A close friend of Martin Luther King has said that his speech in Riverside Baptist Church on April 4, 1967, in which he explained the social science of his belief in Ho Chi Minh’s sincerity, was his best speech, and this friend, John Lewis, went on to serve in Congress.   I would like to have a science text that a friend could point to as my best, so I am grateful to be near recovered from a weather change, lean of mind, and faced with the notes for this hard work on my desk at the beginning of a Saturday. From the pit of my darkness, I tell myself that no one reads Dr. King, either.   His own family are now members of the neo-real.

       The brave thesis that sustains my annual load of labor is dizzying enough that I expect no change in those I have never convinced, but what I hope to move forward is understanding about why I am convinced.   Perhaps this will enable those who read my other works under the weight of the allegation that it is a book of fraud, to move through the areas when I was tired, afraid for my life, very sick with the weight of homelessness and abuse by the powerful, to see what I meant where it is conflicted by such constraints.

      Chronology is a fickle mistress.  When having a host of important scientific matters arrayed leapfrog would be as likely to bring the fortune of attention span as lining them up, since none goes first and all are important, narrative stimulation, that curse of luck, asks the artist of the petitioner.   Many readers are less fortunate I suppose in having teachers determined to trick and confuse them. My American Film teacher has told his Japanese students that John Wayne would probably like the film 12 Angry Men and asked them to explain why. Why? John Wayne surely would loath a film that does what the Warren Commission never bothered which was to sort out its own prejudice and arrive at doubt.

      Then there’s the problem of prior knowledge, my best reader, John Pesa, knows who the scientist Calhoun would be, which gives me an advantage in speaking to him about how the murder of John Kennedy signaled adoption of his properly fascist thinking regarding how mice turn on one another when the issue is competition for resources in dense populations.   There’s a good deal of proper fascism in the Black community who betrayed the young in the theater, unbelievably wise in their escalation to nuclear war in protest against the rights of a deaf man they dishonored themselves molesting. Telling on them, loosening people’s tongues about Black fascism and dishonesty is the political correctness signal for more mayhem, murder and torture.

       Troubling to find the soldiers of the ranks of the poor lining up to defend their stake in the plans of HitlerReagan.   One stops being scared and sorry about it when you realize how loathsome and violent they really are, though. How dare they justify and keep silent the use of poison for an atrocity?    What good is life keeping silent about such a thing? Maybe seeing their best citizen, Donnie Chin, shot cold will give Seattle Police something to stroke their chins about in reading what I have long said about Paul McCartney.  They certainly are not hiding what Seattle Art Museum has done for the good of Chinatown.

         Long ago, as I passed by the house of Charles Biggs, the young black friend at the time of Larry Gellomini who himself bragged of hitting me in the stomach and making me cry at Fulton Elementary, the battle axe of a blow felled me from blindside and guess who wasn’t coming to dinner.  They called me jimma queebait.

        In discussing the crying shame of being the main hit starlet for HitlerReagan’s production of why we can’t win without them, the white human rights sacrifice of Operation:  Not Enough, I have pointed out that the puns are implicitly revealing. Hollywood is a signifier of Holy War, and they mused about Holywood in their crime, saying things they don’t expect you to find, partly because you don’t use Closed Captions.  In This Gun For Hire, the word Locker Room is partially blocked on a door designed to contain a Cross, to say ocker Room, as the text of the dialogue says something about a hook. So Closed Captions juxtaposes Hook over ocker Room to signify Hooker Room at the sign at the  cross. They have a sense of humor, too, they scribbled indecipherables on a box at the train station in High Noon, leaving the dumbheads to scratch they heads, wonder what dat means, as the semiotics of their bank and trust fly by film after film, scene after scene. How bout dat King Edward?

        You get this in script material constantly:  Caspar and Kasper, the child molesting heroes, Holy Ghost of Hollywood, adopted by Oliver Stone, you get it in the 50/50 cent percentage pieces of Dea/ley in Death Val/ley.    Gail Burstyn, like my mother, was an understudy of Joan Crawford. There’s a direct tie between the two of them. In This Gun for Hire, the opening bitch transforms into Burstyn herself when the gun for hire tears the shoulders of her dress down just as Crawford’s biographers love to tattle about her Hungarian Director duing to her on the set of Mildred Pierce.   So I’m right about Now You See It. It is the fishature for plumbrod in the spook of double fantasy, hitler and Johnny Lennon, Edward’s rectify from Pentagon-Disney for the beleaguered hero of the good kind.

       Dolly Meieren I had long mused growing up had a name that toned down to My Rin.  I used to laugh at the thought of her with a Ringo teddy bear, cuddling up, My Rin.   But the pun is real. She was and is a familiar that ties Shiono Guerilla Theater literally to the Ke Family, Jewish Holocausters, and Sean Strub who was at the Dakota on the big night of Now You See It, just as HitlerReagan had me in D.C. the day that  John shot James Brady. On the contrary, that does mean. Dolly Parton was provided for Jimmy Quee by DT and Jimmy squealed for Dolly's Pardon, story of the bird at Community College of Allegheny County where black intelligence services silenced dissent about Mt. Desert Island, where Polly Saltonstall had a dog named Calhoun, and the mice labs burned down.

       For some people getting killed is just so box office poison.

       Mt. Desert Island was a turnstile that proves matters about the British, because the original cast of HAIR were looking down all godlike.   Using pre-recorded soundtracks of the mind impacted by brutal child conditioning, ignoring the neuroplastic head trauma (Gregory Chin of Chinatown’s support for the science that shows I was brutally tortured as a child, just as Chin i was raped for teaching me sign language, may have gotten Donnie Chin killed), they used extrusion to represent demonic lampoon in sex we trust, as the English played all solidarity and shit, dumbing down the show, getting the victims to cheer their own killers as the goddess of sexual avenge emerged with Kasper to embitter Jimmy the Quite.  HAIR was a set up for the wheel of sexual revenge by the parochial savage.

       The puppets of the NAACP gurgled with pleasure as the right wing man of the white supremacist outfit, son in Pittsburgh robotics, bragged that if you tried to help Black people they would only turn on you, and that Blacks had always done better with white racists than white liberals, and Jimmy was why.   He clapped his hands with glee about Robert Fripp, “You mean he got you fans to pay him to do his farm work for him!” Hahahahaha. He got the AIDS victims to cheer their own killers, too, and America to announce United We Stand behind those who commanded the 911 attack as a Pink Floyd show from HitlerReagan, and to this day they laughin' "thfo"?

       Even when they openly denied medical assistance on the basis of political beliefs, you trusted the tactics because you love the message:  Chivalry Porno! Looking out for yourself! Martial Law is just faculty research, extraneous-like. It allowed Randy Tantliger and Pittsburgh Green Football to work with both Barack Obama and Donaldo Trump on the execution of Tupac Shakur and then tell Black Lives Matter, your turn, pick one.   Surrender to the claim that Two Virgins Pussyball was Emergency Response was the FBI’s method of selling an alibi for the Calhouners down with the murder of JFK. It is even in the script. They put the iron fist of HitlerReagan syphilosophy in place as the malicious prank of Green Party clinics demanding the spoils.


     The image of oker Room, made me think of Hooker just as the word Hook lit up on the screen.  It was not Locker Room, I don't think.  It does not appear to be in This Gun for Hire, although the other imagery is, I also checked All the Kings Men, which I was watching, too, and still have not located the scene.  Rather than delete the text of the image I am sure about, I have clarified its uncanny appearance as a literary example of what to look for.  Happy sleuthing.