You can’t find a politician to talk to me because all the bought people had already sided with slanderers, also it is dogma that nobody trusts a naive idealist, peace sells but who’s buying? It’s hard to do what I do because the violence of our society is coming from people who claim to represent peace. All of those horrifying, criminally deranged lies coming from Paul McCartney OWN the King Family. Media decided on their barfbag pseudo-presentation of non-copy during the Reagan nightmare. Yoko Ono is probably the only person on earth who had fun, coming from a genre of sickness and depravity on the extreme edges of Japanese cinema, made real on the life of a hate object. They will sneer that I am trying to prove too much, that in trying to say John Lennon faked his death to lead the sorcery of the AIDS cult, that I forfeit any form of clemency, and that exoneration for myself would lead nowhere, only by confederacy will they licky chops in bloodthirst hunger salivating my right to survive. Rabid animals.
Their sicko fan base constantly carp that I became evil in trying to surmount the hegemony of evil. I certainly saw the evil they tried to boil into the hades by their implanted nerve agent, but it wasn’t John Lennon’s sacred spirit who helped me overcome. That was a set up for ruthless misrule and cyber explosions for show. What helped me overcome was my determination not to be violent, which in turn they say made me dangerous because these simpering liberals would give away the world, look how sad little Jimmy let his co-workers milk his brains for deafness written notes about Rosa.
The pervert motherfuckers in the NAACP have done their evil deed. They have used me for the object lesson in the white sacrificial hate symbolitry of their foreign Crown plan. They took up with Hitler on the slogan an enemy of their enemy is their friend. They’re done, it’s over. They can have the decency to leave me the fuck alone. Go hunt someone else. I have work of interest showing how Black people created literature I love, and suffering agonies surreal. I don’t need to serve the Estate Gestapo of HitlerReagan bashing my only friend because a crowd of psychopaths come yammering their depravity for Penis Gabriel on high.
I am the one who will never believe them. They already knew I was innocent. That’s what, “the joke’s on you,” meant. I hate them because they are sick and depraved and nothing will ever save their names from my pen. If they can lie about me the way they did then they can lie about anything and telling the truth to you means nothing to them, that is what they mean by plastic reality, to spit at your souls. They reduced every productive day of my life to psychological warfare, those criminally despicable pukes.
One of the easiest but endlessly banging on scams that Karl-Eirene-Fripp pulled my character was whispering to people watch the queerbait’s face as he hides what he is really feeling, can’t you just read his inner feelings for n’you? An easy misrepresentation to make to people eager to buy contempt when you have caused such a burning facial wound trauma invisibly, boiling under the skin. Which they knew. The WHITE! Hahaha. Look at the white! Why should we pity the white?
I know that proper investigation of the fait accompli would turn up that Bush and Obama did this together. The Texas Schoolbook authors worked for generations on carefully laid plans given to a new generation who would specially schooled to be able to read them, men like Woody Allen, Simon Schama and Peter Gabriel knew perfectly well that they out-educated the people who they planned to give their education by the dynamic of a plague. They built a deranged box calling me a racist for not wanting to confederate with Blacks who were wearing libelous horns proudly triumphant in the AIDS attack ghoulism of a war game. If I am some sort of holdover from the days of liberal hypocrisy you needn’t worry. I am unarmed and well-outnumbered by the Assault and Battery crowd. Blacks have taught me their special lesson, now fuck off.
Coping with resentment has always sounded to me like a better angle. No thanks, hate.
Rags to riches, riches to rags, the people of Chinatown take things in stride, but the last thing we need is another death in the family. Here comes Ichiro and bleak signifier mail from the cult of Pennsylvania in with the name Raymond Geiger, a crypto-weird mystery from the type of Cyril Wecht for whom the Kennedy Assassination was like the Indian land grabs. They create these fraudulent alignments to convince the public they are witnessing a feud. In reality, they are the same murderers shooting innocent people for sport and making it look like an exchange. It’s never too late to come around by Carnegie Mellon and British Labor, the form of warfare is known as Yojimbo. Controlled invisibly as a web over the mind generated by the hegemonic pulse that issues from celebrity-ism.
Raymond Geiger was quite guilty of playing me for a schizmatized stooge and a comic spectacle to behold. Like Martha Gellhorn in her confederacy with the assassins by silence and fait accompli, talking about them is like a visit to the Yasukuni Shrine, a Nazi Martyrs Day. Endearment has always been a way to make a joke of me. As Tom O’Connor used to spit in my face, “You like Peter Gabriel? Hahahaha. HE DON’T LIKE YOU HAHAHAHAHA.”
The Geiger web has spun through the Federal Government online and by mail before, behaving, as usual, like Dylan and Eric from Columbine, the Federal Government accused me of taking a cigarette off a painting by Ray. He was present. These murderers have destroyed the value of an entire man’s life span. None of those paintings would have been possible had it not been for my desire to help Ray. Whatever I didn’t know, I loved him. I washed dishes and fought with my mother to keep a roof over his head so he could paint. The accusation reminds me of better days when he accused Fudgy of washing his mural. He wouldn’t have been silent that day if he was mad. He would have been furious. He laughed.
I will never sign the wheel that Bar Mitzvahs the assassination of Kennedy. Midori Goto, whatever she may have thought, is out of luck. This was her catastrophe. Pitt must swallow their lies about Leslie Katz and admit something much worse was going on. Joe Biden showed that he was an unstable, stupid individual braying in the crux of a new evil hour about Obama being at the head of a pecking order. Obama and Biden validated the AIDS attack, promoted deranged lies about Mt. Desert Island and spun the web of Jack Ruby’s gang at the Carousel Club in Two Virgins Pussyball. How could anyone suffer the terrible and despicable idea at its core: Apology to Adolf Hitler! Only that asshole King Edward. They saw this whole thing as just desserts for our dreams, our shelter, our hopes.
When we look at Africa’s rule in this, we must be brave enough to see how Black bravura stands between us and our history. When we speak of helping Africa we must plainly learn to recognize that their principles, their hegemonic leadership, will pour through in Trojan Horses by any open door we offer, if we are not very canny and careful about what we are doing. This tribute to Black men in hegemony by pecking order is the idea that Sexual Hegemony is the goal of the Presidency, the psychopathy of douchebag human trafficking from the scumbags who market loveslavery by hit singles and fearful egomaniacalism.
The image of Jen Rubin in NEVA cinema and the Trump dump of Kennedy papers, “it looks just like Rubin,” shout the names of Rockefeller and Getty images, those fucking cunts. They creamed with mania over how to use me, stab it in the soul they laughed with grimacing greed. Martin Andelman used to call the girls he courted JAPS which he said meant, “Jewish American Princess.” So when we see this system, back at the Carousel Club, lined up with Wecht at Two Virgins Pussyball, brought down in seething nightmare from violinist Midori the fiddle dee dee of O’Hara Street (WPIC) we know what it means: Wells Fargo, that’s Andelman, at East West Circuit Road with his childhood friend Leslie Katz.
JFK couldn’t read the ruins of Raymond Ocher and company, but he could make out that something was there, and calling upon the trust that generation had built, for our ideals, whatever our practices, are very good ones, Jack could read them but he warned the Press Corps in New York in 1962 and asked them for their help. Instead, like RRTHRUS over the gates of the US Swastika in Reagan’s wartime film, we got Dan Rather and the story we would rather believe.
This whole piece of shit is a double fantasy, the first part that Lennon died, the second part that I am to blame. An ideological piece of shit from the Pentagon Disney war gamers who had me in D.C. when Reagan waved to me, said he was shot, and gave the signal to them all clear for Mt. Desert Island. You pathetic weasels didn’t even arrest Gail Burstyn.
Go to hell.