Life is Cheap
by Mac Crary
July 15, 2017
Why is something so precious to oneself (meaning one's very own life) so meaningless to someone else? No matter what we take seriously it seems impossible to stray far from that question. Faced with the fact that this is so, implacably, many of us have turned to firearms. Martin Luther King was not immune to this urge, and prevailed upon himself, after his wife and children were nearly killed, to put guns aside. We have the text of his killers to learn of the sadistic laugh that evoked in them, and the way they Drafted him to serve their ends, demanding non-violence from the AIDS victims in return for a little entertainment.
My right to own and bear arms was taken away from me. If I tried to defend myself from torture I would be killed. They use me as their barometer in acceptance of sacrificial symbolism, straight outta Wichita. Non-violent slavery of a white as a social experiment from the school system of Pennsylvania is a secret service ordeal from the Veteran's Administration who poisoned me in a slow death arrangement they claim they worked out with the British as world diplomacy. Who can argue with such lofty purposes? A student on loans?
What Leslie Sanetta Katz did to James MacRyland Crary is regarded by Obama's lackluster association as really pretty much the eighth wonder of the world. They've created evil genius, fluxus promotion of the killers as a filibuster against recognition of their failure to warn and concern for the right to know laws of the United States of America, if any exist anywhere anymore. Katz was someone I loved and so felt something precious to her, being her virginity, was sacred and not something I could wrest from her by force. I hear echoes of the screaming in my letter to Gail Burstyn, (another one she liked so much she said she was "going to have it framed"). I said, "I know you probably think I am a bleeding poet, but I want you to listen, really listen," as I told her about compassion and faith in one's fellow man. The Jews had heard it all before and wanted to enjoy the screams of the innocent and to sell them to those who think they are better, most enlightenly the NAACP, who turn their noses up, those screams ain't special, they frown. Unknown to me, Gail and Leslie were behind the nerve agent incubating in queerbait's skull, and behind the leering, the kidnapping, the torture, the dirt bomb. Proxies were a term used covertly in their other writers hand. Meanwhile, the ingenious Blacks of Pittsburgh, berating me that they could think on that level, came up with hounding an elderly deaf man, and comparing it to the blinding of an elderly slave, equalizing the chain by compensatory coding, and didn't hear syphilis in this outrage, the use of an American Institution of Higher Learning for the tyrannical psychopathy of HitlerReagan, the use of a white student for slave experimentation, after an Auschwitz experiment, after an AIDS experiment that they called an amusement park for pure horror and terror, thrilled by inflicting fear, and it wasn't secret at all.
Katz' dungeons and dragons partner, Brian Milnes, worked with Jaime Carbonell securing the carrotgate tape for Andrea Swimmer who lived with Alvar Gonzalez, a roommate of Martin Andelman, controlling personality of Harvard Anthro Tom Gordon and Miles Kirshner. Andelman hung out around the house of Cyril Wecht, author of Grave Secrets, and confederate of Oliver Stone. He also knew Leslie as a child. His crowd made a lampoon of my restraint, knowing how wonderful, too good to be true, a godsend, my cries of alarm when they demeaned me for it, when she did.
Don Denis, on the night they gave me scabies, wrote a note left on my coat, "you want responsibility for this, I jerk it back and pour it on you steaming. I hope it's enough." For who? For Alice Walker who wrote a book in which a white woman is forced to kiss the stump of a black man who had an arm amputated? For Cornell West, who called the thrill of spreading AIDS around "biological linkage"? For the pussyball riot that Vince Eirene and Saul Brecher got worked out perfectly as a cover story for Will Zell and Ichiro? For the burning of the white in the cherry pit bomb shelter of a whorehouse sit-in? For the Funkadelic Parliament who think Peter Gabriel's mind makes perfect sense. Why shouldn't they terrorize a deaf WHITE victim of torture and sabotage recovery if he got laid once in college? That's not purity.
What Katz pulled off was to convert being kidnapped and gassed into a maniacal rape frame gang bang of hideous slander. She pulled off having Black parents cheering a white racist who nearly ran over their children because he set up the greater entertainment of the white suck being crucified, and don't you feel pity because that's special.
"You gonna eat that?" they put on a booger finger cover illustration of their ripper enterprise newspaper showing Cameron Brown of the New York Times for a ringleader of a ripper sacrifice of Shannon Harps, send 'em a message style, in Seattle, to calm their fannies of the need to make good on Zell's injection lust. The Black man is George Wallace and that is the Walrus, yes indeed. Acting out their honorary non-violence, the rape of deaf Jeannie, the Clintons proved that Obama's support for Zell was due to pent up rage, and that it needed to be popped like a pus infection and squozen for the sacred therapy of Reagan African witchcraft to be honorary non-violence, innocence restored by the fanatical monotony of Adrian Belew's credulity quotient.
Harvard, through years of warfare and food weapon ideas, made idealism a prisoner's dilemma so viciously impacted into the stupid heads of the white jet set that Mamie Duff's boyfriend in college's eyes shot wide open before he laughed like seeing revelation itself when taking a bite from a burger I said, "It's him or me." But the joke's on me of course, the joke from Randy Tantliger and two packs in the mailbox, the joke from an unidentified registered nurse who murdered me by a beta-and-grapefruit blocking sacred African witchcraft enzyme from the Germany trusting pharmaceutical companies of King Floyd.
Pittsburgh don't play.