Deaf and neurotrauma from child mutilation, used in lifelong vivisection serial crime. Honors student in college. Severely traumatized. Kidnappings, slander and home invasion. Deadly threats. Rape of deaf advocate reprisal for seeking help. Abuse by authorities. Brutal beatings, seizures, formerly homeless for years. Media slander in mass publications by Peter Gabriel directed to intimidate all thought of rescue. Slasher murder in Seattle in warning by cult.
New York media wired up a war game of home invasion based on the idea that they have a right to counter-attack the self-definition of a victim of serial mutilation held answerable to any lie dreamed up during their advocacy for assassins. These are the politics of fallacy.
The epi-center of the AIDS attack was so close to me that the perpetrators effectively masqueraded (with police covering for the holes in their story) as rivals on campus. Nevermind what they did to a hostage and traumatized child, in other words, to advance their sexual mystique as the scent of preference. The narrative of what really happened has been for dead souls, and I don’t mean victims of the attack who went to the party full-knowing, but the sort of stooges on the sidelines of life, ready to commit suicide anyway, goblins here and there who like me, but who are not sure if it makes sense to them because they are sick, or doesn’t make sense to anyone else because society is sick. The victims of the attack amounted to nothing more than the hollow demise of applause machine lemmings who followed the music and found as they fell over the cliff there was no piper, only a laughing box. As you would expect lies vomited from syndicated media. The perpetrators rubbed it in our faces, then said they didn’t. They claimed they had only done this to me, and nobody cared. The fact that they didn’t give me AIDS as planned worked. It got the victims behind the people behind the attack. In fact, the assassins were counting on it not working out entirely, which proved cost effective.
In the early era of psychedelic rock music (a vanguard who developed into the last gasp of the 60’s so-called Youth Movement when they ripper back-knifed the AIDS generation) there was an LSD on campus more powerful than Pink Floyd called windowpane. I didn’t take it, but the assassins forced on me as a child a cousin of its necrosis that was part of the poison séance. I never recovered from the shock and horror. Behind the self-regarding secret society of the AIDS attack were the sort of maniac minds found in the moneybags of the so-called One Percent who hold ruthless power in the world of realists. There the occult hallucinations of a superpower played out in a siege from Pentagon-Disney. Mass deception was considered a war game. Arriving at who was behind it, what happened, and how the gray mice, school administrators, the NAACP, and government hoodwinkers went about kicking away the evidence of the dirty brings you to an incredible pause that is nearly dissociation. “It cannot be,” is the only sane response and yet it is, it very is really.
The world no longer remembers where they were when Kennedy died. Blurring the line between fact and opinion has gotten so serious that facts have disappeared entirely behind the blur. With the blurring of the facts so disappeared the sensibilities that bound us to our own historic place. We have been rendered relative to our own best interest and with it our grasp on that interest has vanished under the crowing of our so-called friends, which is the new word for enemy, lie upon our earlobe, slandering us between kisses. In cold blood. In broad daylight.
There are idiots around me who never demanded the arrest of Gail Burstyn, and by this lapse proved that they don’t understand anything at all. Why then should an idiot who doesn’t understand anything at all even presume, much less be allowed, to pronounce any sort of opinion at all about such a sad and scary situation? As a jest, our society allowed a precedent shattering macabre to take place. Our ladies were asked to participate in the castration of their very best man, parroting as feminazi robots the lewd intonements of one-upmanship dictated to them by seasoned veterans who knew from long experience in the trade that if you start a rumor, no matter how vicious and patently libelous, the spineless will scatter from the mark, fearing for their own advancement. They will lisp an echo, validate infamy in an era of doggerel voices, and by this unbecoming act of deceit-as-fashion Pittsburgh women allied themselves to a revenge created for Hitler personally by the minions of his close friend King Edward VII by monsters with bejowled (disguised as bejeweled) lion loins like Mick Jagger. The sickness of American women, crowned by monstrous, horrid lies, left them barking with hostility, ape-womening a fallacy that ended all hope of redemption from society-wide humiliation. Not surprisingly they took the last mad leap and kicked their victim in the face by raping a deaf retarded girl who was the only person with sense enough to help me.
From this we understand perfectly clearly the esteem that FDR was really held in by the Churchill lout and Special Forces Jewry. (Wanna maker her? Myuh!)
Getting into court to tell the truth about the voices from Ultrahigh and exiting safely without a psychiatric injunction would be a tremendous step forward for those who see our defeat shadowing by klieglight the name of Paul Revere.