Working on old notes is not exactly a revolution, but when you take a lot of classes things come up as shadow scribbles in the books that don’t have an outlet in academics, but which you learned or became conscious of, which you put off for a rainy day and pulling such items of interest together is not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. They range from very important observations about the gangland system we call our government, to particularly dreadful emotional problems delivered by unnatural abuses. There are questions so cutting edge they have no constituency to hear them; and historic lessons so painful authors who saw everything shudder. There are layers of juxtaposition interwoven from sources light years apart, speaking to a central truth about Reagan’s cinema, and there are the strategies of his allies. All of this work is surrendered in transparency in the goal of improving multicultural affairs within Our Commonwealth and its place in the commonwealth of nations, where disillusion management is acute.
I propose to open with something we all relate to: the assassinations of JFK and Martin Luther King, why this happened: they were First Responders, which our society needs most, what John Pesa calls the sheepdogs protecting our people from the wolves who pose as sheepdogs. The numbness that settled upon us from these tragedies, an internal occupation campaign against champions for underdogs, has many of us, decades later, blinking with the aspect of the Tin Man in the Musical, “The Wiz,” saying, “what would I do if I could suddenly feel?” Instead of a society of Samaritans, we are a society of bystanders, many of whom cannot even be bothered to bear witness, leaving the stage open for bullies playing a shell game with sincerity and trickery they call being smart.
Tactically we have ended up indemnified to killers and yielded to their jurisdiction. This became an onslaught of unrivalled gall, leading to questions the brave and bold shun. Men from the Normandy landing are silent. No chance will this be sustained. How could it happen? There is a history, not just European journalism, Russian martyrs, but here as well, of First Amendment issues leading to targeting and conflict. Elijah Lovejoy for example would not exactly be known for an idealist. Wanting to stop slavery was social realism. Doing it by handbills and educated outspokenness, they drove him from town and finally shot him dead, these ruthless purveyors of white power, noxious and domineering. While something has changed that goes beyond racial tension, stating this fact has come to carry jeopardy from quarters of strange bedfellows. My goal is to make it possible to understand what we are up against, to be eye-opening against the hoodwinkers; to make possible for those capable of good judgment who didn’t know to say ah so.
Contending with murderers is a costly decision. It is important to see how they have bought the silence of Our Commonwealth while unleashing the sinister violence of our government. They have given you a plausible self deception. For example, the rifling question, of shattering pain: why did Seattle Queers kill their own? Is rendered palatable by the sharp tongued lesbian answer, “that didn’t happen.” Knowing it did can be so parched it jeopardizes the ability to go on. Further, the response has been lethal, leading full circle to the nauseating question of why? There is an answer, one they will never accept. Sheepdogs are never needed more than when the sheep doomed by their loss begin spreading disabling rumors on behalf of the wolves. How clever of Queen Elizabeth to give us a wolf called Beatlemania. How to answer them escapes me like a sighing sag of the head into the trances of alzheimer. The monitors demanding exclusive will rail against repetition, but history won’t. Every sneak preview has its place. Into the darkness of the forgotten looking for what should be there to descry.
There are Christian warriors who speak of a spiritual battle within the breast of man between the ancient enemy of God. A paradox is rooted in human nature that Buddhists recognize as well, perhaps a little more humanely. Whatever you call inborn gentleness and cooperation the forces of exploitation in industry are at war against the roots of the theme, and they have been emboldened to address the in-born while promising each other to enslave the intuition. They preach the supremacy of intuition as doublespeak for it is the intuition they hope to make chattel. Lofty indeed are those who believe them. The Korean word for Li is being wooed by the Ki in a trap. Media leads to have you understand, only falsely, preying upon your assumption, deriving ah so from the misled. This tragedy can barely be explained much less undone.
In the end, they offer a sedative, a way out of defeat in tellability, pulp nonfiction. Trying to find lawmakers in Congress capable of coming un-ransomed is like the SETI program searching for intelligent life, and indeed, E.T. is central to the paradox of a government explanation wowing all by the rubber stamp of deceit. In Gold We Trust. Survival is Reprieve. Knowledge of accomplice is deadly even for the innocent in a pact of invented harm.
What happened to deaf Jeannie is passed off as a mean streak in someone to beware of. The complications of romantic friendships with women in the various half-worlds that syndromes like Downs have effect upon leads to complicated ideas about the collegiate situation, because although I am old a major scandal dogs my footsteps. Jeannie was my friend in Pittsburgh, I am now in Tacid of Tacoma and have developed a close comrade in Amanda, an unfortunate name under the circumstances, whose morale depends heavily upon Disney. I had the experience of being scrutinized for her affections at a big Christmas Party by highborn newlyweds from the collegiate environment in line with the aggression of the killers behind what happened to Jeannie, in other words the political government who invent laws as they find them to suit the presentation of agency names like Jimi Castaneda, all of which unfolds and interlaces with their rise in Gestapo style. I wonder if they will try to take the friendship away or pin it on me, but either way, I can see the conniving wheels churning. It’s a tragedy to come in contact with the language and mentality of pathological deceit that forges from American legal society.
I scared Amanda yesterday reading from Thoreau coming to a passage that says everyone knows why there is happiness in a man who plays the fool. She’s a smart woman and I think a shadow of the idea that I am using her passed over her mind, like the tick in the corner of the eye of the collegiate woman who appraised us, as though a highborn advocate for the rape of deaf Jeannie by Beatlemaniacs is fit to measure half-truths. It’s a company concern about Rosa, too, and strategic investment in papi-killing Melissa Riddle by The Crown. It would be the most disgusting thing you can think of to depict my new friend’s affections as groping, or exploit them to cause her a deadly breakdown. Naturally, the highborn won’t hear of such concerns when they are playing Sorcerer to a brainwashed child in defense of Holy Lennon. Which brings us back to the Child Pornography system that the KKK built so that Black Power advocates in the AIDS attack lobby can leer and smother remorse in it.
My notes are not legible to anyone I know but they do make sense, they are a shorthand that contain a glossary of key terms and phrases in an argument, not all of which would be familiar: Mental Semiotic is a good example, but when pulled into register for evaluation with proper stamina and time they do make sense, are relevant and can be explained and shared for review, which is my purpose. Tellability means deciphering the zany mind of the attackers under their watch. Their cover story, apparently dreamed up at Oxford and Harvard, is easy to believe but the presence of all this thinking beyond it shows the brainwash to be tactical. The Reprieve afforded by this disclosure of the dagger in the cloak only buys time in so far as the government approves it for the prescribed outcome of Spike ole Lee’s adage about Reagan, “he got game,” and approved it, by the way, pedophile mutilation, wife-swapping and nuclear showdown, all of which, in context, shows he wrote game, and Spike ole Lee was there to cheer by pouting.
Spike ole Lee to the rescue! Spike ole Lee to the rescue. Spike ole Lee to the rescue! Go ole Spike Lee Go!
In the AIDS attack, the celebrity superstate closed ranks. Offered a portfolio of full deniability, the NAACP and Rainbow Coalition said amen.
Questions have started coming my way which indicates that the time during which the heat of what should have been a debate was so hot it led to domestic terror has settled down into unpopular understanding among some people who consider themselves allowed to read. Yet the cult they are learning about from me regards argumentation as gang indemnification because they are an absolutist, ideological school who consider awareness theft. This style of execution has led to peculiar allowance on the part of the government. A good example comes up in questions about experience of two years homeless. Let’s see what happened briefly in the historical context of the post-Velvet Revolution, part of a process put together by domain operators aware of the clean slate in the minds of the incoming generation. We’re not going to be able to pull ourselves together until we admit this happened and that the delay justified them.
At the gates of Sobibor the merchandise, as Goebbels called Jews, were met by minstrels in prison rags, violinists who led them to the gas chambers with antic, celebratory music, serenading them with angelic hymns for the road to the heavenly estate. Now to understand the Zappas, who did this by way of gonzo rock, you need to have empathy for the shell-shocked good kind (not their victims) who designed bombs to look like baby toys to demoralize civilians in Vietnam by killing their children. AIDS was openly disclosed to be being called by Penis Gabriel by the dub of an empathy bomb, a living trust. If this had been confronted, rather than ghoulishly justified, the buzzardly name of Reagan would have gone up in smoke, but it was endorsed by Liverpool and Oliver Stone’s faction who called it Operation: Medicine Man. J.G. Bennett, the guru of the viper Robert Fripp inspired a macabre philosophy production of murder, a living theme in stalking by Army men nerve command, a thousand times more vile than what was done at Kent State, and this storm circus had Africologists calling themselves warriors and witch doctors for HitlerReagan, who laughed for outsmarting them by convincing them he was dumb. You’re being framed, Mr. President, they gravy-trained, on cue. Oh, my, well, then we’ll have to pull this sucker off, myuh, he retored. He got game is the Senate square, the sociology of rotters. They went in loud and clear for shock jock media in their tasteless cause of trust.
What was done to me by the Pittsburgh NAACP and WQED, my own family and school, was callous to say the least. Duplicity about Leslie Katz, the pretext drummed up by the FEMA for Mt. Desert Island, was matched by duplicity about Rosa, who came to finish the job for the Murder University’s Department of Killers. The persona developed about me by Matt Marcus had the authenticity of the Hollywood autopsy photographs offered up by the Pentagon Disney forces who made a joke of killing JFK, after getting him installed for service to the killers. When the Pentagon killed JFK a lot more was off-media when it came to privacy, for better or worse. Held captive in a Manson ordeal by organized criminals throughout the State of Pennsylvania made me a road kill when it came to falsifying the conditions in which I was slaved and degraded. For example, Don Ostro’s friends, which included famous symphony musician Braunstein, also included Todd Clark who I saw only once, and whose poem, “Cameo imprisons disaster,” took a long time to understand after being shown to me as a child. Ron and Ron were two gay men. After Ostro showed me, in severe trauma from overpowering drugs brutally forced upon me, by adults who my mother actually said helped raise me, a picture from Soldier of Fortune reprinted in Hustler so horrible I wouldn’t show it to an enemy, his friend Ron said, “Yeah but to make it really good we’d go over and take a shit in the head hole left by the machete,” and that is exactly what Penis J. Sinfield set out to do to Jimmy Creary in the name of John Lennon and New York Times pervert media.
In the days of Admiral Rickover and Prescott Bush, the illusion that hawks of the Cold War Establishment were being backstabbed by their version of November criminals in the weak-willed civilian command was promoted when Truman retired Gen. MacArthur for insubordination. This was an early signal of the Red Scare legacy authored by Allen Dulles and Jimmy Byrnes for the rise of HitlerReagan.
JFK was a hawk of his own mind from the school of intelligence in New England still sincerely and graciously kissing Eleanor Roosevelt’s hand for her human rights stand. Chivalry rather than machismo were their masculine form, what John Pesa, again, calls the sheepdogs, rather than the wolves.
Due the obvious and grave fact that Oswald was a rubber-stamped Secret Agent Man from the CIA, itself a rogue element of National Security, vested interests enjoying pinochle with colleagues from the Third Reich hidden in the mountains of Bayerlitsch, and working late nights half-mad with guile at publishing houses playing warmer/colder with the like of Mark Lane, the spirit of the age when Kennedy lived, called Camelot, rather than Trump’s Camazotz, was captured for a different context by a character called Rudin in a play by Turgenev, who says aloud, “I was completely reborn. I curbed my conceit, began asking questions, learned, rejoiced, worshipped - in short, it was like entering some kind of church, Imagine a gathering of a half a dozen boys, our only light one tallow candle, tea like slops and dry biscuits as old as Adam - but if only you’d heard our speeches and looked at our faces! Excitement in everyone’s eyes, cheeks on fire, our hearts beating fast, and we’d talk about God, about truth, about the future of humanity, about poetry, sometimes talking nonsense, carried away by empty words, but what did that matter! … Oh, it was marvelous time then.” But the agents saw loyalty to Kennedy as a violation of Luke:16, the key passage of Ford Motors from the Texas Schoolbook (see semiotic digest in The Filth Machine). They instead followed immiseration theory to win the loyalty of the aspiring Blacks in America, pushing them downwards to create a furious ideology of support when offered a step ladder upwards in the food fight, allowing one here, one there to arrive at the superwave any would kill for if they knew its power. They called Obama the granting of Kennedy’s wish at the cost of their moral holocaust: AIDS.
Explaining how I came to be homeless for two years and what that was about and what it all meant to me is a question that arises now and then by the concerned adults who have noticed this situation around me. In the campus environment where I began trying to get help and digest out about how Reagan’s mind was behind war games in my region, homelessness was used by Vince Eirene as a radical stunt of hazing. He is a Catholic Worker in league with Martin Sheen who visited his den with some frequency, gleam in his crafty eye. To be homeless or camp out in vigil was worth a nine-spot of higherness with the Rusted Root gang, unless you were me, of course, in which case bad mouthing was all the shuttling around in peace jitney, my painted car, got in return. They didn’t like having their slanders cross-checked and the risks of the deep investigation into the AIDS military operation as an undercover nightmare was answered with howls of fury and derision, stigma made holy war. The violence of New York Times pervert media unfolded against this hyped-up war game in which the NAACP admitted that attacking a child was deranged with the retort but we aren’t going to change things for a white child. Penis Gabriel, weaponizing AIDS, offered anything other than willingness to take AIDS voluntarily as shy of conscientious objection worthy of Lennon. That this idea was scripted he claimed is proof it was found art. Having received the idea of the Katz-Lennon play, that somehow I was tempted by the devil at my ear to dream of sexual conquest, they pronounced me the unclean spirit, because she was still virgin when the curtain closed, a violation of sin to be cleansed by the rape of deaf Jeannie.
“They’re stupid enough to think I am,” chuckled Reagan. The Willards of Death Row impinged their domestic terror on a hostage in Special Education from the Texas Schoolbook. “I heard you called me an asshole,” bellowed Kasper (before I had ever seen him) when he struck me from blindside. “I’ll do all the talking,” said Reagan in The Killers as the first shot snuffed out the voicebox of JFK. “I’d vote for him,” said the Eva Braun composite in Storm Warning, but that’s not Reagan’s politics, myuh, it’s only a movie. My black co-workers on the job who attacked me in a vivisection neuroplasm on behalf of child molesters to amuse deranged Seattle media ghouls, preaching the rightful independence of a woman hired to kill investigation, leered at me as they exploited my trust and deafness, “somebody is going to control her.”
The partners of the NAACP at PITT were riff raff like Mr. Douglas who said, “If you try to help black people they will only turn on you.” In Seattle Eugenic Yojimbo, the Teamsters in Black Power working with HitlerReagan, angle for the insult pretext. They have scavenger queers willing to lie about all this forever as a dream for a chance in plastic reality’s walled city. Black Lives Matter joined forces with Native Americans and the aggrieved Japanese from Tojo’s defeat in a winner take all slander operation about stealing the rights of our culture, in demolition of rights, up for grabs to be taken by anyone who has a grudge against the foundation of American society. Treason they say is Original Sin, and only Apple Records can read the riddle of the palm print.
Targeting the Li is an idea found out in the Hollywood fascist movement’s film, “The Incredible Two-Headed Transplant” where the devil at the ear of morality laughs, “Now I gotta teach this moron how to walk.” They mean your imagination and your right to know.