If the AIDS attack had happened during the Vietnam War or Civil Rights Movement there is a remote chance that the HAIR generation would have stuck together, that Congress would have voiced alarm, that Ted Kennedy would have made a name for himself demanding answers and that police society would have amounted to something. Obviously we cannot change what happened now, but understanding is not beyond us. Contrary to what British progrock zealots are selling it is an extremely difficult problem and always was, not least because some of our emotional circuitry is hardwired to affirm the callous idea that the victims were victims of themselves. There’s a touch of the Moral Majority inside anyone who has ever been heartbroken. One of the reasons that the 60’s still interests me is that I believe that John Fitzgerald Kennedy is one of the most important men who ever lived and that because we still have not faced what was done to him we have not yet defeated Adolf Hitler. So, to start the program that I am writing today, Presidents Day 2018, I want to address how intellectuals became classified under the regime of the tyrant Reagan as enemies of the state and what it means to have such a classification in our schools. I do not take lightly this self-assignment, nor are the many topics to be covered in the least at all easy for me. A good deal of what really happened is perilously ellipsoidal. There are evasions and slipknots as well as many masks. We live in a culture that has been gravely endangered by studied cynicism where any form of trust is categorically equated with stupidity. We have lost our sheep dogs and told ourselves to believe that we are safer as wolves.
I am strongly tempted to deal with one of the hardest problems of presentation to solve from the onset, because it is so difficult to address and I know it is a bridge that I have to cross. This is the problem of what a person is and how they can be used despite what they are on the finer level of personhood. You see, I have learned from the era of atrocity in the City of Pittsburgh that continues to bellow at my door that a person to themselves is very precious but as an object can be marked by shadow government for lifelong torment and mean nothing to the other who watches them in gloating sadism and licky chops. There is no help for it. Mean, demented stereotypes were brought to grips on me and that’s not all, twisted parochial and self-serving arguments about my character were advanced by hoodwinkers telling cold-blooded lies from the tippy tops of on highness. This is widely considered by our cynical society as exemplary of the way things are done, almost a treat, a Roman Art extravaganza. One of the directions this came from was Franklin Graham whose idea of a moth-balled, sick deaf poet long ago trapped in bondage by the dungeons of child mutilationists wandering around as a peace hippy child hiding the depravities of serial sexual charades and abortion was too good to be true. How perfect a set up, how unique a persona, how satisfying a flag to burn, and the persona itself was none other than self-deception, how droll, the enemy within, the mocker to be mocked, the demon at the gates called humanism. How could such a one not be most in need of forgiveness and by what course of punishment can its unforgivable taint, sarcasm, be obliged with justified hate and rage?
A grave and disturbing problem arises in knowing that this is why JFK was killed, to make such byproducts of liberal society, because the treachery is bountiful as seen by the way in which the sellouts of the 70’s say no. Hearing and seeing Robert Fripp and the British sing their own praises comes over with the social tedium of what it would have been like to be a low ranking commoner if Hitler won and lived on in office like Gen. Franco. A genuinely awful, luckless pedigree of survival group benefits flits from the books and CD’s on the shelves. The farcical condition of the duplicity in the intelligensia who evoke as proof of their worth that they implied some suggestive, mis-readable dissent caustically reminds American intelligence how disgraceful and how low we were led to be felled when Reagan’s fake Marxist syndicate evaporated the Kennedys under the signature names of Oswald and Sirhan Sirhan. We still cannot face up to the schoolbook in the name Gail Burstyn, because of its adoption and the chilling truth that the discovery was feigned. On what do these terrible, putrid frauds base their deranged claim of being right? Robert Fripp’s definition of intelligence is the capacity to derive instinctively what prancing stance will elicit syphilitic approval from Elton John most mysterious on high, whether among the dirtbag Royalists like citizen Mick Jagger or the ramrod supporters of child-napping Meghan le Fey. He got it all figgered and will break your noggin for disapproval. King Crimson and Arthur Scargill, the ripper hatters of British politics, have your number, they know where you live. They aren’t just liars, they intend to keep it up.
There are loud phenomenon in Paris. We have the new age of oppo-world broadcasting. You don’t have to look very far in the script to see the maniacal evidence that Lennon faked his death. They are selling James James as a James Bond in bondage to the state. Bond had a film called, “You Only Live Twice.” Rockefeller’s government, thoroughly enmired in Double Fantasy plastic reality helped Lennon hoodwink the media in the most colossal plan of the Orwell and Orson Welles age. How perfect to make Adolf Hitler himself in Argentina the Hidden Imam and Imperial Wizard of Oz, the Ghost of a Chance for redemption, Jesus the Friendly Ghost, Caspar the Warrior of Redemption in AIDS? That is exactly what they did. They used the emblem of DG for D.W. Griffith as an alpha-numeric blend of 47 Ronin, the infinite patience of Samurai revenge. The Magical Mystery secret of AIDS is that Lennon himself was in charge of Hitler’s revenge. You can see what they did from how it works. The multi-faceted revenge alliance was cobbled together by the Confederate NAACP based on getting ahead by any means available. Kennedy’s movement towards morality in justice was vaporized. A prominent, powerful machine, capable of empowerment, swallowed JFK and the NAACP, fully aware of how conspicuous it was, jumped in to shake hands. They consider it being posi-toxic warriors, as though quislings were exemplars. The long term was their council, they mused, with the likes of Asimov, Kubrick and Kurosawa at the table, they controlled what could be entered into civil consideration by medium of beamed consciousness for the rabble.
Entering Seattle down the Sodo Busway the first thing you see is a huge sign distorting the word LOVE into the word EVOLVE at which revelation gate is a clowniac Gate of Welcome reading PEST EXTERMINATION against which the skyline is revealed and despite this the rabid of Oz fall in line braying with foaming tonsils in bloodoath behind their own X-terminators. Luckless little Jimmy was neuro-jealous at the trigger of the puppet master. The rabid wink with secret letters, taunting from the dour alliance of lewdness behind the NAACP’s traffic with child molesters, “I love ew,” and “Dear Meat.”
Tricky Ringo, lead buccaneer of the Oppo-World transmitter speaks for everybody in sneering, “We didn’t want to be warned.” In his pocket are sympathetic judges in tune with reality (or so they call themselves) on high. They can say anything, your mind is their megaphone. Lennon’s estate announced long ago that any copiously garbled hypocrisy uttered by the Headmaster of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll was deemed holy writ, as ideal a cognate as never before borne to the world by a prophet, deepest in the Taliban of all soothsay. What did it matter if from Oppo-World we were asked to cheer our own killers? You all love it, don’t you? You lost, get over it, they laugh, you missed the Klus. Enjoy the war art and wear your horns proudly. Do we show Lincoln mercy this time, they snicker at the pale white thing on Death Row? Fluxus, the bird brained collective psychology found in the semiotics of JFK’s murder comes down to us with all sorts of arcana espionage from illuminati tutors like King Crimson, kluing us in to the morphemic puzzle of the Texas Schoolbook variously called, “Story of the Bird,” and “I am the Walrus.”