack knew it was coming. This central fact of the monstrosity cannot be overlooked forever. If you consign the truth to small circulation by a deafness disabled poet who lies about his mother paying some of his bills on the forms and leaves water running when at the breaking point, you will side with the Family Law units in Fourth Way occult who have serially poisoned me and stalked me in a cruel and unusual experiment from military psychiatry. Turn now to some of their chapterhouses, as they bring on Baseball season from the Lord of the Flies White House run by a madman.
Accordingly to the digest of Seattle, the team Seattle Mariners are the gentlemen of baseball. They would call Ty Cobb the gentleman of baseball. This team is evil. They have Tacoma Housing on Fourth Way Postal Occult watchhouse alert with agents of the Texas Schoolbook script fetching to make the big pot of Klondike gold out of the lewd copyright, the Jack Ruby Series from Alfred Knopf. The Attorney General probably blows his underlings for climate change like a beast from Rabelais while this is going on right under their noses.
I get a letter yesterday from one of their fans. Tragic fellow, got kicked out of his hussy’s house after her brother died from a mysterious heart attack, in a series of such bloodlettings from an expert direction. He likes me enough to paint a literary picture of me as the sissy whimpering and cowering in delusions about great people. He writhed as a Giants fan when Roberto Clemente was thriving, and writes to me, “I race to MLB news w hopes of reading Mike Trout Breaks Leg, so the (Bruce) Harper story (twisting his ankle) warms the cockles of my cold cold heart”). His big thrill is Ichiro, king of the poison justice mafia.
If you had told Tojo that in fifty years America would favor one of his fighters castrating the kid from the ship of Ryland, Cedar Rapids Rose on the air of the Navy, he would have blushed like a geisha.
It’s amazing how brazen it is, they played the language out as though cartooning the show, JFK’s head bursts on a count of three, while Foucault and Harmony Korine spitefully dish out the pleasures of being tortured as they squeeze the psyche of the golem for the bulbar impacted carrot tape. Trump’s media lobby scour the android zone for mutilated exceptionalism who punch the buzzer with their noses for celebrity fish to show that the spirit that thrives is the spirit that overcomes. They can’t just humanize, because it doesn’t serve their caustic pretzel.
And of course there is George Lucas, cleverly and primly putting R2D2 into spin nevermind the tasteless gag of building a Chinese man’s monument to King on the bucks of RRDD for the legacy of Tutu, 11/22, as foretold by the Ark of Agnes R. Katz, lady of the Rolling Stones’ palace of archetypes.
