It is not appropriate for a report of child mutilation to be met with a riot of demands for answers to political character assassination. I began exposing this was happening years ago to prevent language extinction and will fulfill my answer as an affidavit showing this was planted in a symbolic attack. Clearly it is not going to be pretty since this violation of American dignities was advanced blindside, in ruthless demolition of our Congress of Rights, promoting assassins, voiding the evidence and text proving premeditation, tracing to the desk of Sir Paul McCartney, executor of the will and franchise established by Adolf Hitler and King Edward when working an inside job assassinating President Kennedy in plotting the AIDS attack.
The rabid have sought to take a victim of child mutilation hostage to the use of home pornography as a tactic of creating more bondage by claiming it gives them the sanction of the victim and this is the rapine of their study at work and how it is advantaged by the new model of home invasions granted them by superior firepower in their cyber-mania. The less seriously police take that Sir McCartney is involved in asinine, vicious, indisputably criminal domestic terror, the more seriously I have to. Penis Gabriel toured the world looking for orcs to shake their spears of fire so that he could run rapine over Fulton Elementary School in Pittsburgh. Their back dagger is pellucid. Obviously it has to be answered, as they tunnel to disappear the evidence, all catcall with their smears. The British have very specific goals in subverting our Right to Know Laws and making a mockery of our language by caustic attacks on freedom of the press.
The rabid have taken advantage of the free-for-all in American cities to launch a truly ruthless and criminal attack on our schools from within their power and influence in our cities, and have gotten away with it because the beastiary in the USA is so gifted in covering for local organizations of trafficking and oppression. They have created a virtual reality where all that they have done to lie about the AIDS attack and advance its power structure is allowed. They have used pre-existing lines of child hostage and vivisection of a paranormal brutality in the City of Pittsburgh and from all the evidence in Seattle, it was a treacherous landscape of planned extermination, too.
Midori Goto, acting as Ambassador for the U.N., has attempted to use me to create a justification for the AIDS attack in the name of their victims, that is the fundamental diagnosis of this trap. Public opinion allows them sadistic relief that is way off base concerning the safety of children in Pittsburgh Public Schools. Their key concept: Usurpation of knowledge, is how they have succeeded in characterizing as Treason discussing the truth about what was done to President Kennedy as a piece of the action. Just as there is no clear demarcation that says that LBJ (who from the all the evidence went into Southeast Asia as a hun directing human trafficking for the old Vichy there) was a better President than JFK because of Kennedy’s notorious womanizing, so, too, is there nothing that states that the cause of pornography is inherently advocacy for trafficking and slavery. Francine Duchiuchay has told me repeatedly in no uncertain terms that pornography liberated her. It is when it is used to entrap and generate a cause for human trafficking, and god help us, extermination, that we have a problem. To see chivalry evoked to justify AIDS as an attack makes the World of Suzy Wong into a humanist Bible, because that book showed what British puritanicals had in store with their parochial crusade.
Now we look into the free-for-all at some of the name-gaming operations uploaded by these hideously hypocritical crusaders in their drive to turn the victims into their own gibbering lemmings. Of course I am certainly right, because police never demanded the arrest of Gail Burstyn. The AIDS attackers announced their agency ideologically in alliance of Yoko Ono and Ronald Reagan at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette in the 1980’s when their warlord Oliver Stone was consolidating his gains from success of the illusion campaign, loudly proclaiming that politics were snake and skull mysticism through the looking glass of perception. They announced that my father, who they killed, was a Red witch, and this ideological proclamation carried their verdict about mutilation vivisection as well. Armed with an ideological proclamation, the evidence stood in their way, so they destroyed it. Police say the truth threatens them, then whose side are they on? Not the law. Our Commonwealth didn’t authorize the AIDS assault.
What could police have been thinking? What could have been more obvious than a bunch of clowniacs publicly jeering a sex hate object with insane home invasion and macabre narrative from pornographic psychological gang bang frame ups? Police were so enthralled with how obvious it was they put up a smokescreen saying it was satire. Satire? Mutilation and arson in broad daylight? We all know the British think what they are doing is a masterpiece, but detect the gall of announcing that they are unconcerned and unaffected by the cause they claim to be championing at our expense, or mine, if you prefer to think of it that way. They evidently think: because it’s there, they should be able to put my name on any evil document they so choose, with death sentence for challenging their right to so name their prey. What is a name, they laugh, and what does it prove?
They want their music to subvert a professor of higher learning and thus consecrate their industry’s age old attacks on our public schools. Celebrity nutters have done more damage Our Commonwealth than obsessive fans could ever dream of doing to them.
Visiting TCC did not make Muhammed Ali’s legend, but it enhanced ours. Muhammed Ali went into TCC legend by his visit, creating a cultural ecliptic over the campus. It is hard to size up how people will respond to celebrity. As a kid, I had various fixations going on Bill Mazeroski, Jimi Hendrix, King Crimson and Peter Gabriel. Dr. Cho, who runs TCC Honors Department, has a gleam in his eye for Ming Na Wen who I dated off and on while growing up together in Pittsburgh. She is not the only way I brush elbows with Oliver Stone. Cineaste Film Quarterly, a publication that lands on the desks of every cinema Director in the world, published by the National Endowment for the Arts, and in which Oliver Stone contributes, published me as the last word on a debate that ran in their pages for ten years about the film JFK. I appeared in public with his forensic advisor Cyril Wecht at the Community College of Allegheny County, none of which was intended to communicate with him, but I clearly came to his attention.
Cold silence envelopes my intuition being asked to judge the men depicted in Platoon. The question is like having a luger pointed at my nose. I cannot accept it. The search for how such a question could exist does force reflection on the past.
There was once a norm, embodied by Eleanor Roosevelt and brought to term by Dwight Eisenhower, in which American manhood was not divorced from a steady hand favoring dignity when protecting the folks back home by distinguished conduct under fire. These men of WW2 you could grieve and fell cleansed by your tears as though the flowers mourning them were sweeter than life for filled by their spirits.
There is evidence for this ideal of fine men. Our society muck rakes. We never hear the end of corruption, a fact that should be taken in stride. If WW2’s GI’s had been guilty of revenge rape, scorched earth and execution of POW’s it would have nowhere to hide. Whether the firebombings of Dresden were necessary is an example of such persistence by hindsight. Instead of inhumane punishment, we see them on newsreels giving candy to joyous Japanese children. My father Dr. Ryland Crary, said of Hiroshima, “We were solemn on the ship, glad the war was over but it was hard to celebrate.” Martha Gellhorn said of Dachau, seeing a German guard in the mud, “For the first time you could see a dead man and be glad.” Eugene Sledge told of his commanding officer asking him not to toss rocks into a Japanese skull for recreation. These are the sentiments of men at war for no reason but to salvage the wreckage of civilization from the unimaginably criminally disturbed blizzard of heavy artillery that came from a preposterous individual that Disney himself seems to have given the hideously gargantuan cartoon of a name: Adolf Hitler. I hate myself for dignifying such a question. I have to paraphrase what Ms. Gellhorn said to me in a private letter which was taken from me, “James, my advice over some of the things that haunt you is to try to forget them because one has to forget a lot of evil idiocy in this world.”
I have in my life publicly or privately never failed to rise to the challenge when someone said in my presence the Vietnam War was not wrong. I am burning with hatred for that war. As Dali said of Rembrandt, “the fire burns dim because its flame is eternal.” The idea that Stone ends his bizarre celebration of My Lai Massacre, which is all his film is, with a credo of Semper Fi to his war buddies seems to me living proof that language extinction is at work in the death of our liberal leaders by gunfire in the 60’s. It is as though the killers are hoping the power to express the most elementary dignity of judgment, to say nothing of conscience, is snuffed out for good.
Full Metal Jacket allows for similar sado-grotesquery in exulting torturous imagery. Towards the end the nerdiest officer looks down in almost Lennon spectacles at a writhing young Vietnamese woman going through the paroxysms of death and dying with the mantras of buddhist prayer coming from her lips in delirium and it is the first time you can see a dead woman and wish it was the American soldier instead. You are being asked to swallow your loyalty to high principles in favor of Team America gone mad.
Oliver Stone long ago made me hate him and rue that he lives to fight again.
At about the time that it was announced King Crimson had reformed and joined by Adrian Belew, Three Mile Island had exhibited the warning in Pennsylvania that our 50’s inheritance was not secure, an ill-understood industrial behemoth. Have you ever heard of the National Public Radio show titled: All Things Considered? Well, what do you think about that? Because I have some news for you, they thought of everything, in the most sophisticated advance planning plot action that King Edward and Hollywood, Pentagon-Disney money and motivation could buy, and then some, plotting at Oxford, plotting at Harvard, plotting at Cambridge, Pepperland, Santa Monaco, they thought it through. This more than did not all just happen. There is an important tie-in to all of this.
I remember clearly the first time I heard the song Baby You’re a Rich Man when it came out, years and years ago, on the singles compilation side of the Magical Mystery Tour E.P. At first, I thought how groovy, we’re going to be told we all have love and that is riches, but then he squawked about money in a big brown bag, and I knew that something was going on with them that didn’t include and shouldn’t appeal to me, who was poor, and the cleaning woman I gave my comic books to for her grandchildren even poorer. Never really wanted so much to do with that band again. It happened again at Deep Purple a few years later, when a black man loved them for hours, staying up cheering through six encores or something, the crowd pulling them out of the showers with all the lights on, and they rumbled, “this is for all the black people of the world,” and I looked at him and smiled, they added to the effect, “because they are all such pieces of shit.” I couldn’t bear what he went through, but sure enough that city of Pittsburgh went wild with cheers. Well, you can be slow to learn. You try to understand too quickly and you jump the gun, oh all the white people are, nope, all the rock stars are.
Ralph Marzlak told me who Adrian Belew was. He also introduced me to Napoleon Murphy Brock and set me up with the Interview with Penis Gabriel by suggesting I ask for Bill Parks. How’s that for a mind maze through the pedophile loops of drug culture. Marzlak- as in she did lacked her virginity, and a little bit of Maz, Bill Mazeroski, through in as a hint from Z-sin-ski to Cher-ill Levin.
They really did think of everything. In Rotterdam, they were whinging about feminist feelings for pornography, while Oliver Stone bellowed, puked and pissed his Nam flick everywhere. Oh, AIDS, well-luh, we’ll get to that in the sequels.