The investigation of someone James MacRyland Crary proves that AIDS was a crime, intended and planned.   You will notice that after the strategic pestilence of murder that created this man-made plague we still have enough poor people around to wall them out and making more plans, but although speaking out is apparently to no one’s advantage, it is still a little hard on the nostrils having academic mavericks clucking in favor of minority rights while watching Queers backstab their own for a glam rock moment with their posters of Big Brother drawn by Guy Peellaert.   The survival of the celebrity elect is what the voice of ultrahigh is always testifying to even though it is in lawful tape that they dismissed the entire horror of AIDS as a jest like giving someone a hot foot. The British lisp for us to stay tuned for more extermination theater. We know now why Gail Burstyn appeared on their covers, what “Death Seed” meant and “the needle’s eye is winking closing on the poor,” another lyric they sang while glorifying rape to the melodies of Prokofiev.

      What I said under torture is irrelevant.  Anyone who could even pretend to justify hurting an innocent person this badly with what they knew to be a red herring should be regarded for a terror hate criminal.  The government, meanwhile, is using even new form of evil to brutally punish dissent. Nam Veterans who put together the Green Party machine under cover of the Left have been shown not only to have betrayed our society and country but turned on its children as though innocence itself is the enemy within.   Obama served as a scab on the wound, at best, making good by a tournament of industrial derision, but anyone who lives by the credo: Death before Dishonor is already dead. The murderers, while inventing license for themselves, laugh at the idea of the rights of the accused, or checks and balances. The police are playing out their lives to an insane narrative by Von Rictofen, commissioning their dereliction hiding mutilation of a child behind the deranged involvement of the mother.  The shockingly backwards attitudes of the Midwest played out as an ace in the hand of Hitler’s revenge team.

      Greg Karl wrote openly of “forces impinging on the persona’s experience.”  King Crimson openly called their fans, “puppets.” The mascot of the Pittsburgh Pirates is a parrot.  Jimmy Creary was serially degraded by men like Saul Brecher who publicly boasted every chance they got of dragging me through glass.  Ming Na Wen worked with drama Admiralty on voice make-overs, while Penis Gabriel glowered, “What could we have been thinking of?” When a neuro-traumatized victim of terror hostage and brutal neurological torture coughed up the issue of rape as detection of their mind game and angling, they spun it on trauma to stab their victim again with a fraudulent allegation.  Keeping in mind this was to cover for and allow lifelong serial injury as a hostage of a child sex trafficking ring, with death outcome for testifying.

       The murderer made no pretext of fair play, violently yammering, “wear your inside out,” in contempt of rights and due process, channeling the brainwave super-blast through the impacted neuroplasm of a semi-coma trauma hostage while raping and stabbing bystanders, hotwiring through an impacted neurotrauma with their plastic reality script the truth about which can never be mentioned.  Look briefly at what tyrannical shouts erupt when mentioned: A day in Ohiopyle, out in the woods, ten miles from anyone, alone, her legs spread, half-asleep after long tongue quenching of her pleasure, Leslie showed no reluctance to lie there, eyes closed, legs spread, vagina wet and virgin with the boy who had caressed her this way nightly for months.  Even after we left Ohiopyle, she remained a virgin, still intact and unmolested, just as I was always a gentle and generous lover.

      You may wonder why did I give the British rabid the benefit of the doubt.  One reason is that they are psychologically quiet and loud, too, at turns, I expected the benefit of the doubt as an ally.  I thought, knowing nothing of their hidden highjinx about Disneyland Lennon, that they would be after the truth, ask questions like how could a woman be so dishonest as to start a campus movement preying on impacted head injury to accuse a brother of rape who was so quietly submissive to her coyness?   Who were the people like GermanyNazi (Urmanyhazi) working with Shulman of Celeron who were saying oddball things like, “I want to be raped.” Why when I raised questions about Thos. Gordon and his litanies like, “If life is my lover maybe she wants to be raped,” make me guilty of what he did, with the blessings of child rapists like Penis Gabriel who coos of rape in glorifying it to the tune of Prokofiev?   How did Jeannie get molested for this? To prove the lies of Rusted Root? What does Rusted Root mean other than that they knew about the impacted neuroplasm and that I did not?

        It should be noted that during this entire time the wolves of British pedophile cinema were yapping of their mask as friendship.  Dia’s call on 911 for Lydia matched the call announcing the pyromaniac as martyr charade for the British underworld, inventing as they go for the sick Durrenmatt widow of Nagasaki, making comfort women of Korean orphans in the City of Pittsburgh for her son’s show and tell Rock enigma.   If I did something wrong with a 12 year old little girl who was working for the police on this organized crime in serial assassination as a 13 year old, where are the court records of the trial? Guy Kitchen, a man who lived at Tyler Art School with Zell, announced with great fury that the human form was a sacred object of the arts.  He died in the plague, but then, there were notable suicide bombers in that crowd.

       Dia’s mother said, “In war only the art matters, not the people.”  She was speaking for Seattle Queers, that much is obvious. The Queers just wanted to defend British Gay pedophiles by any means necessary, and punish questioning the scruples of Prog Rock rapists reading whatever they wanted to scrawl between the lines, and this was their take as contribution to a Neo-Nazi triumph.  Goto and Ono tried to do by involuntary mind control with a nerve agent actions of atrocity so horrid they can barely be named, but the stark abortion bones tell much in their stalking routines about what they were sponsoring.

      Midori Goto’s dacoit, Mark Mancine, took me to the film:  Devil in Mrs. Jones, in a state of panic stricken coma-trauma where the instruction of the devil was to concentrate on the pleasure, not on the pain, the therapy, not on the nerve agent, ignore the screams and wails, in favor of the lickin’ chicken.   There are serious legal differences between adults molesting a stricken child and adults signing pornographic consent forms, but a British virulent wouldn’t be persuaded even in the signatures were proven too young and the brains brutally damaged by heavy blows.    

     The government preys on this mess by refusing to acknowledge irreconcilable differences in my family.  While lying to and about me, the mother made off for Rome while I was homeless and in seizures. When Ronnie Z sin ski robbed both me and a neighbor at the zoo, she not only let the woman on Winterton whose son was robbed name me, she agreed with them, and scolded me for crying when his drunken brother through a can of beer at me and tried to run me down.   

     The rabid make no mention of the expertise among the guilty in subliminal messaging that they use in a hotwire war game everyday, and fail to notice that I had scrawled, “Mysterious Chinese Gordon” about their rape frame BEFORE I knew that Charleton Heston had really played such a person who really existed, and that I had pencilled, “Hidden Walrus,” many times among that gang long before the script was alledgedly found by its true authors.

    The mother had a board game called MR. RE and a mysterious cousin Lee.  The rabid, in terroristic infamy, continue to waste an Honors student by terror foreign crime through their armed gangs in the U.S. Military, but their leer that our kids love rock music more than schools doesn’t hold up against the precaution they took of murdering the professor and deafening his son.