Everyday people complain to me that the world is not right and fear the lies they know are real, but they retreat into the most sinister forces for their therapy and morale.  For our conquerors that is how it should remain.   Whoever you currently believe has taken over our media and politics, the one fact that is most salient is that they have purposefully garbled our history as a squelch.  Our laws and legal system have completely broken down and surrendered as though what is left of our distinguished offices are all occupied by drunken revelers determined to render our history and ideals into a laughingstock.  For our conquerors that is how it should remain.  Loyalty to our aspirations have been broken and this destruction is being paraded.   I am a man in my late 50's who has lived lengthy spans in Pittsburgh and Seattle, while spending seasons in areas as diverse as the Carolinas, New England and Montana.   I have worked hard to keep a roof over my own head, and sometimes over the heads of friends who were work shy.   For reasons that are known to the inside circle of monitors who make me their business I was not allowed a family.  My life is a living horror movie that came through the front door with Totalitarian Hollywood.   On my conscience is a ripper homicide by Seattle politicians, a series of rub outs and rapes, and the normalization of terrorism by puffed up wags and braggarts in charge of my school.  No one will help me.  For our conquerors that is how it should remain.

      Whether you are accustomed to denial or not, it has become an arduous job to deny effectively such facts as that the men who tortured me as a child were named Ronnie and Caspar just like Reagan and his War Secretary Weinberger.  If you look more deeply at the script found here in Fort Pitt, written by the attackers, you discover many confirmatory patterns:  Nancy (whose brother stole a Medieval mallot from the Carnegie), Barbara and Jodie; Barbara Starr and Barbara Davis, Ronnie Z-sin-ski, and the issues being designated by machine intelligence war gaming is rubbed in your face.   Being called murderers doesn't mean much to them.  Of course, we're murderers they laugh.   If you think there is a limit to how low they are, you are deceived.  They are a pressure lobby, they are bio-terrorists sowing horror and nothing else, yet you admit that and protect them.  For our conquerors that is how it should remain.   The existence of the charted names shows that a hidden agenda was engraved, as though terrible, sentient termites had followed Fu Manchu's finger carving the Pharoah's will on the wall of the prophets.  Meanwhile, the social services, occupied by people who hate their jobs being bribed by promises of stardom trivialize the trauma and shrieking cruelty they inflict on a hostage.  Murder, they laugh, so what?  How entertaining, they snicker, that you should say so.

       I don't know why the Fripps, as representatives of the Palace in London, did this to me, leaving me destroyed, my life broken, mortally wounded, literally.  I had been attacked in the name of King Crimson by pro-war vultures when I was a gradeschool child.  My head was severely injured in slaughtering, repeat, near mortal blows.  I was left, as a child, deaf, with neurotraumatic amnesia.   They kidnapped and brutally tortured me, but the school, witnessing my cries of fright, my pleas for help, called neither police, nor reported my absence.  Instead, they laughed and called Hollywood, their lawyers downtown, who answered them, it's all going perfectly according to plan.  It didn't occur to me at the time that Fripp and King Crimson, who I then liked, had been behind the attacks.

       All of the terrible, terrible crimes since have convinced me that I was wrong to be so gullible and credulous.  All of this material is integral to a long planned social movement in which JFK was killed, still a trauma for me who adored him, a movement in which Reagan provided the riflemen, logistics, follow up mission and storyline to sell about Martin Luther King.   The Wizard of Oz was at work through Pentagon-Disney at The White House, the White House Magic Show was directed at Jimmy C. an insignificant object lesson, one story to rule them, one story to find, one story to laugh its ass off and in the darkness bind them, in the shadow of Central Catholic where the pouting parochials are.  King Crimson's name demarcated the murder of Martin Luther King as an operation and this is both obvious and shown clearly by the letters the assassins confiscated.  Cunningly King Crimson launched a libel campaign in the Black community directed at me while I was still the dark.  John Eskridge wormed into my home for papers to give to Peter Leo at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette when the time was ripe.  Since they knew the letters were there all along, nobody had to work overly hard getting the details around and the game into play.  My father Ryland was dead.  He had been blamed by Bush for the loss of his plane on the San Jacinto in the years of the Navy.  Bush then installationed Obama as a deal for Black Power with this assistance from King Crimson during the AIDS attack and Obama agreed never to prosecute, only to punish me for lamplighting.  The actual writer of the script, Gail Burstyn, went free.  Her fee was covered by Seattle Queers who enjoyed her idea of sickening terror crime in their name.  It was perfect.  The assassins came shopping for me from London, pretending to be looking for feedback in order to wangle a road back to my house where the script of their headquarters was already in the hands of Fox Media through a home invasion marriage.   My mother Nancy is just another Andrea Yates.   How they gleamed with glee.  They not only released the AIDS attack but with the macabre blessings of Seattle queers they claimed to be leading the victims, who were promised the thrill of writing a dreadful story as a voyage of mayhem.  The Beatles came in high piracy to loot and despoil.

         All of this was a filthy gadget from Hollywood and New York aristocrats, selling the diseased thrill of Black psychological services to the bereaved from the Harlem fashion show, who care as much about Pittsburgh as the Yankees care about the Pirates.  They want to see us defeated.  A criminal calling himself Ballard Pimp covered for Her Majesty's Government when they made loud and clear that they didn't care about AIDS victims, by wormtonguing the defeatism that we were defeated before we began.  They evoke the name of John Lennon everytime as an upload to prevent discussion of what happened.  John Lennon's disappearance is how they got away with it.  John Lennon's name is used to advocate for the guilty, every single time, in every way.  Reagan knew that he could evoke Lennon to play out any twisted psychopath's sadism from his ghouls in New York media.  They have used Lennon's name to mock their victims, saluting those they claim assassinated him, and the only way any of this can be explained is that they cheated, they used the Wizardry of Oz to fake his death, it was fake news.  My starring, but anonymous role in that mission, placing me in D.C. with the high finance drug attorneys covering for Reagan on the day he claims he was shot, allowing him to reach out to Sean Lennon, makes disturbing, twistedly clear that this is real, too.

        Did they ever do anything but lie?  Never once.  They impacted a severe, brutal nerve injury because it strengthened their direct superwave line into my psyche to commit horrific acts of torment.  John Stockwell of the CIA and NSC openly stalked me in Allentown on my birthday, yet nothing mattered less to Nancy Moore, my supposedly mother.  Having hotwired into my psyche these devious perverts claimed that my farewell letter to a virgin girlfriend was a threat to them.  Hearing the screams and fright of a rejection complex in that sinister soil, they laughed about putting me to toil answering their claim that I was sad.  They rippered open my heart with a home invasion.  What Rosa Monteleone did with Adrian Belew and King Crimson left me neurologically disabled.  It was sexual assault, in a truly beastial, horrifying sexual attack authored by Gail Burstyn's friends in the Seattle Queer movement at Carnegie Mellon, treacherous sadists like Cameron Brown at the New York Times.  The murderers left me publicly in seizures, my face pulsating from the nerve agent, and they laughed, police didn't care, no lawyer would answer.  The claim that Lennon is dead is how they got away with the AIDS attack.   New York media regard the whole thing with terrible and malicious glee, determined to intensify an already toxic experiment, using me as a guinea pig in the most ignoble experiment ever conceived, and lying about it in every detail.  

       Racism is structural say the Black Pirates of Lennon, therefore the fact that you are white proves you are a racist even if you give your money to a Black buccaneer, even if you change the schools to read their books, even if you give up your seat, hell your fiance, it doesn't matter.  White power is structural, therefore you are a racist.  Who did they do this for?  Who laughed?  The powerful whites who bribed them.  They criminal psychotics who said if the pain isn't yours it doesn't exist.   They were eager to cheat for they had been cheated.  They denied me my personhood, deliberately and with malice, just like the jackal I saw kick a black boy's notebook in gradeschool, scattering his hard work everywhere, and I was revolted to the pit of my stomach on his behalf.  Did that mean we had the same enemy?  When the tortured me for siding with him?  Not on your life, you white!  You white!

       How do I know, people ask, that Muhammed Ali's scorn for JFK and involvement in what Midori Goto did, eloping with murderers who tortured and humiliated me as a child, making sex tapes of my dream to be married to mock me with Burstyn and Sinfield, partners in child pornography, how do I know they ask, that it was Muhammed Ali?  Because Clinton made sure I knew.   The evil sex crimes by the AIDS attackers were for Clinton's Caligula Joy Division in downtown Pittsburgh, laughing at shrieking horror.  The terrifying movie Xiu Xiu the Sent Down Girl was typical behavior for Peter Gabriel and Ringo Starr, raping my deaf advocate in the name of Vaclav Havel just as I was sent an encomium from Committee of Goodwill for a letter about Olga Havel.  This double life fantasy of theirs was a superwave they weren't going to let the truth about me to interfere with, not for anything.   They brought in Larry Flynt creaming with satire like Goebbels over his skeleton candelabra at the groin The Eternal Jew and dared to call him a friend of those suffering stigma and fear, laughing all the way to the bank with Gail Burstyn and Gail Zappa.   How perfect to commend Harlem's elite to extermination warfare while leading the victims by their hatreds and jeering.

       Loathsome is the middle name of the Royal Family.