I do not believe that Barack Obama or Black Lives Matter, the Pittsburgh NAACP for that matter, should be granted dignity in what they have done. I don’t think they should be allowed to ennoble their names. When Peter Gabriel inquired about me after an interview and my name was dragged through the mire by local public broadcasting nerve centers, the attack was a cruel and cowardly one. The alliance is clearly formidable and that I was in the dark, deaf and being used in something so horrible that to this very minute everyone I know has their minds so poisoned about it that they refuse to address it, has proven the lie of American manhood so dismally that Black men are writhing under the temptation offered by learned and desperate measures of berserker mentality once reserved to white hate. Make no mistake, Martin Luther King talked about the content of our characters and Barack Obama just doesn’t measure up. We are talking about a base and desperately tragic coward of the very lowest order.
The way this situation began is that Robert Fripp, that weasel, that skunk of King Crimson, brooded that Reagan, that monstrous Hitler of California, has accused liberals of being cowards and therefore, reasoned this pig, Jimmy Creary should be required to die a death of great suffering in a noble cause manufactured and enforced by powers of Hollywood. It is the only way, he groused as a grizzly Christian nutter. Many street authorities grumbled approvingly. Because this lout is so desperate over what I testify to, and so frightened of himself in what I have to say about what he and Penis Gabriel did, two megastars in service to HitlerReagan against a traumatized deaf child, they have moved swiftly to cut my time off through medical violence aimed to make what little time I have left brutal with constant suffering.
I was looking for something inside of me. I found it. It turns out I was living with a deeply impacted, terribly cruel, neurological injury. While it was in there, throttling, causing no end of pain, I was semi-comatose from a severe head wound that had the secondary problem of impacted neuro-fusion amnesia. I went into seizures finding out that I was kidnapped as a child, and managed to liberate the injury to my facial nerve where it now makes my peers uncomfortable to see me, but never at themselves for murderous mistreatment that I only refuse to say torture because for them saying torture is a no no. You must think you are Anne Frank they bray with great self-congratulation at their rhetorical skill, their hard earned laughs. To learn that a loathsome, crooked woman incited it is too typical of the Trump Era to over-diss. Midori Goto is an ugly, vicious individual who managed to wangle herself into several positions as race trophy.
So let’s briefly discuss bravery and the object lesson that proves our lustrous experience of American manhood, pausing only a moment to breathe at the thought of British, cough, manhood. Then, worm ourselves a little into the auspices of a real schmuck saying holy high record reviews over the nightclub meowing of Senegal Youssou, as though manhood itself can only be found in licking boot. Do you truly believe in licking boot your whole heart? Yes, you American manhood.
Let’s talk briefly about how brave they are, these furiously loaded, super-gunned plastic vipers grinning ear to ear. What did they do to show how brave they are? First, the white super-huns, the Schwarzenegger machos of Pittsburgh, the Steelers base, attacked me as a child blindside on the way to school. It was like being shot, but they didn’t stop there. I weighed under a hundred pounds at the time, and was just a child, still learning basics in school, and they kidnapped and tortured me hideously. The details are depraved and shattering, a Manson ordeal that they planned to make into a film, using the name Mancine, to get Blacks in on it as a spoils for the rippers who hate the sheltered white, but they didn’t stop there.
Now we know how brave this is, they never tire of telling us how important such lessons are, the baby toy bombs they dropped into Vietnamese villages to blow up the children and strike terror against resistance. We know that their super-snipers in the gutter of Dealey Plaza and outside the Lorraine Motel proved a superman logic to how they operate. They never tire of chatting up the certainty that musicians are communist peace hippies, and offer a special case to admire, posturing, arranging the rape of a deaf retarded girl, their favorites, Gabriel and Fripp, arrive to present that the gurus of dictators are just human, they purr as they shoot like the dirty rat in a cowboy bounty movie, chattering with self-hate as he corners a defenseless man in the toilet. At least that pukey little nobody had the benefit of a grudge. What does the English have to offer? It won’t tell. That’s how brave it is. Someone will make money he cushions the lie, like the Maharisha assuring us he can levitate, so long as he is alone and no one watching, the rabid have their reason, it is good enough, they ranker.
Turn briefly again to how brave the Black warriors among them are. One almost can’t get their tongue around it, it’s so impressive. They hang their hat on an idea that just has them in stitches. It began with the Ku Klux Klan and the refrigerators of vivisection in higher learning, with Trump Israelis. How would you like to see a game of making a man deaf, in torment, cry like a motherfucker as you threaten him with HIV, and call it paranoia, hahahahahahaha. Get the clinic watchers in on it, slasher some bystanders for the ripper hatter hell of it. Man that rocks Penis Gabriel! So the black warriors are brave, they stand up to the white, provided the white has been left crippled for life, shattered in prior blindside attacks by the Ku Klux Klan, that’s beyond the FBI clowniacs and Jugalo mafia, that’s justice. Only the truly sacred shed tears while laughing so hard. Well, maybe someone will say that’s wrong someday, but Penis Gabriel will back them in everything they did illegally and without a case, because he’s celebrity royal.
Even with minds as poisoned as those of my peers, you wonder how they make time to hear these absolute monsters justify what they have done. Hearing on TV or in TIME Magazine that JFK was the same as Ronald Reagan can only be intended to make you feel that it is absolutely pointless to discuss anything at all with anyone. Even knowing, as the most informed and receptive do now, that Hitler was in Argentina and that his loyalists on the Warren Commission, old friends from the years of his rise, helped set it all up, they insist no great harm was done in the form of bypassing any disqualifying considerations against men like Bush, not just implicated, but clearly involved. The millenials want the press caught more. I have studied the semiotics and do not believe, as those behind all this affair do, that Hiroshima made JFK a war criminals. There are times in total war to say: use arrows, waste no more men. Yoko Ono has made a game of sentimental guilt to the point of bullying men of distinction with the idea that comfort women are on her side by producing disgusting prostitutes from the pornography guild to justify inflicting bondage on a white child. What does she bully them into? Voting Trump of course, the New York hero of the Beatles maniacs in their Ayn Rand AIDS war game.
When they kidnapped me they made it a point to use a stolen yellow Lincoln. Just how retarded the idea that the voices I live with, saying, “Sean Lennon thinks you’re the greatest tragedy in the history of United States,” and so on, isn’t Sonytrol brainwave sonar can be measured easily enough in recalling that these retards know the song: That Voice Again, have already given up our moral leadership, our place in history, and uploaded a green party, in the name of anti-envy and moral greed in a plot designed for an Anthro war game of Two Virgins Pussyball clocked to the AIDS attack, braving acting as my friends while exploiting my deafness on the job with intent to humiliate me by my fiance, while handing out swastikas in their homes, calling them African symbols for God’s sakes, before sacred paintings by black women with Japanese symbols at their motif. Pretty damn crowning.
Rusted root really did try to take from me even what little hope I had, ignoring my screams as they locked me out of Emergency Rooms through their alliance with Robert Fripp. Here, Reagan had said all hippy style himself with Zappa at his side, I will give you an articulate complainer at the doorgate of the cremation chamber. That is what the Rusted Root gang were actually helping get done, while sneering that everyone knew what a bummer I am.